> The Girl with the Lyre Tattoo
>  by Dennis the Menace
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Sleepless in Seattle
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her arrival was much more abrupt, and much less dramatic than she'd have liked. And rather painful, judging by the landing. She was sure she hit her head. It was all a bad dream, and yes, she would soon awake from her dreams of times gone by, of a world that never existed. 

But as she ran her fingers through her teal green hair, she realized that it wasn't a dream. It was better than a dream, because it was real. Everything she touched felt real. Dirt, concrete, the cold. Everything she tasted. The coppery taste of blood in her mouth.

She had wandered the streets in a stupor, clutching the small device to her breast like a lifeline. When she came, or maybe when she came to, she was laying on something hard. Her eyes opened, and for a moment she thought she was blind. Pitch-black darkness surrounded her. Silence, all around. She heard the sound of a horn somewhere, far away. Her eyes adjusted. 

It wasn't quite the welcome party she had been expecting. 

It was nighttime, the darkness being the only indication for if she were to take an upward glance, she would see nothing but a black sky with not a star in sight, choking with thunderclouds and smog. New sights, smells, and sounds threatened information overload. Metal carriages lined the street. How were you supposed to pull them? How silly. Lanterns with captured fireflies hung from poles, flickering eerily. Everywhere, fireflies, in different colors! Every color of the rainbow. She wondered how a world with so many fireflies could be so drab. 

Not a soul on the street. 

The fleshy stomp of her feet on asphalt was an unfamiliar sound to her. She could not walk yet, unaccustomed to her new form. She was like a child trying to learn how to ride a bicycle with no training wheels. In this case, walking with two feet, and as such, she had learned to crawl on the sidewalk before dragging herself into a godforsaken alley to freeze to death. Warm blood trickled down her raw knees. There were goosebumps all over her skin. 

Perhaps here, she could lay her head, if only for a while. 

Those first few drops of water on her face were bearable. They had only woken her from her sleep. How long had she slept? It felt like an eternity. But it was no longer dark. Was it dawn? Or dusk? 

A fine layer of mist coated her porcelain skin. A single drop turned into a drizzle, a sprinkle, then a downpour, soaking her mane. She was frozen to the bone. Her joints, stiff. She hugged her knees, curling up and shivering, unable to will her body to do anything. Everything was so cold. Her eyes struggled to stay open. Her body felt numb. The sound of pounding drums reverberated in her ears. It was her heartbeat, the sound like the staccato of a metronome. It slowed. Yes, this was going to be the death of her. 

She looked up. The sky was a beautiful soft azure. It reminded her of a painter's canvas. The clouds were especially stunning at that time of day. The clouds looked wispy and stretched out, like the strokes of a brush, tinted orange with a dash of purple. 

"Beautiful," she whispered.

She blacked out and drifted off into a dreamless slumber.
> Let Sleeping Dogs Lie
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Adrian Ross sat in the cab of his sedan munching on a sub sandwich and sipping coffee in between bites, his radio cranked down at a soft volume. The display read: 10:59. If his parents were home they would have a fit, despite the fact that he was heading off to college in what, three months? He thought about calling them all the way in Paris, but he wasn't sure what time it was. 

Adrian could be summed up as average, if not a bit awkward. Seen, but rarely heard from, unless in good company like most people tended to do. He was your average eighteen-year-old. Pale skin, messy brown hair, brown eyes hidden behind a pair of Vogue glasses; none of these features were particularly dazzling or distinct enough to warrant any attention: a handsome face, maybe, in a few years perhaps, thin lips and a prim smile, straight teeth after a stint with braces for the majority of his high school years, a sharp, angular jawline, and high cheekbones. His body was a stark contrast to his face. You could see his Adam's apple bob when he swallowed. His height added to this, giving Adrian the appearance of a lanky young boy that resembled a man. 

In the distance, the iconic Space Needle was silhouetted against the dark sky, lit up like a Christmas tree in the night, serving as a backdrop for the rest of the city. He saw it everyday; it was nothing new. The mystique was lost on him after seeing it every day. 

Seattle was the fifteenth largest metropolitan area and one of the largest cities on the West Coast, with the twelfth biggest economy in the United States and a population of 3.4 million. Nine months a year you could bet at some point during the day rain would fall. Nobody knew each other and nobody cared; still, it was home. And as always with the weather in Seattle, it was wet. The calm before the storm had just passed, the ominous roll of thunder in the distance like a prelude for what was about to come. Even in a city such as Seattle it was an oddity to see rain in the summer. The odd drizzle here and there, but then again, summer in Seattle was a paradox in itself and was hardly an exact science. Sure, it was June, but it wasn't really summer until sunlight showed through the impenetrable foggy overcast that lorded over the city to remind you there still was a sun. Or until you could actually see peoples' arms and legs without being covered up by raincoats. Whichever came first. 

First came the lightning. Then the thunder, and at last, the rain. It washed down his windshield, washing the dirt and grime away. Rain was something you had to get used to living in Seattle. No point in fighting it; he had learned to embrace it. There was something about the onset of a rainstorm that made him want to go outside. The bitter chill of the wind, the wet, squidgy feeling when his clothes got wet.

Adrian popped open the door, balling up his trash and tossing it in a nearby trashcan. Drops pelted his gray Zoo York hoodie, the wind stinging his cheeks. He frowned, trying to get a better look. Was he seeing things? Even as he walked back to his car, he kept looking back. At that point he could have simply driven off and everything would have been all and well. But he stayed. He did a double take. He squinted his eyes and cocked his head. From his vantage point in the driver's seat he could barely see the silhouette of a body curled up behind a dumpster in a narrow alleyway between two brick buildings. 

He looked down, his head bobbing slightly as if he was weighing options in his head. 

Not my concern.

And in truth, it wasn't any of his concern. What was one homeless person to him? Still, even as he continued to sip at his coffee inside his car shielded from the elements, he couldn't help but feel a little guilty. He certainly hadn't said it aloud, but he felt a little selfish for thinking that way. What if it wasn't a homeless person? What if it was a dead guy? Even worse, what if it was a person who needed help? Maybe they'd been attacked. On the flip side, what if they were dangerous? Violent? And even if they weren't, somebody else could help them. 

Then again, he wasn't sure if he could live with knowing that he'd let someone freeze to death.  

He opened the glove compartment and took out a flashlight and turned off the car, exiting it and locking it. He pulled up his hood, feeling drops pelt his jacket. His hands shook, out of fear or from the cold as he moved forward. His heart raced, pounding in his ears, the sound of the rainfall a dull roar. 

One quick look, and then I'm gone.

He counted the steps he'd have to take. His sneakers squeaked against the wet sidewalk. 

Five steps. Four. 

His heart pounded and he swallowed, gulping before shakily opening his mouth. It felt dry. He licked his lips. 

Three. Two. 

"H-Hello?" 

One.

He swung around the dumpster with a slight jump, falling backwards with a cry and scrambling back slightly. 

Adrian was hypnotized, and for several seconds, stared in awe. The girl had been placed in a rather...compromising position, curled up in a fetal position, her backside facing toward him. Tattooed onto her lower back was a golden lyre. Her naked body was slim and petite with long, shapely legs and perky breasts. Her pale skin was like ivory, smooth and wet, and he noted, lacking in any tan lines as well.  She had a soft face that was easy on the eyes. Her cropped silvery hair was soaking wet, and green. Mint green, more like, with streaks running through her wintery locks. Her half-lidded eyes, he could barely see, were a beautiful shade of gold. At the moment, they seemed dull.

"Oh shit." 

The fact that Adrian was getting a glimpse at the first naked girl he would ever see in his entire life was outweighed by the fact that she was the first naked girl he had ever seen in his entire life, unconscious in an alley, dampening the erotic display. He knelt down, his hand already in his pocket fishing around for his phone while the other checked her pulse. And there it was, a steady heartbeat that could be felt with two fingers to her neck. She was, thankfully, not a corpse, though if she were to have remained out in the rain without any clothing any longer, the possibility of death by hypothermia would have been plausible. 

The entire situation brought a saying to mind as he began to shake her. How did it go again? Let sleeping dogs lie, yes. Let things be, for they might cause you trouble. Oddly appropriate, in this situation. 

Gotta call 911.

"Lady?" He lightly slapped her face a few times. "Hey, wake up." He hadn't realized he'd been speaking loudly, almost yelling. 

"Mm?" Her eyes flickered briefly. Her eyelids were heavy, and already drooping. 

Adrian lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "Oh god, you're awake. Hey, help's on the way, alright?" She didn't answer. "C'mon, stay with me."  

She wasn't moving. Her eyes were screwed tight. 

"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?" the robotic voice intoned.  

"Hello? I've got an unconscious woman. I'm on the corner of—" 

A chime cut him off. 

"Hello?" He glared at his phone, reading the dimming LED display. The battery charge level was flashing, on its last red bar. "No, no, no!" he hissed. "You've gotta be kidding me!" 

Adrian felt compelled to crush the Samsung in his hand while mentally kicking himself. The one time he needed it for an emergency and it died on him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

He tried turning it on again. The screen lit up for a brief moment, and he was able to dial 911 before the phone shut off completely. 

"Payphone!" He suddenly cried with a snap of his fingers. "There's gotta be at least one." 

This was 2012. When on earth was the last time he saw a payphone on the street? 

He screamed for help. 

No one answered. As if to remind him of the rain, the sky boomed with the crack of thunder. He was positively drenched by now.  

"Just...hold on, I'm gonna get you some help, okay?" he said, his hands motioning for her to stay put. 

He slapped his forehead. Why was he talking to her? She was unconscious, of course she couldn't talk back. 

What do I do?

She wasn't his problem! The very least he could do was leave his jacket behind for her, but that was it. 911 was probably dispatching a police officer! 

He bit his lip, groaning in frustration, taking slow, deliberate breaths to calm himself. He closed his eyes, and listened for a distant wail. A siren, anything. Help was on the way, wasn't it?

Nothing. 

Adrian simply stood, looking down upon the woman, shielding her body with his. He had to make a decision. He had to make a choice, to commit. Once he took her in, saved her life, he was responsible. 

He began slowly walking away, shaking his head, his mind locked in an internal struggle over the morality of leaving someone to fend for themselves. Somehow, the fact that she was a young girl wearing no clothes made this worse. She was alive now. If he walked away...

I can't just leave her here!

He growled, settling on a final decision, sprinting over to his car and tearing open the backseat door. Technically, this was kidnapping, was it not? He cringed as he scooped her up in his arms, noting how light she was. Her head lolled around, her body still limp. Adrian noticed her hand clutching something at her chest: an iPhone. 

He was careful not to bump her head while sliding her into the back seat of his sedan, not bothering to put her seat belt on. Even while holding her for those brief seconds he could tell that her body was cold just by touch, made apparent by the goosebumps on her skin and a slight shivering. He unzipped his jacket and draped it over her body to keep her warm. Adrian gingerly pried her fingers off the smartphone, attempting to turn it on to no avail. The screen remained dark, and it would be a miracle if it was still working after being so long in the rain. 

As quick as he could he slid into the driver's seat, turning the ignition, rolling up the windows, and turning up the heat. He adjusted the rear-view mirror to keep an eye on her. She stirred slightly and got his hopes up, only to burrow deeper into the warmth of his hoodie. Questions ran through his mind. 

He pushed them into the back of his mind and turned his attention to the road ahead. Adrian was a good driver, not a safe one. But for this one time, he followed the speed limit and slowed down when turning corners. His eyes glazed over as he thought of how odd it was, having a girl he barely knew in the backseat. 

It was surreal. 

What was he supposed to do? Legally, take her to the hospital, to the police. 

"You okay back there?" 

A shift underneath his jacket. 

"Listen," he said, raising his voice, "I'm getting you some help, okay?" He repeated himself. "I'm taking you to the hospital." 

Her hand shot out and grabbed his shoulder, yanking it a bit harshly. The car swerved, and he shouted. 

"What the fuck!" He centered the car back on the lane, pushing her arm away. "What's the matter with you?" 

He slammed on the brakes, turning around. She weakly gasped, shaking her head. 

"You need help." 

She refused. She was literally trying to exit the vehicle via the locked doors. 

Is she suicidal?

He was supposed to ignore that. No matter what somebody said, you had to take them to get help. But there was a wild look of desperation on her face. It was fear. Why was she afraid of the hospital? Afraid of the police? 

"You need help." 

She grabbed his shirt, yanking it, pleadingly, a tear running down her face. Perhaps the rain. 





His neighborhood could easily be described as suburban, comfortable and homogeneous in nature. The people here were friendly, their lawns were trimmed, and their houses well-kept. At the same time the phrase, "Good fences make good neighbors", was taken to heart. 

He parked the car and twisted the key in the lock, pushing open the door to his house. The first few steps into the residence would have him inside the foyer, meant to be a place to entertain guests. As such, there was a couch and coffee table with random magazines. On the right after walking in the door was a staircase. A few more steps in and he was already at the kitchen and the main living room. In the farthest corner of the living room was a grand piano, coated with a layer of dust. Withering flowers in vases and photo frames had been placed haphazardly in the strangest of places in order to give the impression to the discerning viewer that this was the ideal household of a quiet, middle-class, traditional family with a garden and white picket fence. By no means were they wealthy, but they lived comfortably. In any case, the house was empty. 

The girl was still asleep. Trying his best not to stir her, Adrian slipped his thin arms underneath her body and hefted her inside. He set her gently down on the couch, propping her head up with a pillow. Her face was scrunched up in an inscrutable expression. He brushed the offending lock of hair from her nose. Her silky wet hair smelled of spearmint. She was cold to the touch. 

He drew a bath for her, making sure the water was lukewarm. Any drastic change in temperature wasn't good. When the tub was nearly full he tried to wake her up again, shaking her arm gently. The girl raised her head sleepily. 

"Hey," Adrian whispered. "Wake up. C'mon." 

She shivered, her teeth chattering. He scooped her up in his arms, carrying her into the upstairs bathroom, gently setting her down in the half-full tub. The girl seemed to flinch as she was enveloped, her eyes wide as she silently gasped. 

Downstairs in the kitchen, he lay the iPhone inside a bag of rice to hopefully fix it. He grabbed a mug and began warming up a cup of hot chocolate.  His hands quivered, spilling some on his hand. He hadn't realized how shaken up he was. 

He rapped his knuckles at the bathroom door. 

"You okay in there?" Silence answered him. "I'm coming in, okay? I won't look." Perhaps he would. 

Through the cracks of his fingers he could see the girl, droplets of water sliding down her smooth skin as she awkwardly held onto the the towel rack. Her teal hair was damp and clung to her neck. She didn't even seem to care that he was there. She didn't even look at him. 

"Here," he said, holding out a fresh towel. 

She didn't take it. 

Adrian swallowed, seeing her shiver slightly. "Let's dry you up, okay?" 

His movements were slow. He stepped forward, running the towel quickly over her body and hair. No reaction whatsoever. It was downright unnerving. He led her to his room, helping her to sit down. 

"Here," he said, offering her a clean T-shirt of his. It was large enough to cover her all the way down to just past her hips. "I don't think my mom's clothes will fit." He began picking up clothes strewn on his bedroom floor. "Sorry about the mess." 

His dresser had several drawers pulled out, some of his clothes stuffed inside and overflowing. Coldplay and Maroon 5 posters were plastered on his walls. Pencils and pens and papers were strewn across his desktop, and a camera sat atop a tripod in the corner.

She sat in his office chair, her golden eyes gazing off into space, glazed over, her hands in her lap. 

"I found your phone," he said. "I think it's yours." 

He shook the phone dry. It hadn't nearly been long enough but to his amazement the device still worked, despite there being some water damage in the screen. She reached out and grasped in gently, staring at it. 

"Do you know how to unlock it? You can call somebody." 

Her overall demeanor resembled an animal in unfamiliar territory. She hadn't said a word. 

"You speak English?" 

No response. 

"Do you understand me?" 

Her head tilted down in a subtle motion. Not once did her expression change from anything but a permanent state of shock. Not once did her eyes meet his. 

I guess that means yes.

"Can you talk?" 

This time, a slow nod. As if she herself wasn't sure. 

"Will you talk to me?" 

A reluctant shake of the head. 

And I guess that means no.

He laughed, shaking his head. He couldn't believe what was going on. Thank god she understood him. Now if only she would talk. The boy knelt down, placing himself beneath her gaze, trying to force her to meet his eyes. Instead, she continued to stare off into the distance. 

"Lady, I wanna help you," he said earnestly. "But you gotta give me something. A name? Anyone I can call? Friends, family?"

An immigrant, maybe? Doubt it.

"Are you illegal?" 

She seemed to be mute. Deaf, possibly? Blind? Perhaps she was afraid of him? 

"Oh!" He rolled his eyes. "I'm so dumb, I haven't even told you my name yet. My name's Adrian," he blurted, so it sounded as if he was out of breath. He extended a hand. "Adrian Ross." 

Her eyes fell upon his offering gesture. He had the hands of a pianist. She seemed to regard his long, slender digits with extreme fascination as she shook his hand. He grasped her hand as delicately as he could, afraid that if he would hurt her if he shook too hard. Her hands were small and delicate. They were very soft and feminine, while his were rough and calloused. 

"Uhm, err, what's...yours?" 

She regarded Adrian for a brief moment, and at last she made eye contact, her golden irises regarding him with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. With a swallow he could see her jaw working itself and her lips were moving, like she was trying to form words in her mouth, before she cast her eyes down again to her hands.

"I, uh..." 

As he began to pull away slowly, seeing as they had held onto each other longer than customary, he was surprised when the girl turned her palm around, spreading her fingers. He emulated her motions, unsure of her intentions. Needless to say Adrian was quite surprised when she suddenly interlaced her fingers in between his. 

He fumbled over his words, his face flushed. "L-Look, I found you by the side of the road near some dumpsters in an alleyway."

No reaction. She was idly playing with his hands, feeling the contours of his knuckles and joints, tracing patterns in the palm of his hand. Her touch made his hands tingle. 

"Was there an accident? Did," he paused, unsure of how to word the question, "did somebody hurt you?"  

She didn't look...hurt. Maybe a little dazed. 

"Did somebody hurt you?" he asked again. 

She shook her head. 

"Really?" 

A strong nod. 

He sighed. "That's...good." He looked at her. "That's good, isn't it?" 

A nod. 

"You don't talk much, do you?" He heaved a sigh, trying his best not to seem frustrated. Finally Adrian slipped his fingers away, shuffling over to the coffee table. "I uh, brought you some hot chocolate." He offered it to her. "Just...drink that while I go call the police—"

Her head shot up immediately. She shook her head swiftly, the word, "No", just on the tip of her tongue before she closed her mouth again.  

Adrian did a double take. "So you...don't want me to call them?" 

A firm nod. 

Maybe she's a criminal. He shook his head. Her? Not very likely.

"The hospital then. Let me take you. That should have been the first place I should have taken you." 

She gave an adamant shake of her head. She even managed to mouth, "No", silently. 

Why doesn't she want help?

He was supposed to ignore her. That rational part of his mind told him that there was something wrong, that there was a reason why she didn't want to get help. Her expression spoke volumes. If he took her to the hospital, the police, bad things would happen. 

"Listen, I gotta know now. Did somebody rape you?" 

Her reaction was surprising. She scrunched her nose up in a look of disgust and amusement, shaking her head rapidly as if she was saying, "What? No, no, no! You've got it all wrong." 

"Because if someone did, I have to get you help." 

Then again, he was going off on body language and yes or no questions, so that didn't help very much. 

"Are you okay?" No answer this time. Adrian bent down, reaching his hand out, pulling back slightly with hesitation before placing it on her forehead. It wrinkled as she frowned. "You're a little warm. You might be running a fever." He looked down, catching sight of her knees, noting the dried bloodstains. "Did you scrape your knees?" 

He opened his bathroom mirror, rummaging through the medicine cabinet. He read the label on the bottle of Advil, and giving it a shake with a nod. In the crook of his elbow was a bottle of disinfectant. He took some bandages as well. 

"If you're not going to let me take you to the hospital without a fight, then I'm gonna have to patch you up." 

When he gave her the ibuprofen, the girl swallowed it without a word, downing it with some water. 

"This might sting a little," he said as he soaked the cotton ball in disinfectant, touching it to her knee. 

The girl winced, biting her lip with a small whimper. Adrian tried his best to gently wipe it across her cuts, bandaging them with some Band-Aids. 

"There. Now it won't get infected." 

Not a bad job.

She wasn't listening. Her eyelids were growing heavier and heavier by the minute and she was nodding off. The girl was falling fast asleep. 

His eyes softened. "The chair isn't all that comfy, is it?" he said quietly. He saw the girl's head tilt slightly even as her eyes were closed. "You can sleep in my bed," Adrian said, nudging her. "C'mon." 

She took a few steps forward in the short trip to his bed, collapsing and rolling over on his mattress with a sigh. 

Adrian flicked the light switch, the room going dark. He sat and leaned back in his chair, propping a pillow up behind his head. He cracked an eye open. The girl sat up a little, looking at him expectantly.

Was she offering him space on his bed? 

"Oh, no, no!" He laughed a little. "This chair is comfy enough." 

She nodded and laid back down, turning away. In a few minutes, Adrian could hear her soft snore. She was a complete stranger, and he was letting her sleep in his bed. It didn't sit well with him, having her in the house. It was a mistake, but it wasn't like he could tell her to sleep anywhere else, maybe downstairs. He tried making himself comfy, slouching down in his chair. 
> If Jason Bourne Had Breasts
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Adrian woke the sun was shining right into his eyes. He had slept the entire night in his chair, watching the girl as she slept (in the most completely innocent manner). She stirred several times throughout the night. He had dozed off some time past one o' clock in the morning. 

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. His back was sore. He twisted it, popping his spine a few times and cracking his neck and yawning. She wasn't in his bed anymore. He twisted and saw her standing by his closet door, studying his photographs, her bare back facing toward him. His mouth went dry when he saw her nude body, and tried to look away. His eyes wandered lower. She turned around, and her face lit up. 

"Morning!" 

Adrian nearly stumbled when he heard her voice for the very first time, not at all what he was expecting. He stared at her. 

"Sorry. I'm not used to wearing clothes, so I took it off. I hope you don't mind." Lyra bent down, pulling on his shirt. 

Is she a nudist or something?

Right, he hadn't said anything yet. "What?" He cleared his throat. "Uh, no no no I-I don't mind." Seconds later Adrian caught himself, realizing what he had said. "I mean, I-I uh." He swallowed, biting his lip, quickly changing the subject. "You can talk?"

"Well, duh." 

Silence. He stood up, hooking his thumbs in his pockets, studying her. 

"So...why didn't you say anything earlier?" 

"Oh." She twiddled her thumbs sheepishly. "I was...scared."  

"Of me?" The idea of anybody being scared of him was laughable. 

"A little," she admitted. 

"No kidding," he laughed. "You were like a deer in headlights."  

She frowned, cocking her head sideways, having never heard the expression before. "But then I realized you were really sweet. And thank you, by the way." He stared blankly. "For the bath. And hot chocolate. And letting me sleep in your bed." 

"Oh. Oh!" His eyes lit up with understanding. "Oh yeah, no problem. No problem at all. Um. You were holding this when I found you." Adrian fished her iPhone out of his jeans. 

"Oh. What is it?" She grasped it, holding it, studying the screen. Upside down.  

He stared. "An iPhone?" He flipped it over. 

"Oh. What's that?" 

"You don't know what an iPhone is?" he asked, frowning. "Are you okay?" 

Lyra's demeanor suddenly changed. She shrank. She looked everywhere but at him, hunched over slightly.  "I-I'm sorry. I'm just...having a hard time remembering things." 

Whoa.

"What do you remember?" 

"I remember how to talk," she answered lamely. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I can read the words on the cover of that textbook. I can count."

He noticed her leaning on his dresser, wobbling back and forth and trying to balance. "Can you walk?" 

"Mm-hmm." She nodded, sauntering around and doing a ditzy twirl, leaning forward with her hands behind her back. "See?" 

"That's good. How 'bout a name?"  

"Lyra." She smiled. "Lyra Heart—" She trailed off, as if she remembered something. 

"What? Lyra Hart? Is that your name?" 

"Sorry, it's Lyra." Lyra coughed. "Just Lyra."

"Okay then," he said, "just Lyra. That's a beautiful name." He put out his hand. "Adrian." 

She shook it firmly. "I know. You told me. Adrian...Ross, right?" 

He nodded. "Do you remember anything else?" 

"Um..." Lyra rubbed the side of her head with a slight groan. "It's like there's this dull throbbing in my head every time I try to remember." 

"Anything? Anything at all? A phone number I could contact?" 

She thought for a long time. She shook her head. "What's a phone?" 

Oh jeez...

The possibility of Lyra having amnesia, no matter how ridiculous it sounded, was becoming more and more plausible. No doubt whatever she had been forced to endure was traumatic enough to induce memory loss. 

"This," he said, holding up her iPhone. "You really don't know what a phone is?" 

She shook her head.

Adrian slid his thumb horizontally on the screen, holding it up for her to see. "Here. Do you remember the code? Four-digit key." 

Lyra tapped the screen. "Neat. How does it do that?" 

He shook the phone impatiently. She thought for a bit, biting her lip. 

"I remember she told me what it was." 

She?

"Concentrate." 

"Oh! Right, right." 

She recited the four-digit combination. Adrian nodded, entering it in. The smartphone unlocked. 

"Now we're getting somewhere." 

There were only a few basic apps on the splash page. No contacts, other than herself. Her call history did, however, have one missed call from a private number. When he tried to call back, the line was disconnected. 

He tapped the Contacts screen. Most smartphones had a "Me" category, and Lyra, miraculously, had made herself a profile. No picture, only a name. 


Mobile
1-206-555-1212


So that was her number. 


Address


"I think I found out where you live." He showed her the address. "Ring a bell?" 

Lyra had a more or less neutral reaction. That bugged him.

"Gimme a second." Adrian led her outside his door and shut it, beginning to strip down. 

"Can I come in?" 

He yelped, nearly slipping. "Don't! I'm changing!"  

"Oops," Lyra squeaked from behind the door.  

Adrian quickly jumped into a pair of white Levis. 

Lyra harrumphed. "I don't see what's the big deal." 

It seemed that Lyra had no sense of modesty. Or she was unaware of such a taboo. If she was, she didn't seem to care very much. 

"Why can't I go out like this?" 

She was still naked. Right. 

"Most of us put on clothes before going outside," Adrian answered tersely, averting his gaze as he glanced out the window, deeming it suitable to wear a black V-neck. He fiddled with his white digital watch on his right wrist.

"Oh. Where we come from we don't normally wear clothes, unless it's for a special occasion," Lyra said.

"Might as well go topless then." 

"Why not?" She pursed her lips. 

"Uh-huh." He tossed her his tracksuit pants. "Keep that shirt on and wear this." He sat down, his fingers deftly weaving the laces of his Converses. 

Lyra stared in awe. This was not lost on him. 

Adrian stood up, his thumbs hooked in his pockets and placed a pair of tinted Oakleys on his face. 

"Ready?" 

Lyra nodded. "Uh huh." 

The two made their way downstairs, Adrian staying close to make sure she didn't fall. He opened the garage door, waiting for her to follow. 

She slipped her feet into a pair of sandals he gave her, and he opened the garage. Lyra's eyes seemed to widen as the door opened, a faint glimmer of sunlight shining upon her face. He opened the door to the driver's side and sat in, waiting for Lyra to get in. 

Lyra looked like she was struggling to open the door. 

"Is there a problem?" 

"Oh, no, no." 

Adrian berated himself mentally. Way to be a gentleman. He opened the door for her. She ducked her head and sat down, grabbing the seat belt as if its purpose was foreign to her. Adrian buckled himself in, noticing that she began to emulate his movements slowly. 

The car came to life, the engine revving slightly. Lyra shrank down as he put the car into reverse, slowly backing out of the driveway, switching the gears, and accelerating. She gave a shriek of fright, causing him to flinch. Adrian stomped on the brakes, the tires screeching. 

"What?! What?" 

"Sorry, I've just...never gone this fast." 

Adrian had been going at a steady forty miles per hour. "Never gone this fast? Have you ever been in a car?" 

"No." 

This shocked him. "Really?" 

"Yes." 

He could tell Lyra wasn't lying this time. What reason would she have to lie? 

"Where did you live that didn't have any cars?" 

Maybe she's Amish.

She said nothing. Something wasn't right. He didn't know what.

Adrian slowly eased down on the gas, trying to give Lyra a comfortable ride. She didn't protest, so he assumed she was fine. Normally he would have shot down the road at about seventy or eighty. Who followed the speed limit anyways? 

Five minutes passed. He would periodically look in the rear-view mirror to check on Lyra. Her face was glued to the window. An awkward silence filled the atmosphere. 

"So, your hair." 

"What about it?" 

"Why'd you dye it green?" 

"Dye it?" Lyra was aghast. "No way! This is all natural." 

"You're a little weirded out, aren't you?" Adrian asked wryly. 

She huffed, "No." 

Adrian settled into a comfortable pattern. The low hum of the engine filled the silence. 

"So, uh, Lyra." He glanced at the rear-view mirror. "I noticed you got quite an accent." Not quite British or Australian, but also not American. "Where are you from?" When she didn't answer he tried coaxing an answer out of her. "So what, some nudist colony?" 

To his surprise she replied without a beat, "You could say that." 

Adrian wasn't sure if she was trying to be deliberately vague. 

She doesn't wanna talk. Fine by me. 

"So does that mean you remember something?"

It took her a long time to answer. "No," Lyra finally said. "I don't."  

"Oh. Darn." 

"Yeah. Darn." 

She doesn't seem too bummed out just having lost her memories. I know I'd' be. 

She was outright dodging some of his questions. If Adrian was aware of this, he didn't voice it. He wasn't going to press the issue. In a few minutes she'd be out of his hands. Maybe he'd hand her five bucks and they'd part ways. 

"Do you," Lyra hesitated. "Do you believe me?" 

"Do I believe what?" 

"That I can't remember things." 

"Course I do." Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I?" He turned the steering wheel, easing his foot down on the brakes until the car stopped. "That's something you don't fake. Amnesia, I mean." He smirked. "I'll get you some help." 

A flat, "No." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes." She was gripping the door rather tightly. "I'm fine. I feel fine." 

"You didn't look fine last night. Last night you were about to freeze to death." It wasn't the best thing to say. 

She sniffed. "I have a cold. I'll be fine. I'm not hurt. No one hurt me either."

"Your knees." 

"Didn't you ever scrape your knee as a kid?" she shot back.  "Just take me to my place. Please?" 

"Alright. Alright." 

The tension settled. 

"That's a lot of carriages." 

"Cars?" 

"Right." 

"Yeah. We're on Broadway Street. Always packed." 

Lyra murmured, "There's so many people." 

"Welcome to the center of the world, Lyra," Adrian said dryly. "Capitol Hill." 

Located on a steep incline overlooking the rest of the city, Capitol Hill was essentially the Times Square of Seattle, a densely packed, urban, commercial district filled with shopping malls and cafes. 

"Really?" 

A beat. "No. No," he chuckled. "Not really." 

"Oh." Lyra seemed to deflate slightly. 

"But as far as I'm concerned, it is." 

She brightened. 





Upon pulling into the parking lot, the two found themselves being ushered out of the Honda by valets. Adrian handed one of them his keys and watched them drive it into the parking structure, pocketing his sunglasses. 

They leaned backwards to look up at the towering hotel. 

"Are you sure we're in the right place? You live here?" Adrian gawked. 

Lyra gave a shrug. 

They both walked inside into the lobby. She took a moment to watch the automatic doors slide open. Adrian approached the front desk. 

"How can I help you today?" 

Adrian looked at Lyra. She stayed behind, looking bashful. 

"My friend lives here, but she's lost her key." 

"Name?" 

"Lyra." He spelled it out for her. 

Adrian waited patiently for the woman to do her work. Lyra tugged at her collar nervously. 

"Ah, Miss Lyra." 

A look of relief washed over Lyra's features. 

"We have a replacement key card just in case of situations like these." The woman reached underneath the counter and presented it to Lyra. 

Her shaky hand grabbed it. The woman gave a pleasant nod. 

They handed the card to the bellhop, who sent them on their way through the elevator. The trip was long and rather claustrophobic for Lyra, who gave a little shudder as she clung onto the rails. 

The doors slid open with a chime, and Adrian's jaw hit the floor. 

"Jeez..." 

Lyra lived in an extravagant penthouse flat on the top floor of a luxury apartment building. It was incredibly spacious, with a unique design aesthetic and laminated wood floors and large glass windows that reached the ceiling encompassing the room granting the viewer a panoramic view of the skyline. Outside a sliding balcony window was a terrace with a jacuzzi. Abstract paintings, houseplants, and vases were everywhere.  There was a state-of-the-art kitchen and a circular glass kitchen table with a chandelier hanging above it and some chairs. A bookshelf filled with encyclopedias and such was adjacent to an L-shaped desk with comfortable leather office chair, an iMac and a MacBook Pro serving as her workstation. A glass display case filled with archaeological paraphernalia sat directly beneath an aquarium filled with exotic saltwater fish built into the wall. Mounted above a fireplace was an expensive flat-screen plasma television. Atop a transparent glass coffee table was an iPad tablet. A flight of glass stairs led to an upstairs landing with a low ceiling where there was a futon set out along with a nightstand and such things you would find in a girl's bedroom. 

"This place is enormous!" he remarked. "It looks like you just moved in," he noted. When she didn't say anything he went on, "All this stuff is new. Some of them still have tags on them." 

She ignored him, rummaging through some drawers, locating a towel. "Hey, I'm gonna go wash up," she told him in a sing-song voice. "Don't go anywhere, okay?" 

"Sure. Take your time." He smiled. 

His eyes fell slightly below her waistline as she sashayed away. Adrian quickly looked away, coughing, admiring the paintings on the wall. 

Adrian didn't know what to make of himself. He walked around for a bit, getting a feel for his surroundings. He circled the room, turning his head as he heard Lyra belt out a note with an amused smirk and a shake of the head. 

The glass display case had a human skull and a skeletal model of the human hand with labels on each joint and digit pointing out carpals, metacarpals, phalanges. The aquarium was empty. 

Same goes with the fridge.

Curious, he tore open her wardrobe, taking note of how little clothing she had. Her only articles of clothing were a striped teal tank top and a pair of yoga pants, along with a few undergarments in a drawer. Even her sneakers looked brand new. 

A quick sideways glance at the titles on her bookshelf revealed all of them having something to do with anthropology. Passing over them, Adrian began inspecting her drawers. All of them, empty, save for one with a map of Washington state and Seattle bundled up with a red Sharpie, of all things, and a booklet. A passport! And driver's license, to boot. 

He sure as hell wasn't letting her get behind the wheel any time soon. 

He opened the U.S. passport. And there she was, with photo identification as well. 


Surname
HARTSTEIN
Given Names
LYRA


So that was it? He turned the passport in his hands, studying it. It felt brand new. He ran his thumb across the stitching along the inside of the spine. It certainly seemed legit. 

He moved on to the map of Seattle, opening it. Perhaps there would be something that would indicate Lyra's purpose, a schedule, something—

A wad of bills fell to the floor, secured with a rubber band. He picked it up and unraveled it and began counting. A hundred hundred-dollar bills...

Ten grand!

He fanned the bills out, amazed and perturbed. Who on earth would carry that much money around? Five hundred, maybe a thousand, maybe two or even five thousand would be somewhat reasonable, but ten-thousand dollars? 

There had to be something else. Adrian pulled the drawer out completely. It felt heavy, and for some reason, incredibly shallow. His hand felt along the bottom of the drawer to see if he was missing anything. 

Wait a minute... 

He touched the bottom of the drawer again, feeling it give underneath, rocking slightly back and forth. 

There was a false bottom. That was a fact. 

Adrian's hands roamed around for a latch, or a switch of some sort. He ran his fingers along the underside of the drawer and felt a bump. 

A keyhole. 

Whatever it was, he wasn't getting inside. Another thing to add to the growing list of secrets Lyra was keeping. 

Adrian's eye was drawn to glimmer behind the desk. He crept down and reached under, finding an aluminum attaché case. He pulled it out and laid it flat, taking a breath, thumbing the clasps on a whim. 

Nothing. 

There was a combination, and unless Lyra happened to remember, he wasn't going to get inside any time soon. Like most people, Adrian expected to find the sort of thing normally found in briefcases; confidential government manilla files with redacted papers and expensive fountain pens and other business paraphernalia. Now he didn't even want to know. He was afraid of what he would find. 

The shower shut off. He slid the briefcase back. 

Adrian wasn't sure what was going on, but he didn't like it. Anybody with that much money was bound to be up to no good. His mind spun with all sorts of conspiracy theories, all of which involved Lyra being involved in some seedy business, each of his ideas becoming progressively more and more preposterous. 

What if she's a drug dealer? A terrorist? 

Or maybe she was just some rich girl studying at Seattle University for some degree. Her parents were probably loaded. That was it. No conspiracy theories, nothing like that. Girls liked to fool around. Did she really have amnesia? Or was she faking it? But what reason would she have to fake it? Even so, who carried ten grand around? 

Nothing seemed to add up. 

"Did you find anything?" Lyra asked from the doorway, her skin smooth and glistening with steam. She had a towel wrapped around her body. She walked over and bent over his shoulder. "What's all this stuff?" 

He stared. 

She pointed at herself. "Amnesiac, remember?" 

"You don't know what money is?" 

"Money? Is this a lot?" 

He blinked, holding up a wad. "Yes. This is a lot of money. By the way, why do you have all of this?" 

This time Lyra said nothing. He could hear the gears in her head turning. 

"I don't remember." 

He stood up sharply. "Here. This ring any bells?" Adrian handed her her passport. 

Lyra opened it and read. "Hartstein?" 

"Yes! Lyra Hartstein. That's your name, isn't it?" He pointed at her picture. "That's you, right?" He was trying to be patient with her, but it was trying to speak to a child. 

"So I'm...twenty years old?" 

Jeez, this is really bad. She doesn't even know how old she is, let alone what year!

"My name is Lyra Hartstein," she said aloud to nobody. "Hi, nice to meet you. Lyra, Lyra Hartstein." She was muttering under her breath as she studied her passport. 

Adrian decided it was a good time to see himself out. He grabbed his jacket and put it on. 

"Where are you going?" Lyra asked. 

He turned around. "I uh, well, I thought," Adrian stammered nervously, "since you're all settled in, I thought I might just, y' know, leave?" He jerked his thumb in the direction of the door. "Will...Will you be alright?"

Her eyes cast downward. "I'll manage," she said softly.  

All he had to do was walk through the door. That would have been the end of it. They'd never see each other again. He wouldn't have to get involved. Life would have gone on like it always had and he would have been none the wiser. 

Adrian felt guilty leaving her like this. "Hey, listen. How about I give you my number? Okay?" 

She brightened, nodding. "Okay." 

"You give me a call if you need any help, alright?" He scribbled down his number with a pen and pad. Lyra admired his penmanship. "That's my cell phone. Call me any time." He coughed. "So, uh, what are you gonna do now?" 

"Well, first thing's first," Lyra said as a matter-of-factly with a frown as she inspected her wardrobe. "It looks like I'm gonna need more clothes than this." 

Adrian blurted, "The mall." 

"Hmm?" 

"Oh, nothing, just thinking aloud, you know," Adrian said. "Mall's a good place to get some clothes." 

"How about we go there?" 

"Sure! I-I'd love to!" He tried not to sound too enthusiastic. "Perfect! I'm free all day!" 

"Yay!" Lyra winked. "But first let me change." 

"No problem. I'll..." His eyes bulged. He shut them tightly, turning away. 

She was stripping off her towel in front of him. 

"Y-You know what, I'll be in the lobby—"

"This'll only take a second," Lyra said, holding up a pair of panties, as if she was wondering what its purpose was meant for, before slipping into them. She held up another undergarment. "What's this?" 

He quickly peeked. 

"Lyra, that's a bra." 
> Hunted
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

After a brief explanation of what the "green paper" was, Adrian borrowed three Benjamins to go shopping with. Lyra agreed wholeheartedly, hooking her arm around his as they rode the elevator down. He awkwardly snaked his arm out from her reach. They arrived at the outdoor shopping center ten minutes later. 

They walked, side by side but not quite together, made apparent by how far they were standing apart. Not far enough to be just two strangers walking in the same direction to the lingerie section of the store. Just close enough to designate them as friends, or perhaps acquaintances, nothing more. Adrian was acutely aware of this, and he felt that it was some sort of silent agreement made between two people to respect each others' personal space. So he kept his distance, always compensating when Lyra would slowly start to drift closer to him. 

Lyra was like a kid at a candy store, running back and forth and pressing her nose up against windows, practically bouncing all over the place. 

"There's so many of them!" Lyra exclaimed. 

He wasn't sure what she meant. "Stores?" 

"And people!"

He cleared his throat. "So first thing's first, I guess." 

"Oh, right," Lyra said. "Clothes. So where do you go to get your clothes?" 

Adrian gave a small laugh. "J.C. Penney's and Kohl's. What kind of clothes do you like?" 

"I dunno," she said with a shrug. "I don't remember." 

"Right," he sighed. "Well, we've got plenty of cash. We could go for designer clothing." 

Lyra shook her head. 

"So some shirts and jeans, then?" 

She shrugged. "How about you pick?" she asked. The way she said it had a bit of a teasing lilt to her voice. 

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Adrian said nervously. 

"You've got a great sense of fashion!" Lyra grinned. "I think."

The likelihood of him using her as his personal Barbie doll to get her to wear skimpy, revealing clothing was increasing. It didn't help that she wasn't a big fan of wearing clothes and was a huge tease. 

She suddenly grabbed his hand, leading Adrian forward with a hop, skip, and jump. It would have been rude to yank away. He stared from behind, trailing slightly behind her. She truly was a touchy-feely sort of person, especially with her hands. 

They walked onward, their joined hands swinging back and forth. Or rather, Lyra's hand swung back and forth, and his hung limply by his side. Already his palms were beginning to sweat. Her hands were soft and smooth and warm. Her nails were trimmed and polished and her fingers were long and slender. His were a bit more bony, a bit more rough. It was strange, holding hands. 

He liked it. 

Just to see, he would experimentally squeeze her hand and would be surprised that she would respond and squeeze back. At first it had just been cupped palms, nothing major. It wasn't until Lyra suddenly interlaced her fingers between his then his heart begin to beat faster in his chest. The tips of her fingers would run across his knuckles, feeling the calluses of his hand with her thumb. 

Adrian turned his head and caught himself staring. Lyra beamed, a big grin stretching from ear to ear. For some reason her smiling made him want to smile.  

He held open the door (what a gentleman), and they entered the air-conditioned department store. Tinny lounge music played over the PA system. 

"Guess we should get the essentials," he said aloud, looking at Lyra. 

She nodded. "So where would that be?" 

"That way," he said, pointing at a sign that read: INTIMATES. 

Clearly forbidden territory. 

Lyra skipped a few steps before turning around. "Aren't you coming?" 

He choked back a laugh, rubbing his neck. "I'm a guy, Lyra, I-I can't be over there." 

"Oh, come on, it won't be so bad," Lyra giggled, dragging him over, dropping her tone and stretching out the last word. "You'll have me as an excuse!" 





Anyone who would have happened to pass by would have heard a loud peal of laughter from the changing rooms. A bang, the rattling of doors. Two pairs of feet tangling and untangling. 

"Lyra!" Adrian hissed, blushing furiously as he grappled with her in the cramped changing room. 

The squirming girl laughed as Adrian's fingers tickled her bare back as he struggled with trying to solve the Rubik's Cube known as the ever so elusive bra clasp. 

"I can't help it, it tickles!" 

Yes, indeed, it had been quite the conversation with the plump store employee trying to explain that his "girlfriend" needed a better fitting bra and some panties. And so, Lyra had been appropriately fitted with one that accentuated her figure. Of course, he had the good fortune to be the very one to assist her in putting one on. Somewhere along the way, they picked up various articles of clothing, which happened to include a sea green two-piece bikini that would be easier to describe as a piece of clothing meant to cover up as little as possible. Oh, and they grabbed some flip-flops for the beach. 

The bottoms were easy enough. The hard part was helping an amnesiac who could barely remember her name put on a bra while trying not to cop a feel for her boobs (which felt very firm, by the way). 

"There." 

Lyra pushed her breasts up and adjusted it, leaning forward. "How's this?" 

He wanted to say, "perfect", or, "stunning", or, "sexy". He wanted to tell her that she looked like Hollywood. 

Adrian gave her two thumbs up. 





Little did they know that someone stood less than ten feet away from the dressing room, leaning against the wall in a casual manner, listening in on their inane conversation. She ducked away behind a shelf as Lyra and the boy emerged, stalking after them. 

Who's he?

The two went about their little shopping spree around the department store, unaware of a third party eying them from afar with sharp hawkish eyes hidden behind a pair of knockoff Ray-Ban aviators. She was contemplating disposing of the boy right there, but thought against it for obvious reasons. How did she put it? "Inconspicuous", right. Blowing his brains out was anything but and blowing Lyra's cover was the last thing she wanted; she could not be distracted from her mission, for both of their sakes. 

The hunter crept forward, her boots thumping against the carpet as she hid behind a rack of clothes. There was no denying it. Green hair, gold eyes. 

It was Lyra. 





Adrian reached into his back pocket and opened his wallet, handing the cashier two hundred-dollar bills. He should have realized his mistake as the woman studied the two hundred-dollar bills with a discerning eye, tilting it and flipping it over. Adrian shifted his weight uneasily from left to right. He should have known that Benjamins were subject to plenty of scrutiny. Normal teenagers didn't carry that much money on them, unless they were dealing drugs or something of that nature. Not to mention the possibility of the money being counterfeit, or laundered. 

The cashier accepted the payment and handed him his change. 

"Have a nice day," Adrian murmured, briskly walking off with a handful of bags in the crook of his arm. 

Lyra exited the department store, wearing her new clothes. A teal tank top, white capris, and sneakers. In the bright sun, Adrian could finally see her golden irises in all of their glory. The way they simply stood out took his breath away. It also made light of the actual color of her hair, platinum blonde, with green streaks. 

Stunning.

She squinted at him, covering her eyes with her hand. 

"So, where to next?" he asked. 

"I don't know," Lyra answered, taking her place next to him yet again. 

He'd definitely gotten used to having her by his side. He welcomed it. But in the back of his mind, something held him back. She was teasing him. Flirting with him. Playing games. 

"You decide." 

"Well..." He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "Sunglasses?" 

Adrian tilted his Oakleys down and gave her a look. She returned it. 

Their voices were only loud enough to be heard between the both of them. They spoke at a low volume, a murmur almost, sometimes looking at each other and sometimes not, but aware that they were having a conversation. 

"So, tell me about yourself." 

Adrian looked ahead, not quite facing her. "Well," he said, drawing it out slowly, "what's there to tell?" 

"I saw some of those photos in your room. Are you a photographer?" 

"Amateur. It's a hobby," he said. 

"Seemed like a passion." 

"Journalism," he said. "Photography just happens to be a part of it that I like." He added, "I worked on my school newspaper. Liked it, going to college to study it." 

"So that's your special talent?" 

Adrian paused, never slowing his walk in the direction of the sunglasses shop. The outdoor shopping mall was sparsely populated that day.

Lyra cleared her throat. 

"Ah, special talent?" Adrian shrugged. "I can't tell if it's a talent. And it's not exactly special." 

"But you're going to make it your life's work." 

"Maybe. If I'm lucky." 

"So do you have a Cutie Mark?" 

"A what?" He thought for a bit. "Mark? Tattoo? You mean a tattoo, like the one on your back? No." 

He'd expected Lyra to be ashamed of him mentioning it aloud, but to his surprise, she nodded eagerly. "Uh-huh. It's a lyre." 

"I could tell. So do you remember something?" 

Lyra bit her lip and craned her head to look up at the sky. "I used to play something, I think." 

"Well, lyres aren't too common around here. I've seen a harp before, never a lyre." 

Lyra. Lyre. Coincidence?

"I think it's a harp," she quickly said.  

Her fingers are so smooth. Too smooth to have played a stringed instrument.

Lyra was an amnesiac, yet she seemed perfectly healthy. She still retained all of her mental faculties. She didn't have any problems in speech, and no signs of visible trauma. Was it still a good idea to take her to the hospital? And that nagging question in the back of his mind lingered: had she really lost her memories? 

She fell silent for a bit, looking around aimlessly. "So how do you know what you want to do in life?" 

The subject of these questions were making him uncomfortable. The future was always uncertain. 

"Well, I don't," Adrian admitted.

"You don't?" 

"I mean, I could be anything I want to be. I could find out that I don't really like journalism and pick a different major."

"Really?" 

"If I wanted to. Are you alright?" 

They stood in front of the sunglasses shop. He held open the door for her. 

Lyra grinned. "Why wouldn't I be?" 

"Do you need a doctor?" 

"I need a nice pair of shades," she giggled, strolling around the store. 

He began plucking some frames off of some racks. "How 'bout some Guccis? Or maybe..."





She entered the sunglasses shop, the bell ringing as the door swung shut. The lady running the store looked positively ecstatic at the prospect of actual customers and immediately rushed forward, blocking her from her boy. He was definitely getting suspicious, turning around frequently. 

"Hi! Welcome to Seattle Sunglasses! How can I help you?" 

It would be best to play along, to lull him into a false sense of security.

The woman plucked her fake-as-fuck aviators from her face, revealing her narrowed eyes. "Yeah," she said abrasively. "I just came in to ask about this one." 

At once the beaming manager began to explain to her how hers were, in fact, not authentic. The leather-clad woman wasn't paying attention, shifting back and forth on her boots, watching the boy out of the corner of her eye. 





Adrian turned back to Lyra, who was currently trying on a pair of comically large Dior shades. 

"Aviators?" he suggested. 

He placed them on her face and studied her face. 

"Does it look good?"

"It looks alright. What colors do you like?" 

"Green is nice, teal green." 

Of course. 

"Maybe white?" Adrian said, brushing back wispy strands of silvery hair behind her ear, putting on a pair of white retro Ray-Bans. 

"How does it look?" Lyra grinned. 

"Cute," he said, raising a hand. "We'll take 'em." 





They were leaving. She would let them walk away under the pretense of being a customer. The two made their purchase, shelling out some cash for a pair of shades, and waited patiently. 

"Gimme a pair of those ones, yeah. Gold frames, orange lenses." 

"Fantastic! I'll ring you right up." 

She sneaked a glance behind her. She was losing line of sight. 

"Make it quick." 





Their modest little shopping spree ended at about high noon at the mall, which was starting to become packed with bustling crowds. Now, they were getting back to the parking lot.

Lyra seemed to be full of questions, often pointing out and asking him how they worked. He tried his best to answer her, kicking himself every time he was about to treat her like she was stupid for not knowing how electricity worked. 

"So, it's like magic, right? Electricity?" 

Adrian blinked once, twice, raised an eyebrow. "Um, Lyra, magic doesn't exist." 

Lyra took this new information in with a slow nod. "Uh-huh. Hm." 

He looked at her worriedly. This was serious. He tried bringing up the topic of taking her to get some help several times, but each time Lyra just laughed it off, or changed the subject. 

They squinted in the sunlight. He covered his eyes with his hand, reaching for his sunglasses. It did not escape him that Lyra had copied him, hooking the temple of her shades in her shirt as well when she saw him do it. 

He opened the trunk and set down all of the bags, his arm a bit tired from holding all of them. In the driver's seat, he inserted the key and reached up to adjust the rear-view mirror and exited the parking lot. She angled her head towards the window and watched the world pass by her, silent. 

"You wanna listen to some music?" 

"In here?" 

"Sure." 

He turned on the radio. At once, the interior began to fill with music.

"What kind of music do you like?" 

"This," Lyra answered, bobbing her head slightly to the beat of the song. 

He kept his eye trained on the rear-view mirror. Minutes passed. His fingers tapped at the steering wheel. Lyra looked like she wanted to say something, and he cranked the volume down. 

"Yeah?" 

"Hmm? Nothing." 

He helped her get her things into her flat. The entire trip up the elevator he noticed how uneasy she was. Before he left for good, he spent fifteen minutes showing her how to call him, how to turn on her computer. Hopefully, it would all come back to her. 

"Wow, it's getting late," he said, checking his white wristwatch. It read: 7:45. He touched her shoulder. "I'll see you later, alright?" 

As he shoved his hands in his pockets and began to leave, calling the elevator. 

"Adrian?" He turned. Her hands were clasped in front of her and she lowered her head. "Thanks." 

He smiled. "Sure. No problem. I had a good time." 

"No, I mean, thank you," Lyra said, "for saving me."

He thought about saying something callous. Be humble, be modest. His mouth opened to say something trite, "No problem", or, "You'd have done the same for me", but stopped himself. 

What do you say to a person after rescuing them? There were no words.  

And she turned, facing him. Her arms were jutting out as if she was about to hug him, only she was hesitating. In the midst of trying to come up with the right words to say, she suddenly jumped forward and wrapped her arms around him and leaned her head against his narrow chest. 

A quick hug, he thought. Brief, maybe two seconds. The kind best friends gave each other. 

When he tried to pull away, he was surprised to find that she was still holding him. That was when he realized her head was on his chest, then his shoulder. He felt her warm breath on his neck, tickling him. Adrian was not tall by any means, but for some reason, Lyra's body just seemed to fit with his. He hugged her back, but not too tight, and made sure his hands were on her upper back. He didn't know how long they held each other. But there was that feeling of warmth as he encircled his arms around her, and for a moment, he felt emboldened, and nearly wanted to turn his head only slightly and brush his lips up against the cheek of a girl he met yesterday. 

He didn't.

Instead, he murmured, 

"Lyra, why were you out there?" 

Only then, as he realized what he was saying, it was too late. It was clear he'd overstepped his boundaries. Her eyes went glassy and she looked away. They separated. 

"I don't know." 

A lie, or a truth. Half-truth, perhaps. Lyra would tell him in due time, or whenever she felt like he, he supposed. 

"Lyra, just...promise me that you'll get some help if you need it. Please?"

She recited, "Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye." 

What?

She nodded, and waved as the elevator doors closed. 





Adrian stood naked in front of the mirror, standing up straight. He punched his abs, frowning slightly. The physique of a swimmer, maybe. A really lean, sleek swimmer, that is. A four-pack, not quite six. He flexed his arms, noting how pitiful his muscles were. It was strange, suddenly starting to care what he looked like, starting to care what kind of clothes he wore. He studied his face with a level of scrutiny never before devoted to his complexion, sifted through his closet for the right kind of clothes. 

He needed a haircut. A new pair of shoes. 

He stopped himself. Why? Why was he going through all of the trouble of making himself look presentable, attractive? Lyra, of course Lyra was the reason. But why? She was not beautiful. Beauty was reserved for the old of age and mature. She was pretty, petite, sexy. 

Her hair.

That was it. He had a thing for girls with short hair. It was the hair. 

Adrian splashed his face with water, scrubbing his face vigorously and looking at his reflection, rubbing the beginnings of a shadow on his jaw. She probably liked clean shaven men. 

She's an amnesiac.

Part of him wanted to slap himself in the face to bring him to reality. She was damaged goods. Perhaps "damaged" was the wrong word to use, but there was no denying there was something incredibly wrong. Either she really did lose or memories or she was playing around with him. Part of him had to take into consideration that amnesia wasn't a joke. It was very real, and it did happen to people. He couldn't imagine forgetting faces, places. To lose days, weeks, even years of your life. Lyra seemed to be taking it well. She seemed positive. 

Was that hug genuine? He felt so. 

He wet the blades of his cheap disposable razor and rubbed shaving cream all over his face, slowly running the razor down his face.

That feeling of warmth returned to his body again as he remembered the sensation of her arms around his torso, her hands holding his. That was it, wasn't it? She'd shown him affection. He hadn't asked for it, hadn't opened his arms for an invitation for a hug that would have resulted in a forced, awkward hug, hadn't grabbed her hand to try and make her hold his. She meant to give him a hug, meant to hold his hand. He gladly returned it. 

Secretly, he wanted it. 

Friends hold hands all the time. At least girls do. With guys, maybe.

He washed the blade and ran it down the other side of his face. 

Just a hug. Friends hug each other all the time.

But it was much more intimate than just a simple hug. She'd leaned against him. Let him hold her. Why? Why did she do that? Did she like him? 

I did rescue her off the streets.

Girls, he found out a long time ago, were a mystery. 

His phone vibrated. A text? 

"am i doing it rite?"

He laughed, and sent her a text back. 

"yea u even got the spelling down" 

He lay on the floor on his back, his arms behind his head and his face turning red as he did crunches, going until it burned. Burning was good. No pain, no gain. He'd never exercised before, but it wasn't too late to start. At the same time, he tried figuring out the things that made sense, the things he knew about her, compartmentalizing all the information he'd gleaned. She allegedly lost her memories. She had money, probably came from a wealthy family. 

Then came the questions. 

He fell back, his chest heaving. His abs ached and his spine was sore. He crawled into bed and flicked the light switch off.

In dreams, he saw her. 
> Being Human
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

She wondered what had become of her body. Her real one, that is. So much so that she even began to dream that she was back home, in her rightful place, in a body that she'd become familiar with, lived with her entire life. Of course, that dream ended once there was an annoying chirp on her ear. She reached blindly for her iPhone sitting on her nightstand, glaring at the screen.

Lyra's phone had been activated. There was a red blip on the screen, signalling her location. 

She sat up on her mattress in her apartment. A bottle of scotch and a glass with melting ice was set out on a coffee table next to an ashtray. The room was littered with cigarette butts that she'd flicked away. 

Yes, she had lost Lyra the moment they'd landed, and yes, she had been foolish enough to let her escape. This time, she would not let her get away. 

The entire process of wearing clothes was unfamiliar to her. Pulling on a white tank top took several tries as she slipped her arms into the wrong holes. She'd nearly fallen and cracked her head on the coffee table as she yanked her feet through her black jeans. Tying her shoes took ten minutes. 

She wasn't in any rush. Lyra wasn't going anywhere.

She grabbed her black motorcycle helmet with a tinted visor and climbed onto her Suzuki sport bike. Riding it had become second nature in a matter of minutes as she learned to keep her balance and switch gears. It was the closest she would get to that intoxicating sense of danger and excitement that was achieved soaring through the air. The engine was loud enough and had enough horsepower to get her where she needed to be, weaving through traffic. 

Imagine her surprise when she'd tracked her down to a department store, shopping for clothes with some boy. Lyra had gone off the radar for less than thirty-six hours and already she was making friends with a paranoiac who couldn't stop checking his six every five minutes. 

Midnight, darker than black. She cut the engine of her bike and coasted into his neighborhood, parking it across the street two houses down the road. There was his Accord in the driveway, and she could see him moving in the window, the light still on. His silhouette filled the frame of the window, and she ducked before realizing he wasn't looking at her. In a world that was so dreadfully foreign, hostile even, she could take solace in the night. Here, in the darkness, the shadows, she was safe, invisible to the naked eye of these pitiful humans. At the same time she reminded herself not to underestimate them. 

There was no point coming here besides figuring out where he lived. She contemplated storming in, guns blazing, deciding against it for practical reasons. A homicide was the last thing anyone needed. Humans had entire organizations devoted to investigating criminal activity. No doubt they would link it back to her and Lyra. 

She watched the house go dark across the street. 

A gentle breeze whipped through her hair and she blew an offending purple lock out of her face. She wrapped her leather jacket tighter around her body, the chilling sensation of steel pressing against her bare skin, reminding her what lay concealed under. She reached into her pocket and fished out her iPhone and dialed. Two rings later:

"Hello?" 

She growled, "It's me." Her voice was rough and her tone, aggressive. 

"Who?" 

"Don't play dumb. You know who it is."

Stunned silence. "I don't know what you're talking about. Who is this?" 

"You ran. Why did you run?" 

"Who are you?" 

"You stupid pony, why did you run?" she hissed. "We're in this together. I know where you live and I know where your boyfriend lives too." 

"Who?" 

"Don't be stupid, Lyra." With that, she delivered a final ultimatum before ending the call abruptly. "Do your job, or I'm coming for you." 

The entire neighborhood would soon be woken up by the sound of a motorcycle engine screaming down the street into the blackness. 





Lyra held the phone up against her ear, listening to the sound of the line cutting, and dropped her hand. She stood by the window, leaning her forehead against it and looking down at the streets and at the rest of Seattle. Her breath fogged it up, her breasts pressing against the cold glass as she stood naked. 

There was a crack of thunder in the distance. Seattle received plenty of rain year-round. Summer was an exception. The weather in this world was not perfect, not scheduled. There was a prediction for a cloudless night yet right before her eyes the sky contradicted her. It frightened her, excited her, how unpredictable this place was. There was no rhyme or reason to it. Rain streaked down her window. 

Pulling away with a sigh she stumbled across the room to her office chair. Walking on two feet had already taken some time and effort to get the hang of. Part of the reason why she wanted to hold Adrian's hand was so that she could stay balanced. 

Plus, he was cute. 

The glow of her iMac cast an eerie light on her face, numerous tabs and web pages opened to Wikipedia and such as she began taking in more and more knowledge of this new world. On her other screen there was another screen opened to a word processor. It'd taken her a bit of time to get the hang of using the keyboard. Already, two pages had been written, half-diary and half-research paper describing the environment, the people. She didn't mention Adrian. Several encyclopedias and a psychology textbook were open as well. 

This brave new world was something else. Not at all what she had expected, but she wasn't disappointed in the slightest. It was fantastic, with incredible, sentient creatures and technology that boggled her mind. 

She was in the process of trying to accumulate such knowledge. History was something that could be learned in due time, but technology played such a large role in this society that it was crucial she grasp it, the electricity that powered the lights, ran the entire world, combustion engines that powered their cars, plasma television screens, interactive communication devices. Popular culture would be next, and then social norms and psychology. The last two were crucial to her research. In fact, she'd learned her first lesson on the subject of nudity firsthand. Now it was just a matter of studying relationships. 

She played idly with her...iPhone, Adrian had called it? It was fascinating, how the touch of her fingertip to the glass would trigger a program. She'd already gotten the hang of the game called "Angry Birds" and had just sent a text to Adrian not less than an hour ago and was surprised when he actually replied back. 

Adrian Ross. The boy with the glasses. The boy with the messy hair and chocolate brown eyes. The boy who'd picked her off the streets and saved her life. Let her sleep in his bed, gave her clothes, gave her a ride. A faint blush rose to her face as she recalled that moment they held each other. Something compelled her to embrace him in her arms, to hold him tight. She'd felt him go stiff, felt him tense up as she held him until she felt him hug her back. It hadn't meant to last that long. Two seconds, tops. Any longer and it would have turned awkward. Instead, it took a turn for the more intimate. For that moment, there was nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat and his as she pressed her ear against his chest, listening to his breathing. Her head on his shoulder, her hair tickling his neck as they closed whatever distance there had been between them. 

She uncapped her fountain pen with a click, signing her name on a legal pad. Her earlier attempts at penmanship had been horrendous. A lifetime of not having hands would do that to you. For now, she'd settled on sharp flicks of the wrist, violent and lacking in polish. Adrian's handwriting, on the other hand, was smooth, elegant, with flourishes and loops and curves. He wrote at a slight angle, italicizing all his words. Besides trying to relearn the alphabet, she'd spent at least an hour tying her shoes until she got it just right. 

The intended reader of the document would use it to their benefit, no doubt. She dared not speak their name, not even think it. At the same time it was hard to reconcile their malevolent intentions and their generosity. After all, they had provided everything. All of this was the fruit of their labor, her luxurious Seattle penthouse flat, her money. 

Lyra gave a sidelong glance and pulled her drawer out, lifting the false bottom and emptying the contents onto her cluttered workspace. She sifted through the items: manilla folders containing cover IDs with passports and driver's licenses and prepaid ATM cards, and a burner phone. She reached down underneath her desk and hefted a briefcase, thumbing the clasps. They flicked open with a click, and she lifted the top, studying the contents with repulsion. 

She closed it and set it aside, out of sight, out of mind. 

In Europe she would be Lara Hartford, an American girl following U2 on their tour. In South America, she would be Laura Hernandes, a Brazilian-American visiting her relatives in São Paolo or Rio de Janiero, depending on her story. In Asia she would be Lang Huang, and in Russia she would be Lydia Herr. 

For this, she would be eternally grateful. For now, she was going to enjoy this new life, for what it was worth. It seemed that there was no eluding her old life. There was no love lost. 

She crawled upstairs, collapsing onto her bed. Lyra wrapped her arms around her body, running her hands over her smooth skin, hoping that this new life would not be cruelly taken from her. She'd made the deal with the wrong devil. 

And yet it felt so good, felt so right, being human. 





An entire day had passed since he'd taken Lyra shopping, taken her home. He didn't bother calling her the next day, assuming that she didn't want to be bothered, or didn't want to bother him. 

Light streamed through the blinds, catching him in the eye. Adrian was woken up by the faint sound of ringing in his ear. Why was he so tired? Right, he'd gone out last night with his friends. 

The discussion in the car had eventually veered toward Adrian and his current bachelor status, to which he quickly ended. Unfortunately, one of his buddies had spotted him holding hands at the mall the day before. He couldn't help but brag.

"Scale of one to ten, how hot is she?"

"Eleven," Adrian had answered without a beat.

"Bullshit. Ten is like, Megan Fox—"

"You're the only one who thinks she's still hot."

"Ten is like a porn star!"

"She's got an ass like one," Adrian had said with a grin. 

He later regretted his words. 

All in all, a good way to spend the night. In the long run, unimportant and a waste of time. The only thing on his mind the entire time was Lyra. 

Lyra, Lyra, Lyra. Lyra Hartstein. 

Her name just rolled off his tongue. It was a beautiful name, belonging to an equally beautiful person. It was unique, much like who she was. 

The ringing, however, stopped. He fell back down and turned over and buried himself deeper into his sheets. That is, until his alarm rang again. He slammed a hand down on what he thought to be the culprit, but found it was something else: his phone.

"H-Hello?" he asked groggily.

"Adrian?"

His eyes snapped open and he sat up. "Hey, Lyra! Good morning, morning."

"Are you okay?"

He'd been slurring. "Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, I-I, last night. I just went out last night with my buddies." 

He stood up, stumbling over to his medicine cabinet shirtless.

"Is this a bad time? You sound sick." She sounded genuinely concerned.

He took a moment to down two Advils. "Nah. I'm good. So, what's up?"

"Listen, I'm...going to be around for quite a bit."

"That's good," Adrian said.

"And I don't have a car."

Where is she going with this?

"Do you remember anything?" he suddenly asked.

"No," she said. "But anyways Adrian, like I was saying, I think the best way for me to, you know, get back my memories is remembering everything. I've been reading all those books, using the Internet..."

"Okay?"

"I was wondering, since you're a Seattleite...would you, maybe, take me around Seattle?"

"Take you around?"

"Sightseeing. Museums, landmarks, attractions, things like that?"

He kept quiet, letting it sink in. "Like a taxi driver?"

"Tour guide," Lyra laughed. "Until I get a car, at least."

"So that's it? Just drive you around and show you places?"

"A restaurant here or there too. I mean, I'm going to be keeping a little journal, taking pictures—"

He interrupted her. "Lyra, I don't know if this is such a good idea."

"I'll pay you five-hundred dollars!" she blurted suddenly.

Whoa. 

Her words stunned him. He choked, "F-Five hundred?"

"Up front!"

"Lyra, what is all this for? Tell me the truth."

"Research!" she chirped.

"Research?" He stood up and circled his room half-naked, wearing nothing but a pair of black slacks, rubbing his face.

"Humans." She rattled off a list like counting her fingers. "Their history, evolution, societies..."

"I thought you said you were trying to get your memories back," Adrian said lowly.

"I am! And what better way than to learn about the world around me? I'm bound to remember something," she said.

He considered her proposition. In a way, it made some sense. It was unorthodox, for sure, but there was some twisted form of logic that made it seem possible. Could you really get your memories back by triggering them?

"So, how about it?"

"I don't know."

"Pleaaase?"

"One second."

He looked around his dump of a room, locating his planner that he opened frequently and ran his life around. He flipped through the next three months. Blank, all of them, blank. No plans, nothing worth fussing about. These were his last three months of freedom before university. What better things did he have to do? Nothing. Unless his entire summer consisted of long nights and Mountain Dew, being around Lyra was infinitely more favorable.

"I..." He sighed. "Okay."

"You'll do it?"

"I will."

"You're game?"

Adrian heaved a sigh. This was going to be a mistake. "I'm game."

"Alright!" she cheered. "Yay!"

Adrian held the speaker away from his face with a cringe and brought it back. "So, when do we start?"

"Whenever you want!" He could hear the excitement in her bubbly voice.

"How about...I come pick you up at eleven?" He looked out his window. "We could go the beach."

"It's a date!"

"I—what?"

"Bye!" A pause. "How do you end a call again? Do you press the re—" Her voice cut off.

He couldn't keep a grin from spreading across his face. He silently cheered and pulled a fist pump. "A date!" 
> I Dreamed a Dream
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The call had ended from Lyra's end, but Adrian stayed on, unaware that their call was being tapped. 

Her phone was at her ear, sandwiched between her cheek and her shoulder, with a cigarette between her pursed lips, a trail of smoke floating up from the end. There was a slight chill that morning, a breeze coming form the window. She let the sun warm her bare back. She'd never worn clothes in her entire life, but here it was expected.  

He let out a cheer on his end before it ended. 

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. At least Lyra was doing as she was told. She couldn't help but think of the injustice of it all, having to be forced to tag along with her. What was the rationale behind it? Lyra wanted to be here, to be human. But she could see the twisted logic behind it. She was meant to be motivation. There was nothing stopping Lyra from ignoring her duty and living her new life as one of these hairless apes. The conditions had been set. Once Lyra finished her mission, she would be allowed to return to Equestria. And she most definitely wanted to go back. 

The disassembled components of a magnum sat on her table alongside a box of ammunition and a bottle of scotch. Her hands were stained with oil as she began reassembling the parts back together with painstaking, deliberate care. She racked the slide back, wiping it down with a cloth. 

The only question was why couldn't her kidnappers do it? Why'd they have to find her, in the wrong place at the wrong time? 

She held the gun up to her face, admiring the polished finish reflecting the sunlight. 

If Adrian got too close to the truth, she would have to get rid of him. 





Adrian nodded towards the cheery front desk woman, heading towards the elevator, his flip-flops slapping against the carpet with muted thuds. He wore a pair of cargo shorts (nobody in their right mind would want to see him in a Speedo) and a garishly loud Aloha shirt over a tank top. A red drawstring bag was slung over his shoulder, filled with two towels and sunscreen and around his neck, his favorite Nikon DLSR with compact lenses. 

He imagined the elevator doors opening in a dramatic fashion with Lyra standing there, ready to greet him. Instead, what he got was the sound of her soft voice emanating from the balcony. She stood outside, clad in nothing but her two-piece and a matching bikini wrap tied around her waist. His eyes fell below her waist, and it dawned upon him that he'd helped her purchase a bikini thong. Her hips wiggled slightly as she leaned forward, her long shapely legs crossed and her rear in clear view.

Adrian was positive she was doing it on purpose just to mess with him. 

She was not pitch-perfect, and her voice wasn't the sound of a chorus of angels. Regardless, he was quite taken by her singing, recognizing the song. 

"We could go see Les MisÃ©rables at 5th Avenue, if you'd like," he said with a grin, lifting his sunglasses. 

Lyra jumped. "Eep! I didn't hear you come in." 

"You have a beautiful voice." 

His words put a faint blush and a smile on her face. "Thanks." 

Adrian set his bag down, looking around the flat, his eyes widening when he looked at her workstation, nearly every inch covered by scattered papers, photographs, textbooks. There was the faint smell of coffee wafting through the air, the source a cup of Starbucks from across the street. 

"Doing some homework?" he joked, walking over, curious. 

Lyra suddenly jumped up in front of him, placing her hand on his chest. "Late night, catching up on some reading." She nodded, smiling cheekily. "Research. How was last night?" 

"The nightclub? Alright. Wish I had a dance partner." 

"Maybe we could go together next time. With your friends."

"How was last night?" he asked.  

By now he was too far away to see anything on her desk. She pushed him down into a seated position on her lounger, leaning forward so that he had a clear view of her cleavage.

"Went shopping for some food. Want anything to drink?" 

He declined. "So, what's the plan?"

"Plan?" She cocked her head. "I thought we were going to go to the beach." 

"For today, I mean. But for later."

"There is no plan." 

"No schedule? Nothing you want to see in particular?" Adrian frowned, listing the places on his fingers, the words spilling out of his mouth as it came to him. "We could go for the Space Needle first. Or maybe Seattle Art Museum, it's right here at Capitol Hill, a-and 5th Avenue! We could reserve tickets—" 

Lyra sauntered up to him, shushing him and placing her finger on his lips. "Shhh." She cocked her head, cupping his face with her hands, patting his cheek. "You look different today." She pinched his cheeks, leaning forward.

"I shaved," he mumbled.

"Your face is all shiny and smooth." 

"Sunscreen," Adrian mumbled. 

"Sunscreen?" 

"For the sun? Sunburns, all that?" 

"I guess that's what happens when you don't have a coat," Lyra said. 

He stared. "Sure. It's a bit hot for a coat today." 

She paused, frowning slightly, and laughed at her own "joke". 

"What?" 

"Oh, never mind." 

"I have some, if you need it." 

She tossed her hair, reaching behind her back and pulling the string of her bikini top. It fell to the floor, and she kicked it away. She covered her chest with an arm and turned. 

"Mind doing my back?" 





"So you're telling me you knew the entire time exactly what you were doing?" 

"No!" Lyra shrieked with laughter. "I promise, I didn't! I didn't know it was such a big deal!" 

"How could being naked not be such a big deal?" 

"You were such a gentleman that I didn't know." 

"You didn't wonder why I was acting so weird around you?" Adrian grinned. 

"Stop it!" 

He fell silent for a moment, but was unable to let go. "So you go home and do a Google search—"

"Adrian!" 

"—and you find out about nudity." 

"Oh, don't pretend you didn't like what you saw." 

The words clicked in his mind and his head snapped towards her, then back to the road. Then back to her. She smirked. He arched his eyebrows. 

Flirting, now? 

He had no idea how to flirt. "I dunno," Adrian shot back with a grin. "I might have to get a better look next time." He looked over. 

Lyra gave him an incredibly coy look, a playful smile tugging at her lips and her golden eyes half-lidded. Had he overstepped his boundaries? Did he go too far? 

She socked him on the arm. "You." 

"Ow." He grinned. "That hurt." 

"Baby." 

"You should kiss it and make it better," Adrian said. 

I'm getting good at this.

Lyra leaned over and gave him a peck on his arm. "Better?" 

He rolled his eyes. "Looks like we're almost there." 

As the car inched forward from the stoplight, there was the loud roar of an engine and a motorcycle cut them off, shooting forward down North West 54th. 

Adrian grumbled to himself, turning his head and pointing. "See the ocean?" 

"I can. It's...big." 

They pulled onto a narrow winding dirt path that led to a parking lot. He parked, and put his sunglasses on, squinting. Lyra copied him. She took her place by his side and he draped an arm around her shoulders, leading them to a good spot on the beach. 

"So...what's a boy like you doing hanging around a girl like me?" Lyra asked. 

"What kind of a question is that?" He thought a bit, not answering her for a good few feet before he spoke. "You're different." 

"And...that's a good thing." 

"I like different." 

They stepped onto the beach, feeling a breeze whip through their hair. Lyra dug her toes into the sand, wiggling them, holding her sandals in her hand as he draped his arm around her. 

"No, really." 

"I mean it. Honest." He heaved a sigh when she stared at him. "I think you're special."  

"You already said that." 

He watched several people play beach volleyball, running and diving to return the ball over a net. Some people on beach cruisers passed them by. High noon. The sun was at its peak. The two basked in its glory, spreading some towels close to the shore. In the distance was a mountain range, serving as a backdrop for the beach. Shimmering waves of azure water crashed onto the shore, white and foamy, the wind salty. 

At last, he finally answered her. "I mean you're...different from other girls." 

"Oh." She stumbled slightly, regaining her balance by grabbing onto his arm. "Is it the hair?" 

"No, well, sure. That." 

"You don't think it's weird?" 

He scoffed. "No.  Why would it be?" 

"Most people don't dye their hair green," Lyra mumbled.

"Most people," he said, "don't have eyes like yours." 

She smirked, gazing into his, lifting her shades. "What about them?" 

He smiled. "They're beautiful." 

"...Thank you." 

"They're like gold." He looked away. "Anyways. You're so easy to talk to. I dunno." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, I say dumb, awkward stuff. Wrong thing, wrong time. You know that." 

"No you don't!" 

"I know. But when I do, I know that you won't give me hard time about it 'cause you don't seem to mind." 

"It's 'cause I'm crazy, isn't it?" she grinned. 

He frowned, and gestured with his thumb and index finger. "Maybe just a little..."

Adrian received a nice playful slap for that one. 

"I never realized how hard it is to talk to a girl." 

"It is hard," Adrian chuckled. "It's like walking on eggshells in the middle of a minefield." 

For some reason this made her laugh. 

"Especially around a girl like you." 

She planted herself in front of him, hands on hips. "And what's that supposed to mean?" 

"Nothing." 

"No, no, what?" 

"I mean, well..." He trailed off. 

"Say it." 

"You're hot." 

Right then and there his words seemed to have a reaction. Her stance loosened and she went from being confrontational to being coy. She crossed her arms, leaning back slightly in a standoffish position, biting her lower lip from the side in that sort of sexy way that drove him wild. 

"Ohhh. So that's it." 

"What?" He shrugged. "What?" He huffed. "And what's a girl like you doing hanging around a guy like me?" 

"A guy like you? What?" 

He looked away. "Never mind." 

Lyra apologized, "I'm sorry. I'm asking too many questions." 

"No, no no!" He looked ahead, scoping the beach. "I'm...not much of a talker. I don't know what to say most of the time so I keep quiet. And I listen a lot." He added, "I like listening to you."

"That's really sweet." Lyra stopped, reaching into her bag for her Coolpix. "Ooh, hold on. I'm gonna take a picture." 

Adrian held up his Nikon. "I can take them for you." He crouched down and held it steady, snapping a shot of Lyra posing in front of the beach, the sun in the corner of the image and the blue ocean behind her. A second, a third, all different poses, different faces. 

"But you don't get to be in the picture," she said. 

He pulled her next to him, holding the camera backwards with the lenses facing down at them. They both smiled. Click. He showed her the screen. Both of their faces took up most of the image, their cheeks close. 

"Now I can." 

Lyra ventured forward, dipping a toe in the wet sand, shivering slightly. She yelped as the waves swept forward, submerging her ankles. 

"It's cold!" 

Adrian laughed. "You get used to it." He stripped off his Aloha shirt and ran in after her. "You know how to swim?" 

"I think," she called, up to her knees in the freezing waters. 

Lyra reached down and splashed him. 

"Gah! Cold!" 

She giggled. "Told you." 

Adrian lunged, catching her in a bear hug from behind. "Hah!" They both lost their balance, suddenly slipping and falling. "Lyra!" He reached around in the water, pulling her up from the shallow water. "Are you okay?" 

She splashed him, tossing her head, droplets of sparkling water flying through the air. "Now we're both wet," she pouted. 

"Your hair looks good wet." 

"EEK!" Lyra suddenly squealed and jumped into his arms. "Something wrapped around my leg!" 

Adrian set her down and reached in until his hand wrapped around it. "Seaweed. See?" 

A wave suddenly crashed into the both of them. Lyra squealed in delight, kicking her legs as she was suspended in the water for a moment. 

"Carry me back?" 

Adrian slipped his arm beneath her knees and hefted her up with a grunt. "Lyra, you're heavy!" 

She gasped in horror. "You did not just say that!" 

He nearly dropped her on the sand on the way back to their towels. They dried themselves off and laid back down, letting the sun warm them. 

"So, where are your parents?" 

"Right now? Somewhere in Paris. Vacation, you know?" He smirked. "A little celebration for finally getting my butt into college." 

"They're happy about you leaving?" 

"They're happy that I'm becoming independent." He rolled over onto his stomach. "My folks are good to me. Some parents would kick their kid out the second they turned eighteen." 

"Huh. That's interesting." 

Interesting?

"So you go to school for another four years?" 

"Well, usually. Some people take longer, depending on what they wanna do. Doctors need an extra ten years, I think." 

"Huh." She changed the subject. "Well I'd love to meet your parents." 

When pigs fly, he thought. 

"There are so many kinds of people here." 

He looked around. "There are all sorts of people in the world." 

"Some people have smaller eyes, bigger noses. Darker skin, lighter skin. Taller, shorter," Lyra said absentmindedly. 

"Good, bad, somewhere in the middle." 

"So what's the ideal?" 

Adrian raised an eyebrow. Quite the strange topic for discussion. 

"Ideal?" 

"Attractive. Appearance-wise."  

"Well," he started, "it varies from culture to culture. American society has a preference for certain things. And even then, it varies from person to person." 

"Like?" 

"Uh." He swallowed. "Well, for women, thin is considered attractive. For guys, broad shoulders, well built, square jaw. That sort of thing." 

"What else?" 

He kept his mouth shut. She nudged him. 

"I can't say," he said with a wry grin. 

"Why not?" 

"Too embarrassing." 

"C'mon, tell me," Lyra laughed. 

"No!" 

"Then I'll find someone else who'll tell me." 

He flushed, gesturing to her bosom and then, her hips. It took her a second to catch on. She pursed her lips. 

"Big?" 

"Big is good. Not too big, though. And um, wide." 

She pondered his words, and then asked, "Are mine big enough?" 

"Your what?" 

"You know," Lyra said, giving them a squeeze. 

"...You're killing me, Lyra," Adrian groaned, rolling over. "There's no way I'm going to answer that." 

She rolled over on top of him, pressing her chest against his back. "Tell me." 

"No," he mumbled, his eyes shut. 

"Tell me!" 

"No!" he groaned. "I can't!" 

"Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me!" She shook his shoulders.

He pushed himself up, Lyra falling backwards with a yelp. He ogled her body for a moment, with her permission. 

"All right, since you really wanna know..." He took a deep breath. "No." 

"What?!" Lyra exclaimed. "What's wrong with them?" 

He flinched, and scrambled away, hiding behind the safety of their beach towel. 

"T-There's nothing wrong. They're just not that...?" 

"Pick your words carefully, mister." Her scowl deepened.  

"I'm just saying you're a bit...flat?" Adrian admitted. "B-But I like flat! Really!" 

She let out a scandalous gasp. "And what about my butt?" 

God, kill me now.

"No, no, I'm not saying a word." 

Lyra lunged and wrapped her arms around his midsection, squishing her chest against his.  

He looked down. "What're you gonna do, hug me to death?" It didn't sound like a bad way to go. 

"I'm not gonna let go until you say." 

He leaned in suddenly and whispered, "Perfect." 

His answer surprised her. "Really?" 

"Yes. Absolutely perfect," he said meekly, his eyes screwed shut. 

He peeked. Lyra leaned back, crossing her arms with a knowing smile. His face burned, the heat rising to his face. She leaned over and ruffled his hair, their faces close, her minty breath in his ear as she whispered in the most sultry voice, 

"Wanna give it a squeeze?" 

Adrian's breath hitched. Was she serious? She wasn't serious, was she? He wanted to die, right there on the spot. He gave a weak gasp and rolled away. 

She squealed, content with having a good laugh at his expense. "Eeeee! Your face is red as a tomato! Look! Oh, your ears..." 

He huffed and looked away. He suddenly shuddered. "Ugh." 

"What?" 

Adrian pointed discreetly towards another beach goer. "Yoga pants." 

Lyra stared at the rotund woman. "What's wrong with her?" 

"You really shouldn't wear yoga pants if you weigh more than two-hundred pounds," he snickered. "Nobody wants to see that." 

He thought that Lyra would share a laugh with him. Instead, she remained silent, looking contemplative. 

Great, now you sound like a jerk. 

"What?" 

"Do you think I should wear yoga pants?" Lyra asked him earnestly. 

I hate these trick questions.

"...Yes." He kept a straight face before smiling and poking Lyra in the ribs. "So, what about me? How do I look?" 

She thought for a bit, biting her lip. "You're cute." 

"Cute?" He frowned, pouting, his arms crossed. "I'm not cute. I'm supposed to be handsome." 

Lyra giggled, poking him in his abs. "Nope. You're cute. I don't like handsome guys anyways." 

"Really?"

"They're not my type. Too gruff," she said, deepening her voice to a masculine tone, "too intimidating. Girls like sensitive, sweet boys."  

He smirked. "Doesn't seem like it." 

She leaned over and ruffled his hair and squeezed him.  "Don't worry. There are plenty of fish in the sea," she said, spreading her arms toward the ocean.

He didn't bother correcting her. 
> Let's Pretend It's Love
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Wanna get something to eat?" 

Lyra seemed satisfied, and nodded. "Sure." 

"There's a shack over there. I'll go get us something," he told her. 

"I'll come with you," she insisted. 

It was strange how he'd become accustomed to having Lyra by his side. He anticipated that she would hook her arm around his and reacted accordingly, keeping his arm loose and walking at a slow pace. 

What on earth was he really doing there in his tacky shirt and shorts? Right. Lyra had asked him to take her someplace nice, and he'd said yes. It dawned on him that he didn't know why as he began to consider the entire purpose of their expedition to the beach. Something about research, or memories? 

"You okay?" 

"Fine. Just thinking. Remember anything?" 

"Not really," she said, sounding a bit discouraged. "But I'm learning plenty." 

"About?" 

"You know, people. All about people." 

"Really." It was less of a question and more of a statement. 

"Yeah!" 

"Really?" he repeated. 

"I never realized how important looks matter," she stated. "And we all have to look a certain way if we want to be attractive." 

He wryly added, "Yeah, well, if you ever want to see humanity at its lowest, look no further." 

"How so?"

"The beach is the place where you can see how we judge, because we all have to take our clothes off and people get to see what we hide underneath," Adrian said. "Sort of, I mean. You know what I mean. We all have to meet some standard that's virtually unattainable." 

"Doesn't that bother you?" 

He shrugged. They stooped underneath the hut. "I guess. I guess not." He gave a small laugh, leaning forward to hand the man a dollar.  "I can't do anything about peoples' attitudes. I'm only human—excuse me, two please?" He received two Popsicles.

Lyra took one from him. "Thanks." She gave it a lick. "Mm, green apple. My favorite." 

"I guessed," he said, giving his cherry treat a lick. 

They started to walk back. It was about four o'clock. 

"It shouldn't matter how we look," Lyra said as she sat down. 

"It shouldn't. But it does."

"Do you judge people?" 

Adrian faced her, arching one eyebrow slightly. She seemed so...innocent, almost child-like in her perception of the world. Maybe it was the amnesia or memory loss. Part of him wanted to lie through his teeth, the other wanted to be honest. 

"Yes." 

"You do." 

"I do. I don't pretend not to," he said. "There's nothing worse than a hypocrite. You know. The ones that say that looks don't matter, and say that they don't have any prejudices at all. Looks do matter, and I might judge people in my head even before they even say a word to me." 

"But why?" 

He sighed. "I don't know. It's how it works. It's how you're raised, your experiences. And what about you?" 

"What?" 

"Do you judge?" 

"I think I forgot how to judge." 

He let out a laugh. 

"Don't you feel bad for thinking that way sometimes?" 

If her questions were bullets, they could pierce armor. 

"Sometimes. No one can stop you from thinking." He gave a lick. "People aren't perfect, you know." 

"I'm starting to realize it," she said quietly. 

He cleared his throat. "Your Popsicle." 

"Huh? Oh!" She began to lick at the juices on her hand. "Melting already?" 

"Better eat faster." 

Lyra took this to heart and began attacking the Popsicle with her tongue, giving long sensual licks and flicking her tongue around the tip, pursing her lips and swallowing some of it down her throat, sticky juices beginning to get on her face, dripping down and falling onto her chest as she gazed at him with wide, curious eyes—

Adrian slapped himself.  

What is wrong with you?

"What?" Lyra mumbled, half a green Popsicle sticking out of her mouth. 

He covered his face with his hand, unable to contain himself. 

She spat the treat out, her lips and tongue green. "What?" She began to laugh along with him. "What? What's so funny?" 

For those first few days he'd harbored a sort of crush on Lyra, never really asking himself why he liked her beyond her obvious physical appearance, though her "assets" would have sufficed. A relationship, a real relationship, couldn't be based purely on physical attraction, after all. It certainly did help, but now he was trying to think of the reasons why he liked her as a person.

Lyra was quirky, no doubt about it. A bit of an oddball at times. She laughed a lot and smiled tons. A bit ditzy, but she was intelligent, and...

She was nice to him. 

So what?

Lots of people were nice to him. 

Perhaps it was when he looked into her eyes, studied her face, her body language, he saw nothing but honesty. There was no deceit to be found. She didn't feel the need to hide some hidden agenda. Her motives behind the day spent there were...strange, but not malicious in any way. 

"I...dunno." He shook his head with a grin. "I'm trying to figure out what a girl like you is doing hanging around a guy like me." 

Adrian was not naive; he held no delusions of his physical appearance. She did say he was cute, but maybe she was just teasing. He racked his head, trying to think of the reasons why Lyra continued to hang around him. 

He was nice. Anybody could be nice. 

He was kind, sure. Most people wouldn't think to save someone off the streets. 

He was funny? He'd tried telling some jokes at the mall, ones that were, in hindsight, in poor taste. Lyra always laughed at his jokes, even when they weren't jokes. And when they were jokes, she still laugh even when he told the punchline wrong. 

He was smart? Again, debatable. And being smart didn't always mean you were attractive. Lyra didn't seem like the type to go for an airhead. 

And that hug. Not just a simple hug, but something more. It lasted much too long, and she was the one holding onto him, not the other way around. He had saved her. So maybe she felt as if she owed him? Or did she actually like him? 

His head was starting to hurt. 

"Why not? You're a great friend." 

He didn't show his disappointment. 

Just friends, huh. Well, at least that's settled.

Still, the potential was there. Friends first, girlfriend later. 

Take it slow.

"Adrian?" She cleared her throat. "Your Popiscle." 

Red sticky juices ran down his hand and arm. He grinned sheepishly. "Oops." 

Into the water, out of the water, rinse and repeat. They played in the water, making sure to thoroughly splash each other until the two of them emerged dripping and shivering and laughing until they wrapped themselves up in their towels. He showed her how to skip rocks across the surface of the water, and how to swim. On the shore Lyra spent some time combing the wet sand for shells or rocks or anything that caught her eye. They took a nice long walk along the shore as he pointed out kites and seagulls, and they wrote each others' names in the wet sand. He drew a big heart around them for fun. 

Night approached. The sun, now an orange disc in the sky, was beginning to dip below the mountains across the ocean. It cast a rather haunting glow across Lyra's features as they watched the sun set. There were several loud hollers and music began to play. A certain song began to play, worthy of a cringe. 


Let's go, crazy crazy crazy 'til we see the sun!


"A party!" Lyra jumped to her feet, bouncing around. "C'mon, let's go dance!" 


I know we only met but let's pretend it's love!


He resisted as she began to drag him to his feet. "Ahaha, I-I'm not much of a dancer, Lyra..." 

One Direction? Really?

A rather large crowd of people, some young and some old, had gathered, and people began to dance in all forms. Elderly couples held hands and swayed back and forth. Teenagers flailed their limbs haphazardly, and some grinded. Children jumped around, unsure of how to join in but still wanting to be a part of it all. Lyra seemed to meld into the crowd as she danced, much, much better than he ever could. She took no particular style and had no form whatsoever, just copying whoever was around her. He reluctantly moved his shoulders, put his hands up in the air like he just didn't care even though he did. 


And never never never stop for anyone!


Lyra had caught onto the lyrics of the song by the second verse, and sang along with everyone else. Adrian too had joined in, no longer self-conscious about his dancing. It was no wonder his friends seemed like they didn't have a care in the world when they went to Homecoming with their dates. They danced like fools, there was no doubt. But now, he truly understood what it was like to have a dance partner. With them, you had all the confidence in the world, and the only person that really mattered was them. It didn't matter whether it was a rave or a nightclub or a formal dance. 


Tonight let's get some, and


"Live while we're young!" 

So Adrian danced. The people around him didn't matter. Nothing mattered, except the girl of his dreams right before his eyes. 





The dead of night. Empty streets, flickering street lamps and neon signs reflecting off the wet road and a fine mist on his windshield. Soft piano music played on the Honda's radio. A storm was due tomorrow and it seemed that it had come early to crash their little beach party at around eleven. Lyra wrapped her beach towel tighter around her body, shivering slightly. Adrian didn't have to be told to turn on the heat. Despite the fact that he could have recklessly shot down the road at eighty, he cruised along at a safe speed, using his turn signal and making complete stops to give Lyra a comfortable ride. It was amazing, how it took the affections of one girl to make him accommodate. 

Adrian pulled into the lot of the high rise and like a gentleman, opened the door for Lyra and shielded her from the rain as they both scrambled inside. She wrapped the towel around her like a blanket. The ride up to the penthouse seemed like an eternity as they both stood in silence, unsure of what to say to each other. No words had been spoken; were they really necessary? 

Lyra gave a sneeze as they entered her flat. 

"You should dry your hair. Don't wanna get sick," he said with a smile.  

Lyra took his advice, and went into the bathroom. Seconds later he heard the sound of her hair dryer blowing. He scrambled toward her desk, searching for her passport. Upon finding it, he immediately whipped out his phone and began to take as much pictures as he could. He had to work fast. 

The hair dryer stopped, and he hid the phone and put the passport back in its place. 

She emerged seconds later, her hair a bit messy. "Thanks for taking me out today." 

Sure, he felt like a cold was coming on and he had sand between his fingernails and toes and in all sorts of places sand wasn't supposed to be, but it was worth it. 

"No problem. I had a great time." 

She leaned in and gave him a hug. He gladly returned it, feeling the dampness of her bikini seep through his shirt. His heart raced slightly. The entire ride home had been spent in silence. Lyra was beat, tired from cheering and dancing, and was content to listen to the radio croon. He'd thought about all the ways he could do it. 

Now. Kiss her now.

He considered just swooping in. He thought about doing it like the movies. Just one, right on her cheek. All he had to do was turn his head and brush his lips there. Not even a kiss. It was a peck. Even less than a peck. He could do that, couldn't he? 

Do it, you wimp.

"Bye!" He waved as the elevator doors shut. 

He wanted to. He really did. 





His hair still damp, Adrian sat down in his chair and opened his laptop, attaching a USB cable running from his Nikon to the computer. Much like his room, his desktop was cluttered with various files and programs. His mouse clicked twice and he copied the images in a folder. 

He'd taken a snapshot of Lyra's passport, and now, he had a good look. 


Surname
HARTSTEIN
Given Names
LYRA
Nationality
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
Date of Birth
1 March 1994
Place of Birth
WASHINGTON, U.S.A.


"Born in Washington..." 

He printed the images out in color and put them inside a portfolio. He went online and did a Google search for the process to look for birth certificates. 

Something continued to bother him: Lyra's identity. Her passport was simply too brand new to be issued nearly a decade before. His passport's stitching was starting to fall apart, and the pages were yellow. Lyra's, issued around the same time his was, looked like it had come right off the press. It was just a hinting suspicion, but the journalist in him told him that he should investigate. Plus, he would be able to track down Lyra's parents. 

Sets of pushups, sets of curl ups until two in the morning. Every time he wanted to stop, he kicked himself to keep going. The pain was worth it. The end result was worth the effort. 

He went to bed sore. 





Lyra sat slouched on her couch, idly flipping through the channels on her TV. She balanced her iPad on her lap as she browsed the cornucopia of information to be found on Google and Wikipedia. Her coffee table had an open psychology textbook and an encyclopedia. Humans had all the information in the world at their fingertips, or even just a short walk to the library away. Volumes of encyclopedias and textbooks had more than enough information to satisfy their needs. 

So why am I here?

Yes. Why was she the one here? Why couldn't they just do it themselves? Why was she the one having the condense it all into some sort of university research paper? 

Of course, she was thankful for this opportunity. This was her dream. She knew there was some sort of caveat. Call it a hunch. 

Lyra pushed those thoughts out of her mind, and began reading up on gender roles, and found herself absorbed in what seemed to be polar opposites with her home. 

Here, it seemed that men typically dominated. The stereotypical roles of males were to be the breadwinner of the household, while the females remained at home and cooked and cleaned and tended to the children. Efforts to acquire women's rights were a battle for equality, and only recently had there been advancements. 

Nudity, at least in the United States of America, seemed to be a taboo. In other countries such as those in Europe, which were much more liberal in some aspects, a topless woman taking a stroll was barely spared a glance. 

Social norms, as they called it, had their place in America. 

For example, the foreign concept of personal space. There was a time and a place for certain distances of comfort. In a musical concert it was acceptable to be nearly brushing up against another person, while waiting in line or walking on the street, it was not. A simple nuzzle that she thought was normal was considered intimate. Holding hands was reserved for couples and female acquaintances. It boggled her mind. 

Human psychology, she found, was especially fascinating. Their minds worked in mysterious ways that psychologists still struggled to understand. At the same time, ponies and humans shared many things. She had started with development from conception to birth. She studied Piaget and Kohlberg and Erickson and delved into theories of human behavior. 

Lyra flipped through the pages, finding herself uninterested. While it was interesting enough, the part she needed was to be found in another chapter. 


RELATIONSHIPS AND LOVE


This part was the most crucial in her research. 

> Digging Deeper
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

At one point or another as he went about his morning routine Adrian realized that he'd forgotten that Lyra had promised him five-hundred dollars, "up front", as she said. Bringing money into a relationship, any kind of relationship whether it was between friends or lovers, was inadvisable. He wasn't strapped for cash. A little more spending money would be nice, but he wasn't broke. He wasn't a cheapskate, but he wasn't ready to start spending money on a girl. Did she even like him? Would she reciprocate his affections if he made them apparent? 

One week had passed since he'd met Lyra on that fateful Tuesday summer night, and two little "dates" had taken place, he liked to think. One on Wednesday when they'd gone to the mall, and one on Thursday at the beach. 

Not that anyone was counting. 

Already one week of summer?

It had been three days since they'd gone to the beach together. Naturally people needed some time alone. He'd only texted her several times. 

Friday he spent at home, a bit tired from the events that had transpired in the past few days, and was rather lazy. He curled up with a laptop with earbuds jammed in his ears. Facebook, forums, Reddit, the norm. His hand eventually fell upon his phone. 

"hi" 

Those two infernal characters had been entered on his screen, his thumb hovering just above the SEND button. What if she didn't want to be bothered? What if she was doing something important? He bit the bullet. 

The response was almost instantaneous. 

"ohai :D" 

"whats up?" 

"miss u" 

He'd read and reread that text over and over, trying to decipher its hidden message. 

"<3" 

A heart. Girls liked hearts. Hearts and smiley faces, no biggie, right? 

His hands trembled as he shot her a text back. 

"miss u too" 

And that was the end of their little conversation. 

Saturday he'd gone to see a movie with his close friends. While waiting in line at the theater Adrian had checked his phone. It was snatched out of his hands. 

"What the hell, man." 

He reached to grab it back and found it just out of reach. The image displayed was when he and Lyra had gone to beach and he'd taken a picture of the two of them together. 

"Ooh, who's this?" 

Whose bright idea was it to set that as my wallpaper? Oh, right, me. 

Adrian grabbed his phone back. "Lay off." 

Still, his friends heckled him for a bit. He wasn't going to hear the end of it. 

Sunday he'd gone to the park with his camera alone on a gloomy day, trying to snap a shot of a delicate leaf floating on a pond and some ducks.

It was a bit lonely, but it gave him time to think. So far he'd learned nothing of Lyra's past, and only some of her quirks, more or less. Lyra liked to jump and skip. She bit her lip a lot and would sometimes brush her bangs behind her ear, even if they weren't in her face. She smiled big and seemed to play with her hands a lot. Maybe it was shyness. She would sort of stand with her hands together in front of her and twist about anxiously. She knew little about him as well. She knew his parents were on vacation. She knew he liked photography, and was going to attend Washington University in three months to major in Journalism. And...that was about it, he supposed. 

Friends first.

Lyra was a friend. She clearly liked him as a friend as well. The hugs, well, they were nice. He didn't mind hugs. The kiss could wait. It had to be special. 

Monday morning. 

Adrian sat at his desk, a towel around his shoulders as he studied the photos. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, crumpling up the pictures taken at the beach. 

Lyra probably thought he was crazy after the day at the beach. Seattle was a big city, but it wasn't like seeing someone a few times meant they were following you. Besides, he didn't have time to be chasing after made-up stalkers and ghosts. There was a much more immediate, pressing issue of Lyra's amnesia. She seemed to have no intention of seeking treatment, or contacting someone who knew her. In fact, she didn't seem to even care. He had a hunch that Lyra wouldn't appreciate him going behind her back and prying into her life. He'd planned the entire thing out in his head last night. He was going to figure out who Lyra was, and where her parents were, and swoop in the save the day. He was going to help her get her memories back and she would fall in love with him and they'd go frolicking into the sunset. Or something like that. 

Where to start?

Lyra was suffering from dissociative amnesia, according to a Google search. He wasn't a doctor or a premed, and had no way of confirming if his "diagnosis" was correct. It seemed to line up with what Lyra seemed to have. She clearly couldn't remember important personal information and events or people in her life (though the part about forgetting basic things like cars and electricity was something else), and he could take a guess that it was triggered by some sort of trauma. 

Keep your eye on the ball.

The goal was to get Lyra's memories back. Step one? Figure out why she had amnesia. The only problem was Lyra wasn't talking. 

Step two, get her help. Again, no dice, because Lyra wasn't going to the hospital unless he knocked her out and drove her there himself. He couldn't force her to check into a hospital, even if it was the best thing for her and it seemed that there was no convincing her. 

Step three? Speak to loved ones, i.e. parents, friends, acquaintances. No friends, aside from him. Lyra's parents were his lifeline. They were the only people in the world who knew who their daughter was. 

He opened his notebook. The last time he had opened it was two months ago, with four years' worth of doodles and barely legible chicken scratch for the student newspaper. There were a multitude of ways to go about searching for Lyra's parents. Using her phone number, he contacted AT&T under the premise of trying to figure out who paid for her monthly cell service. 

PHONE COMPANY:private info.

Zilch. Private information. Unless he had a copy of Lyra's phone bill on hand...

SOCIAL SECURITY
BANK STATEMENTS

There was also no point in trying to get Lyra's Social Security number, or her bank records, or anything else, because he didn't have them and they probably didn't exist, which left him with few options. 

There.

BIRTH CERTIFICATE 

He circled the words. The entire purpose of his little excursion to King County Recorder's Office was to find Lyra's birth certificate. At the very least, he was pretending to know what he was doing. 

Step four: treatment. He didn't even know where to begin with medication. Taking Lyra around Seattle seemed to be doing something. It seemed as if Lyra was playing a game of darts, hoping that something would stick and trigger a memory. Memories could be triggered and was scientifically possible. 

Adrian began putting on a pair of black jeans and white V-neck when his Galaxy alerted him as he added the suit jacket, and he swiped the screen to answer a Skype video call. Lyra's face greeted him on screen. Her hair was messy, like she'd just woken up. She was wearing a white tank top, and from the looks of it, on her bed. 

"Morning!" she sang. 

"Hey Lyra." He waved and smiled back, combing his fingers through his messy brown hair to make him look presentable. "How's it going?"

"No-thin' much," Lyra said, clucking her tongue. "Adrian, you rushed out so quick last night I forgot to give you something." 

He sat down, lying back on his bed. "You don't have to pay me, you know." 

"But I want to." 

"You don't have t—" 

"Adrian!" Lyra whined, rolling her eyes. "Just take it."  

He sighed. "Al...Alright. I'll come get it later." 

“Where you going?" 

"Huh?" 

"You look all dressed up." 

Truthfully? Behind your back.

However, he didn't have time to answer, because Lyra cut in. "Are you going to see your girlfriend?" she teased. 

He laughed. "I don't have a girlfriend." 

"Awwww." 

He frowned. "'Aw'? What's that supposed to mean?" 

Lyra pretended to trace a tear sliding down her cheek. "So does that mean you're...single?" She made it sound tragic. 

"Um, yes? Not having a girlfriend kind of makes me single. Why?" 

"Just checking!" 

Adrian's heart soared. Was this it? Was she going to ask him to be hers? Doing it over Skype wasn't exactly ideal, but...

"Wanted to make sure your barn door didn't swing the other way." 

"...What?" 

"So anyways, I guess you're busy soooo I'll call you later, bye!" she blurted. 

The Skype call ended.  

"Did she just call me gay?" He sighed. "Why do girls have to be so confusing?" 





Lyra crossed her ankles, uncrossed them, and crossed them again. She giggled, clutching the tablet. The picture of the two of them at the beach was her wallpaper. 

She sighed, leaning back. Oh, it had been somewhat strange. She'd seen the desire in his eyes, felt his hesitation last night. Her heart fluttered slightly as he hugged her, and she felt his breath tickle her ear. She'd anticipated the moment his lips would press against her cheek. 

But it never came. 

"But alas!" Lyra cried rather dramatically. She pouted and pretended to poke Adrian right on the nose on her screen. "You are a challenge, Mister Ross. Heehee, I like that." 

She had been confused. Almost...disappointed? Maybe she'd missed a section in that chapter about human relationships. But they didn't give any advice! Just scientific evidence, statistics! She tried to think of why she liked him. Adrian Ross was her knight in shining armor. He'd saved her. 

"That's one thing." 

And he was very polite. A gentleman, really, to the point where it was easy enough to get him to blush by showing a bit of leg. He was a great listener, and intelligent. And he was funny! 

What if he didn't like her back? 

Lyra had done a bit of reading on attraction. Apparently what made men attractive, at least physically was muscle and height and other strange things like hair and skin color and body odor. Adrian was tall, but not very muscular at all, and a bit pale too. His hair was a bit messy, but he was clean shaven. 

She sighed. "Why do boys have to be so confusing?" 





One week and she was already bored out of her mind. Periods of inactivity made her sluggish. To cope she found herself actually going out at night to seedy bars and nightclubs. Something to take her mind off the job. She found herself a bit homesick. 

She wrapped her leather jacket tighter around her body, taking a drag and blowing a cloud of smoke from out between her lips. She ran her tongue over her snakebite lip piercings, squinting in the morning sunlight. 

A low, sexy female voice crooned on the other end,  "Tell me, how do you like Seattle?" 

She paused. "I hate it. It's fucked." 

The husky caller sounded unapologetic. "That's a shame. How is my little anthropologist doing?" 

"Anthro-what?" 

The voice on the other end let out a low sigh. "Lyra." 

"Oh. The stupid pony." She took a drag. "Why does she get nice digs and I'm stuck here?" 

"You have a hundred thousand at your disposal and weapons, she gets a fraction. Find yourself a better nest if you wish," she hissed. 

"Maybe I will. Listen, we gotta talk." 

"Oh? I didn't realize you were in charge."  

"You said this deal was bulletproof. Babysitting Lyra until she got the intel you wanted." 

"And it is. It won't take long at all, I promise." 

She snuffed out the cigarette beneath her boot. "I'm not stupid. How do you know Lyra won't take her sweet time? I could be stranded here for years." 

"Then persuade her to work a little faster. You're her handler. Do your job. What is the issue?" 

She sighed and went inside, slamming the door shut. "I've got a brat watching out for her." 

"Who, Lyra? She's made contact?" 

"How the hell did you expect her to learn anything from these monkeys? He's in love with her." 

"Is he a problem?" 

"I'm not sure." 

"Well then, take care of him." 

She growled. "I might. I think he's helping her, though. The last thing we need is some dweeb screwin' things up for us. And another thing, why the hell are we here instead of you? Can't you send one of your lackeys to do the job?"  

"Perish the thought. It would be like throwing a defenseless foal into the Everfree." 

"You didn't mind sacrificing one of your own to set this whole thing up," she remarked humorlessly. "The penthouse, this shitty apartment, laundered currency, weapons." She whistled. "You didn't take any shortcuts for this one." 

"It was a necessary sacrifice. Away from Mommy," she said the last word indulgently, "my children will not last. I could have just sent you..." She let out a throaty laugh. "But you're about as sociable as a manticore, which would be...counterproductive, yes? And unlike him, you two are disposable."

"How the hell are you even making this call—" 

The call ended. She chalked it up to some hocus-pocus magic, and did nothing. There was nothing to do. This time, she wouldn't mess things up. She couldn't afford it. 

"I hate this place." 





"What do you mean she isn't in the database?" 

King County Recorder's Office was about as much as anybody would expect from a government building. There were plain white walls and floors with patterned red-and-blue tiles arranged in squares, a queue area with railings to herd people into a line and a few chairs set out. The place was noisy, filled with idle chatter and telephones ringing and fingers clacking noisily on keyboards that altogether it came to a loud roar inside the cramped office space. For some inexplicable reason, upon this Monday morning at least a good fifty people decided that they needed to request some sort of official certificate or record. And it just so happened that the air conditioning was broken. He'd waited in line for an hour sweating bullets. 

"Honey, there ain't nobody named Lyra Hartstein born in Washington." The woman chewed her gum with an open mouth. 

Adrian tugged impatiently at the collar of his shirt. "Could you check again?" 

"You know there gon' be an additional fee—" 

"Just check again, please?" he snapped, wincing as she cracked her gum and once again, did a search. 

He'd stepped forward and provided the necessary information from Lyra's passport and a service fee of twenty dollars. He reached into his wallet and slapped down another eight, grumbling to himself. 

The sassy woman spat out her piece of gum and put in another one. "I already told ya, there's no Lyra Hartstein, sugar." 

"Let me see the screen," Adrian demanded. 

She turned her monitor towards him. The listings were blank. 

What the hell.

"Then search the other ones. Other states." 

"Honey this place is for King County. And besides, unless you got the funds to pay for all that..." 

"Forget it." 

He left the bustling office, hands shoved in his jeans pockets and the lapels of his suit jacket drawn back, his mind in turmoil. 

Lyra doesn't have a birth certificate.

This fact repeated itself several times as he tried to wrap his head around it. Lyra had no birth certificate. There was no record of a Lyra Hartstein ever existing. Maybe there had been a mistake. Maybe some files had gotten lost. Or maybe, there was something very, very wrong with the entire situation. 

Adrian slammed the car door shut. He held in his hands proof that Lyra Hartstein existed. And yet official documentation said otherwise. Was the passport forged? Impossible. The stamping, the watermarks were all legitimate. 

Right? 

He muttered under his breath and scratched out a line in his notebook. The last time he had opened it was two months ago, with four years' worth of doodles and barely legible chicken scratch for the student newspaper. 

BIRTH CERTIFICATE
DRIVER'S LICENSE

Besides, where would Lyra get the resources to be able to forge a passport? There had to be a reasonable explanation for all of it. He considered just asking her why she didn't have a birth certificate, but he likely to get, "I don't know", or, "I don't remember", as an answer. 

Maybe her driver's license

Lyra had a driver's license but no car? Odd, but everything about Lyra was odd. But then again, with a little bit of research, it was possible that Lyra had lost procedural memories, memories for the performance of certain actions. Case in point, driving, or walking. 

He suddenly had an idea. A terrible, terrible idea. 

Adrian dialed in her number. A pause. 

"Hey, Lyra. Mind if I swing by?" 





"You want me to do what?" 

Adrian popped the tab on the can of Coke Lyra had offered him, taking a nice, long swig to prepare his next words. Despite letting her know that he was on his way, she hadn't taken the time to dress herself appropriately; that is, in something other than a tank top and panties. 

"I want to show you how to drive." 

To his surprise, Lyra agreed. "I can't always have you chauffeuring me around like some taxi," she reasoned.

He nodded, standing up. "How is it?" he asked quietly. "Your memories." 

Lyra took some time before answering him with a cautious, "Fine." 

He walked over to her desk. It was still a mess. Thick packets of printed articles from the Internet filled her desk, with notes scribbled down in the margins or certain key words and phrases highlighted and underlined, mostly pertaining to society. He flipped through some of the pages. 

"Is this your...research?" 

"Yeah." 

"...Is it helping?" 

"Yes," Lyra said. "It is. It's confusing, but I think I can handle myself now." She frowned. "You know, you don't have to worry about me. I'm okay, really." 

He nodded. "I know. But I guess I still worry." He faced her. "I wanna help you." 

"You don't have to do that." 

"But I want to. I was thinking, we could maybe even go to the DMV." He held up her license. "They could have some information we could use. And if we would could find your birth certificate..." 

She let out a groan. "Adrian, no!" Lyra snatched her card from his hands. "Why do you care so much? Why can't you let this go?" 

Why did he care so much? 

"Because you're my friend." 

Or maybe he was in love. She was a mystery. She was a puzzle that could be solved. 

"What if your friend doesn't want your help?" 

"I-I don't know. It's just me. I mean. Agh, I dunno." Adrian slumped a little.  "I don't try to be some hero, you know? I'm not that guy who tries to...be all in the spotlight. It's not like I go out thinking I'm gonna stop a bank robbery or something stupid like that. But at least I can help someone in need." 

"Why?" 

"How I was raised, I guess." 

"No." She shook her head. "It's something else. What did you think of when you saw me laying in the street?" 

Dead silence. Well, that, and the sound of the aquarium running. The creak of the floorboards as he leaned back. The idle hum of her computer. 

He stammered, "I-I don't know—"

"Yes you do. Why did you do it?" Lyra asked, striding up to him until they were face to face, nose to nose. She had to stand on her tip-toes to meet his gaze. "I could have been some convict who just escaped from prison. I could have been a desperate beggar who would've done anything to get the five bucks in your pocket."  

He was silent for a long time, choosing his words carefully before launching into his speech. "1964, Queens. Kitty Genovese—just some New Yorker—gets stabbed in her apartment." He spared Lyra the gruesome details. "Your neighbor is getting stabbed. What do you do?" 

"I-I guess I'd try to help them. Call the police, maybe try and save her." 

"But what if you'd get hurt trying to help them?" 

Lyra thought for a moment. "I'd still try." 

"Most people wouldn't," he said. "In fact, most people would look away. Thirty-eight of her neighbors did. New York City, population of seven million people and nobody cares. Because somebody else will do it because they don't want to get involved." 

"That's sad." 

"Los Angeles, seventeen million people, fifteenth biggest economy in the world and nobody knows each other," Adrian murmured. "Man dies on the subway and it takes six hours until somebody finally notices." He gestured to the skyline outside her window. "Seattle is home. I love it. But there's less than a million people here and I'd give you a million dollars to find me a person who would save you off the streets." 

"You did." 

"Guess I'm that one guy." 

"So you did it out of the bottom of your heart?" Lyra asked, seemingly hopeful. 

He clenched his jaw. "I did it because no one else would. I don't know. Maybe they would. Maybe someone else would have saved you. We could spend our lives thinking about, 'what ifs', and, 'maybes'." But...", he swallowed, "that night, I was the only one there, so it was all on me. Either I woke you up and took you to the hospital or I walked. And I almost walked. Almost flipped a coin to decide." 

Lyra's blood chilled. Her face visibly paled. 

He gave a pathetic laugh. "You know, I thought that maybe the police were coming. I thought that they'd come get you, and you weren't my problem and I...hated myself for thinking like that." He snorted. "That's why I wanna help you." 

She opened her mouth, and slowly shook her head, looking apologetic. "I'm...sorry. But I can't." 

"Lyra, we've got leads. This could help. We could find your parents, find somebody who knows you, get your memories back!"

She touched his arm. "Adrian, I can't thank you enough." 

"Don't you want to know?" He grabbed her card back. "You have a driver's license. No car. You probably don't even remember how to drive! But you have one of these!" 

"I appreciate everything you've done for me. But I'm not some charity case. I can figure this out. Okay?" When he didn't answer she repeated herself, making sure they made eye contact. "Okay?" 

He relaxed and gave her a half-hearted nod. 

Let it go.

"Let it go, please?" 

I...can't.

"I'm bad news, Adrian," Lyra said. "You should stay away. I'm trouble." She played with her hands. "But...you're my only friend right now." 

"I know." 

"Do you still want to be my friend?" 

He didn't have to think about it. "Yes." 

She smirked. "Then I guess I can't stop you." She eyed him. "How is it that you're still single?" 

He gave a shrug. 

"Well, I think you're a great person." 

"I'll be sure to have you shamelessly advertise for me on my next date," he grinned. Adrian held up his keys and dangled them in her face. "Ready to get behind the wheel?"

> Turning a Blind Eye
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

As it turned out, putting Lyra behind the wheel of a vehicle was a very,

"Use the brakes!" he screeched. "Use the brakes!" 

very,

"Yellow light! Yellow light! Slow down!" 

very bad idea. 

"I got it!" 

"No! No you don't! You don't got it, Lyra!" 

Things had started off so simple. Of course Lyra had been intimidated at first. But slowly, he taught her the basics. Which pedals did what, how to signal, how to hold the steering wheel. For two hours the two of them did nothing but circle the parking lot until three, practicing stopping and going. Her earlier attempts at braking were jerky and erratic, making the car lurch each time. She eventually got the hang of it all, and he even managed to show her how to park. She was a quick learner, much quicker than he had been. 

Where did it all go wrong?

When he'd decided that it was a good idea to take Lyra out onto the real streets. Lyra had taken a liking to driving, much more than he would have expected. And she liked to go fast. 

"There's an old la—WATCH OUT!" 

"Ahhh, she'll be fine!" 

"You're crazy!" 

"Ooh, there's the market. Mind if we go grab some groceries?"

The car lurched again as Lyra caught some air, running a speed bump at about fifty miles an hour. Adrian screamed like a girl as Lyra slammed on the brakes, yanking the wheel to the side, making the car drift. The tires screeched, and she pulled into a parking space. The doors of the poor, unfortunate Honda opened. Lyra stepped out, fixing her hair and brushing off her plaid green/white flannel button-up and jeans, marching off with a hum. 

The passenger side door opened, and Adrian stepped out, his knees buckling underneath him and he collapsed onto the sweet, solid land. 

"Adrian, c'mon!" 

He raised a hand weakly, his face pale. "C-Coming..." 

He managed to catch up, unsure of how one tells a girl they've soiled their pants. The automatic doors opened. He grabbed a basket while Lyra was wide-eyed. 

"It's amazing, isn't it?" 

Adrian looked around, unsure of what she meant. "This is Ralphs, Lyra." 

"But look at all the food, lined up on shelves in cans and bags." 

"Imagine how much we waste every year," he remarked. "Enough to feed a third-world country." 

Lyra strolled over to the produce section, picking healthy-looking vegetables and fruits with a discerning eye. 

"Not as good as a farmers' market, but it'll have to do for now." 

Slowly, her basket began to fill with organic apples, carrots, celery, salad, mushrooms, broccoli, garlic, onions, bell peppers, and all sorts of green, leafy items that Adrian especially knew he would hate eating. A bottle of extra virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar, canned oranges, canned corner. Then came the Italian blood orange and pomegranate soda and sparkling apple cider, Barilla pasta, Ragu spaghetti sauce, fresh garlic bread...

"Any protein?" he suggested, struggling under the weight of the overfilled basket. 

"Oh, right, eggs!" 

"Not quite what I meant..." 

Adrian brought up the subject of lunch while they waited in line to check out. 

"How 'bout we get something to eat? I think we skipped lunch. It's almost four." 

"Gosh, I'm starving. Do you know any good places?"

He smirked. "A few." 





The telltale golden arches of American capitalism came into view. Lyra snapped a picture of it on her smartphone. She'd been taking pictures like there was no tomorrow, as if she was afraid she'd forget what she'd seen. He held the door open for her. 

"Mm, it smells good in here." 

"You can just smell the consumerism," he cracked dryly. 

Lyra gave a giggle and shushed him. 

"What do you want?" 

She studied the menu for a second, humming as if trying to think before giving him a shrug. "I dunno! You can order for me. I've never been here before." 

As they say in America, there's a first time for everything. Hence, Lyra's first Big Mac, fries, and a large Sprite. He presented their trays and sat down, immediately diving into his Angus Chipotle burger. She remained oblivious to the large barbeque-marinated patty he inhaled, taking cautious bites at hers before enjoying it. They made idle conversation in the noisy restaurant, the topic of conversation suddenly switching from the impending thunderstorm that was about take place, judging by the looming black clouds and thunder in the distance. 

"How's that burger?" 

"It's...really good! What's in it?" she said, taking another bite. 

"Cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, ketchup, mustard, beef—"

Lyra's head shot up, her mouth just hovering over her Big Mac. "What did you say?" 

"Pickles?" 

"No, no, you said..." 

"Beef? Yeah. It's beef." His eyes widened. "You aren't a vegetarian, are you?" 

The blood drained from her face as she looked down at the sandwich, swallowing. She looked a bit green. 

"I'm a vegetarian," she said softly. 

"Ohmigosh, I am so sorry." 

Lyra continued eating anyways. 

"I thought you said you were a vegetarian." 

"I am," she said. "But...it tastes so good." 

Adrian burst out laughing. "You're crazy." 

"Thanks," she grinned. "You too." 

The entire ride home had gone in complete and utter silence as Lyra contented herself to listen to her music on her iPhone. Not a single word, not a peep. However, as they parked, Lyra suddenly began to sniff. It wasn't a sniffle from a cold, or just her breathing. She was crying. 

"What's wrong?" He pulled the key out of the ignition. 

Those two words made Lyra burst into tears. She leaned over, burying herself into his shirt as she began to sob. 

"I ate a cow!" 

He never thought in his wildest dreams he would ever have the chance to cuddle with a girl in his arms...sort of. Close enough. Well, this was his chance, and he would be damned if he was going to give it up over something stupid as fast food. So he held her close, albeit rather awkwardly in that cramped space, his hand on her head, his other patting her softly on her back as he thought about the best way to comfort a former vegetarian. 

"Shh, it's okay." 

She's actually crying. Jeez.

"Why do we have to be so cruel to the animals?" 

"Because they taste so good," Adrian whispered soothingly. 

His attempt at a joke was received poorly, made obvious as Lyra began to sob theatrically even more, burying herself into his chest, clutching at his favorite shirt. Nonetheless, he was a shoulder to cry on. 

"I'm sorry. I know how hard this must be for you." 

Through some tears Lyra huffed and thumped a fist against his chest, suddenly back to smiling and laughing. "You're so mean!" 

Must be that time of the month.

"So does this mean I can't wear my leather jacket?" 





There was a magnificent crack of lightning and thunder from outside Lyra's window. The dirt and grime that had accumulated on the outside was washed away. Adrian could wax poetic all day about the rain and how cleansing it was, making the earth anew and fresh for life to blossom. He wouldn't have minded going for a jog, just to get that squidgy feeling when his jeans and shoes got wet. He set the groceries down on the kitchen counter top, helping to put them away. 

He dusted his hands off. "Guess I'd better get home." 

Lyra suddenly grabbed his collar, pulling him back. "Oh, no you don't! Come back here, mister." She slapped five folded hundred-dollar bills into the palm of his hand. When he opened his mouth she silenced him, putting a finger to his lips. "Just take it." 

"Thank you." 

He shoved his hands into his pocket, "dropping" the money and quickly slinking away. 

"Adrian!" 

She made him open his wallet and put the money inside. 

"It's the least I can do," Lyra told him. When he didn't look exactly convinced, she said, "If you take it, I won't feel guilty." 

He agreed, moving to leave.

"Adrian?" 

He didn't even have time to turn around before Lyra pulled him into a bear hug. 

"You forgot this," she grinned. 

Adrian hugged her back, squeezing her just as hard as she did. There was another thundering boom. Just as he was about to see himself out, Lyra reeled him back in again, pulling his collar. 

"What?" Adrian asked, exasperated. 

"I don't want you driving out in the rain," she told him. He was about to remind Lyra that he was completely capable of driving on slippery roads, but she would have none of it. "You're staying here, mister." She poked him on the chest. 

"Lyra, I think I can handle myself out there," he said, moving to leave. 

She grabbed his ankle. Adrian glanced down at the girl holding onto his leg and tried walking. She held tight. 

"Not gonna let you go," she sang. 

He sighed. "But I'm hungry," Adrian groaned. "We have no food." 

She cleared her throat, gesturing to the bags of groceries.

"I can't cook." 

"Silly, you aren't cooking. I wouldn't let you even turn on the stove!" 

He sputtered. "Since when did I become a magnet for trouble?" 

"Do you know how to make spaghetti?" 

"Sure!" he said. "You just take the sauce and...add pasta?" 

"You," she said, giving him a patronizing pat on his head, "are going to be my assistant." 

"How do you even know how to make spaghetti?" 

She rolled her eyes. "Internet." 

With the press of the remote, the apartment was filled with catchy pop music. Lyra stripped off her flannel shirt and kicked off her shoes, clad in only a tank top and jeans, and tied her hair back in a ponytail. He decided right then and there that he most certainly had a thing for ponytails too. 

"Well?" 

Adrian couldn't resist. 

"Where do we start?" 

Adrian could barely fathom the amount of effort it took to cook a dish as simple as spaghetti, let alone the side dish of bell peppers and onions and garlic. His eyes stung as he sliced away at red onions and colorful bell peppers, trying his hardest not to slice off the tip of his finger. Lyra worked at the sauce, adding a little bit of this and that, a dash of pepper and some salt and throwing in some chopped garlic and mushrooms while she boiled a pot of water for the spaghetti. 

"Did you toast the garlic bread?" 

"On it," he said, placing three slices in the toaster oven and cranking the knob. 

"Almost done! C'mere, tell me how it tastes," Lyra said, offering him the spoon. 

He gave a small lick, tasting it. "Good," he said. 

"Adrian," Lyra giggled, pointing at him while covering her face with her other hand. 

"What?" 

"Adrian, you uh," she giggled, "have something..."

He wiped at his face with the back of his hand. "Did I get it?" 

"Hee, no." 

He tried again. "How 'bout now?" 

"Oh, just lemme get it..." 

She leaned in close to his cheek...

and gave it a big, sloppy lick. 

"Eugh! Lyra!" He grabbed at her and used her shirt to wipe his face. 

"Ew!" Lyra squealed, squirming away. "That's gross!" 

"You licked me!" He grabbed her around the waist as she tried to run, hefting her up. 

She kicked in the air, giggling. "Leggo!"

After a bit of horsing around they finally got around to setting the table. Forks on the left, napkins on the right, and a plate of freshly boiled pasta topped with spaghetti sauce and a green garnish laid on top. In the center beneath the chandelier was the vegetable stir-fry. Lyra popped the cork on the bottle of sparking cider, pouring a flute for both of them. On a plate there were three slices of garlic bread. The entire spread looked like something out of a cookbook. A heavenly aroma filled the flat as Lyra dimmed the lights only slightly and lowered the volume on the sound system. The music selection changed to something that Adrian could only describe as "lovemaking music". 

"Dinner is served," Lyra declared, handing him a glass and giving him a wink.  

They toasted, clinking their flutes of cider together. Dinner was indeed served. The spaghetti was al dente, the sauce tangy and sweet with a hint of sour and the bitterness of garlic and the crunch of red onions. The bell peppers had a bit of spice, thanks to Adrian, who had a bit of an affinity for cayenne pepper. The garlic bread was toasted to perfection. There were periods of silence punctuated by conversation concerning topics that seemed to have no rhyme or reason, filled by background music. It was a much less formal, more comfortable setting. It was here they felt most at ease, where they could forgive each other for chewing with their mouth open or stuffing their mouth or slurping. It felt less like a date and more like dinner between friends. Instead of focusing on whether or not his elbows were on the table, he could pay attention to Lyra. 

"You're an amazing cook," he said. 

This was quite frankly, the best meal he'd had in weeks.  

"Why, thank you," she said with a haughty, British accent.

Before long, every single plate on the table was clean, not a single scrap of food left. Not wanting to be inconsiderate, he began helping her wash dishes. In the midst of rinsing them, he noticed Lyra staring at him. It wasn't a you-have-something-on-your-face kind of stare. It was deeper. A bit more longing. 

"I'm gonna go take a shower, 'kay? Don't go anywhere," she said. She turned around, pointing at him. "Stay. Put." 

He barked. 

"Good dog." 

Out of curiosity he tried to smell his breath and rinsed his mouth and reached for a box of Altoids he carried everywhere he went, popping one and chewing the mint. Then another, just in case. A third, just to be sure. There was nothing more unattractive than bad breath. Besides, tonight, he was going to make his move. Nothing too big. Just a kiss on the cheek, that was it. Maybe just before he left, after a hug. He promised himself he would and by golly he was going to do it! 

Fifteen minutes later she emerged from the shower, barefooted and damp with a towel wrapped around her body. 

"Just a sec." 

He waited anxiously for a whole two minutes, his heart thumping in his chest as he thought of all the ways his kiss could go wrong. He glared at his watch, tapping his foot. 

How long does it take to put on a shirt?

He climbed the short steps to the small bedroom and managed to spy Lyra at an inopportune moment as she was just in the middle of wrestling on a loose tank top, catching sight of her lyre tattoo inked into a good portion of her lower back. She turned around, a bit surprised before she giggled, modestly covering her chest with an arm. 

"See something you like?" 

The two of them sat on the couch, watching reruns of Friends. Neither of them were really paying attention to what was happening onscreen. Adrian turned his head slightly, noticing a space between them. He stuck his tongue out, concentrating as he casually scooted over, closing the space between them, slowly stretching his arms out in a subtle motion.

Do it. C'mon.

Lyra leaned into the motion, leaning against his arm, pulling up her knees onto the loveseat. 

Just do it. Kiss her.

He leaned his head lower...

It's one kiss, not rocket science.

"You know what they say about boys?" Lyra suddenly said. 

"Huh?" He snapped back, fumbling his hands and trying to look completely natural. "Huh? What?"

"They say that when it comes to relationships, ninety-nine percent of boys are hopeless." She placed her hands on his chest.

"Oh really?" He studied her expression, looking for a teasing look. He found none. "Whoa!" 

Lyra pushed him over so that he lay on his back, their hands together as she spoke in hushed tones. One leg dangled over the edge of the couch.

"Mmhmm. And studies show that even though girls make it so obvious they're into the guy, it just goes right. Over. Their. Head." With each punctuated word her voice seemed to drop lower, and lower in tone until it became a soft, velvet croon. 

"I have reason to believe that your case studies are inaccurate," he murmured, looking away, feeling a tad bit overwhelmed. "You know, ninety-nine percent of statistics are made up on the spot." 

"Is that so? Well then," she giggled. "Then maybe we should fix that." 

"What do you mean?" A sly grin made its way across his face as it dawned on him that he knew exactly what she meant. Then a feeling of dread, because he knew exactly what she meant and was taking him by surprise. 

But Lyra beat him to the punchline, leaning in close and whispering in his ear, "Kiss me." 

It took a moment for his brain to process those two little words. "W-What?" 

"You heard me," she said. "Kiss me." 

Their foreheads pressed together, her golden eyes locking with his, making sure that he couldn't look away. She had brushed her teeth; he could smell the toothpaste. 

For Adrian the simple act of pressing his lips against Lyra's was something akin to theoretical physics. What kind of angle was optimal? How much force was he supposed to apply? Was there supposed to be any tongue? He took his chance, and he did kiss her. He leaned in, and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. He felt her furrow her brow, and he pulled away. 

"You missed," she whispered.

She tugged at his collar, pulling him back in, reeling him in like a fish. He leaned in again, placing a second one on her soft, smooth cheek, holding it there a little longer, inhaling her creamy scent. Apparently, she'd also put on peach lotion. 

"Not there," she huffed, tilting her head forward and cupping his jaw in her hand. 

Their lips finally met in between. He pursed his lips even more, feeling lightheaded as he felt her warm, supple lips pressed against his. His heart hammered away in his chest. He pulled away, his face feeling hot. 

"I-I'm not a very good kisser," he admitted. 

"No," she giggled. "No, you aren't. But I'm not either." 

They kissed again. Lyra tilted her head sideways. He tilted his the opposite direction. His fingers combed through her damp hair, his hand on her back. She copied his motions, her arm around his neck, parting to elicit a soft, sensual moan. 

"Is this your first time?" he groaned in between kisses. 

"Yes." 

Again. He opened his mouth to breathe, when suddenly she darted her tongue between his lips. 

He took a breath. "Liar," he panted. 

"Maybe." She smirked. "You taste minty." 

"You too." 

They both gave a small laugh. 

I could get used to this.

He liked it. A lot. 

Lyra rest her head down on his chest, looking outside the window. "Looks like the rain stopped."

A good sign of things to come. A resolution to unresolved tension. 

"Mmm, I don't wanna move," Lyra sighed. 

"Me neither." 

Considering the position they currently both lay in, he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to leave. He secured his arm around Lyra's midsection, her rear pressed into his hips. 

Adrian woke several hours later, finding it to be two past midnight. He shifted slightly, coming to the realization that he was sleeping with Lyra in his arms. He moved slowly, carrying her curled form back to her bed and tucking her in, giving her one last kiss on her forehead. He went home shortly after, feeling light as air and lightheaded. It was as if he'd achieved something. As if he'd overcome an obstacle. Those feelings of uncertainty melted away, replaced with elation. 

He no longer dreamt of Lyra because his dreams had come true. 





Lyra found herself waking to the sunlight shining in from her window. She sat up suddenly. 

"Adrian!" 

He was nowhere to be found. She'd fallen asleep on the couch. He must have carried her there. 

"Did I kiss him?" She ran her tongue along the inside of her mouth, her eyes widening. "I kissed him," she uttered. 

She covered her face with her hands before she tore them away, sitting up tall. She hugged herself, falling back into her bed, squeezing her pillow with a squeal. 

Her tone became triumphant. "I kissed him! I kissed Adrian!" 

It felt so good. It felt so right. 





At first, he only came to visit frequently, taking Lyra out on dates. It had been one week since their lips met. The first week had been simple. Walks in the evening at Cal Anderson Park and immersing themselves in the artistic side of Queen City. Lyra's ears had been opened to the sound of Nirvana and Pearl Jam and the jazz culture in smoky coffee shops. Tonight was a bit special. He'd made reservations at the Space Needle Restaurant to celebrate.  

"Hey, Lyra?" 

"In the bathroom!" she called.

He rapped a fist on the ajar door. "Ready?" 

"Almost," she said, inviting him in. 

He entered, absolutely taken with Lyra's looks. She'd gone through the effort of actually putting on makeup. Only a little, a bit of mascara and eyeshadow to bright out her unique irises. Her hair was styled just so with her bangs swept back. She wore a strapless white cocktail dress and matching heels. 

"So? How do I look?" 

He answered her with a kiss on the cheek. She squirmed, rubbing a hand on the scruff of his chin. 

"We need to do something about that beard of yours." 

He'd neglected to shave for the past three weeks and now had accumulated a moderate shadow. 

"No way." 

"It tickles when you smooch me." 

"But it makes me look manly." 

"The scruff goes." 

"Alright," he sighed, reaching for his razor. 

"Ah-ah," she said, grabbing it before he did. "No need to get your clothes messy." 

He smirked, letting her sit him down in a chair, taking off his suit and shirt. "And what about you?" 

She shamelessly flung off her dress, in nothing but panties and a bra, suddenly straddling his hips, sitting in his lap with a razor in hand. "Better?" 

His eyes wandered lower. "Ah...uh-huh." 





The Seattle skyline at night. High above the rest of the city, the two admired the skyline, starry-eyed over dinner, the structure rotating slowly.  

Adrian ran his hands over his face and clean-shaven jaw, shifting in his seat, tilting a glass back.

What happened to her bra? he thought as he peered down his nose. 

Lyra, too, noticed his wandering gaze, and instead of pulling the front of her dress up, leaned even more forward with a devilish smirk. 

"What's your dream?" 

He looked up from his meal, some noodles still in his mouth. He slurped them up quietly and wiped his lips. 

"Come again?" 

"Dreams. What's your dream?" Lyra tilted her head, a smirk on her face. "What do you dream about, Mister Ross?" 

He smirked back, sipping at his sparkling cider, pointing out towards the skyline. "Do you see that building? The tall one, right there?" 

She took a moment and then nodded. 

"The Seattle Times headquarters. That's my dream." He swallowed another bite of his dinner. "And what's your dream, Miss Hartstein?" 

She gazed longingly outside the view from the Space Needle, sighing happily, propping her chin up on an elbow. 

"I think I'm already living my dream." 

He found himself nearly about to question the cryptic meaning behind her words, but caught himself. He found himself caring less and less about Lyra's past. He'd made a promise to himself to help her, but like most promises, that was broken. Her past didn't matter, at least not to him. Lyra wasn't defined by her past; she was defined by who she was. And she was a beautiful, intelligent girl. Like many things, the question of her identity and past were conveniently shoved away in the back of his mind where he pretended that they didn't exist. He stopped asking questions. After all, one tended not to ask questions when they had a hot piece of ass by their side. Not that he would ever describe her as such. He certainly wasn't complaining. 

Ask no questions and be told no lies. 

Lyra dove into her dessert, licking at the frosting on her slice of cake. He snickered, seeing that she'd gotten some frosting on her nose. 

Of course, in life there is no such thing as a perfect human being. Lyra was not perfect. For Lyra things were never off the table. She had no shame in asking him his opinion on touchy subjects like politics or religion or history, to which he quietly hushed her and told her that was a conversation for another time, though he was glad to discover that she held similar views like him. She was a bit clumsy, sometimes struggling with simple tasks like buttoning her shirt or anything that required dexterity. She had a tendency to avoid questions she didn't like, and she certainly wasn't the type to tell him what was on her mind even if she did looked distressed. 

Lyra raised a hand. 

"Check please!" 

Adrian insisted on paying for half. She relented, if only to relieve him of some of the guilt of having her pay for most things. She signed the receipt, and Adrian noticed that her handwriting had grown steadier and more confident. She flicked her wrist, putting the amount due in the pad and closed it as she had learned to do. 





By the second week Lyra had figured out that he'd been subsisting on a diet of instant noodles, and strongly insisted that he stay with her. Reluctantly, he accepted the offer. He moved his clothes and other personal belongings into Lyra's penthouse. 

He'd held her hand when she cried at the tragic climax of Les Misérables at 5th Avenue Theater and the touching story of Amelia at the Seattle Opera and indulged his more classical side with her at Benaroya Hall with the Seattle Symphony. They'd discussed at length the artistic integrity and quality of pieces at art galleries, the Henry Art Gallery, the Fyre Art Mueseum, the Seattle Art Museum. They'd nearly spent an entire day admiring the unusual architecture of steel and glass of the prismatic Seattle Central Library, combing through the shelves and playing hide-and-seek. On nights where they both were unable to fall asleep they'd gone out for a walk, often finding themselves in some coffee shop, or maybe a nightclub. 

Lyra's little "journal" was growing larger and larger with each passing day chronicling time spent together, or maybe just sights seen or music heard. He was not privy to whatever information she was recording. Adrian was only able to sneak brief glances at what she was working on, finding nothing out of the ordinary than a word document with digital images taken on their escapades. 

He took the couch, despite Lyra's protests. But every morning he would find her in his arms, snoring softly, snuggling deeper into his embrace. He felt each rise and fall of her chest, her warmth, smelled the shampoo in her hair. 

By the fourth week Adrian practically lived at Lyra's flat now. The first week of July. 

Adrian eventually relocated himself to the space beside Lyra's bed, and achieved the same results in the morning until he gave in, and slipped beneath her blankets beside her. Their feet and legs tangled in cold summer nights as they fought for the sheets, and they stretched themselves out lazily on hot summer nights. 

There were times when he felt that everything was moving too fast. But Lyra was quick to assuage him in his fears. 

It occurred to him that not once in the past weeks had the words, "girlfriend", or, "boyfriend", had been uttered. There were no words to be said. 

Adrian stroked Lyra's arm, moving down to her hand, giving it a squeeze. He kissed her on the cheek, then shifted slightly in their cuddling position. 

He was happier and healthier than ever before. He stood taller and straighter, setting his shoulders back, and walked carefree, comfortable with himself and his image. He wore contacts instead of his dorky glasses. He spent a little more time grooming himself in the morning. It would have been a sad commentary on society to see how easily having an attractive partner could do wonders for a person's self-esteem if he could care any less. 





Lyra rose, hearing her iPhone vibrate on the nightstand beside her bed. With a groan, she blindly reached for it, having to slip out of Adrian's arms as she did so, looking at the text displayed onscreen. 

"its been a month"

Then, another, two seconds later. 

"we need to talk"

For some reason having to read the words instead of hearing them from a menacing, threatening voice seemed to take the impact away. It was like a dull surprise now. She'd known it was coming. She was expecting the text, in fact. But it was too soon, too quick. But she had no choice. 

She grabbed Adrian's hoodie, the smell of Axe faint, jumping into a pair of jeans. She grabbed her keys to her Toyota Camry from Rent-A-Car. Silently, she reached under her desk and pulled out the briefcase, thumbing the clasps and reaching inside for her "insurance" before sneaking off, calling the elevator. 

In the darkness of the night she could take comfort in the moonlight which illuminated the park. Lyra sat down on the park bench, her hands shoved away in her pockets. 

Five minutes later, a woman joined her, taking a seat on the opposite end, her face obscured by the shadows. She wrapped herself tighter in her hooded leather jacket, crossing her legs in a masculine sort of manner, a pair of steel-toed combat boots on the ends of her feet. She clawed her fingers through her bleached hair, styling it into a fauxhawk, brushing a purple highlight behind her ear. 

Silence. Neither party was willing to speak to each other. Then, 

"Hey Gilda." 
> Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

A cool nighttime breeze swept across Seattle from the ocean. The city of Seattle, though never truly asleep, had gone dark. In the dead of night, there were no children at the playground. There were only the sounds of crickets chirping, owls hooting, and distant car alarms and horns to fill the silence. She craned her head, gazing up at the cloudless sky. It was an infinite sea of stars, not manufactured or created. Like all things in this world, the sun and the moon took on the illusion that they rose and fell when in actuality, the Earth was moving in orbit around these planetary behemoths. The stars were distant, faraway suns that burned brightly, so bright that they could be seen from billions, or trillions of miles away. 

Gilda Griffin was a lot of things. She was anything but stupid. 

She'd come to realize early on that her dreams of soaring through those blue skies had been crushed when she realized that these evolved monkeys had their eyes on the sky 24/7, watching out for "terrorists" for the sake of homeland security. Not to mention that the air was polluted, poisonous to breathe in thanks to carbon emissions from their vehicles and factories, which belched black inky smoke from smokestacks in the warehouse district of their cities, out of sight and out of mind. 

Just barely visible at the collar of her jacket was a tattoo of an eagle's wings stretching across the length of her upper back, reaching both shoulder blades. She'd gotten it a week ago when she'd visited a tattoo parlor. She didn't exactly care what happened to this body in the long run. She knew just as well the harmful effects of inhaling tobacco smoke. 

"You mind?"

Gilda Griffin reached into the inside of her jacket, fishing a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, sticking one between her lips. She flicked her Zippo lighter, igniting a pale blue, wispy flame, lighting her cigarette. The woman took several puffs.

Lyra got a whiff of the smoke, gagging slightly and coughing. "Yes." 

The biker didn't reply, only scowling as she rubbed her numb hands together. "Wanna make this quick?" 

"You called me out here."

"What you got there?" 

Lyra pulled her hands out from the front pockets of her hoodie, revealing her "insurance": a Glock 26 with an olive-drab frame clenched in her left fist, her knuckles white. The pistol was compact and lightweight, perfect for someone of her stature. 

Gilda arched an eyebrow. "Put that thing away. Someone might see," she said lowly. "Do you even know how to use that?" 

Lyra smiled and shook her head, blushing slightly. She hung her head slightly, slouching in her seat, pulling her knees together, and dangling her legs over the edge of the park bench, both hands on the pistol tilted downwards toward the ground. It was a strange sight to behold, seeing such a timid, frightened girl with a gun in hand. 

"So what, you gonna use it?" 

"You're not going to hurt me, are you?" 

Gilda scoffed. "Why would I do that? You're my ticket outta here." 

"You have one too, don't you?" 

"Yeah?"

Lyra smirked. "I showed you mine. Show me yours." 

Gilda sighed, reaching into the waistband of her black cargo pants and brandishing a polished chrome Desert Eagle .50 AE. 

"Mine's bigger," she grinned.  

Judging by the look on Lyra's face, the sheer size of the gun was enough to intimidate her. She holstered her pistol. "Sorry. I'm just nervous, I guess." 

Gilda tucked the magnum away. "I guess anyone would be."  She faced her, coolly glaring at her. "You know, you ran from me." 

"Sorry." 

"Things could have gone a lot easier if you didn't run." 

"You try putting yourself in my position," Lyra said. "Waking up in an alien world with an alien body and some grumpy chick looks like murder. I think anybody would have run." 

Gilda sighed. There was no point in arguing it. Even if she had Lyra on a leash the entire time, she would only be making her job harder than it already was. And if it wasn't Adrian Ross, it was inevitable that Lyra would make friends with someone else. 

"Yeah. I get it." She was never good with conversation. "So. How 'bout this place?" 

"I love it." 

"Yeah?" She took a drag. This place... "It ain't that bad, I guess." 

"I think it's beautiful." 

"Beautiful," Gilda stated flatly. It wasn't even a question. 

She turned her head, her overall stance relaxed. Her predatory amber eyes narrowed in an expression of disbelief. The eyes of a hunter. The eyes of a hawk. Lyra's wide golden eyes gazed back. Innocent, hopeful, naive, curious. Their eyes were the same shade and yet so very different. If the eyes were the window to the soul, simply gazing into theirs would betray their emotions. 

"Amazing." 

"Seriously?" She looked skeptical. 

Lyra nodded earnestly. "I love it. I love this place," she said, wrapping her arms around her body, "this body. This world." 

"I guess that makes one of us then," Gilda scowled. 

"And what about you?" 

"I hate it. I hate this body," she said bitterly. "I hate being stuck on the ground like the rest of you losers." Gilda glanced over. 

"It's not my fault, you know. It was a no-win situation. It's not like I asked to be kidnapped." 

"Yeah, I know," she said, scuffing her boot across the ground. 

"I mean, I didn't want to go at first, but it's not like I had a choice so either...either I said yes or..." She pretended to slice her throat open, looking over. "I'm sorry you got dragged into all this." 

Gilda smirked. "It's not your fault, 'kay? But you don't have to like it so much. Don't you miss home?"

She sighed, her hands together. "Sometimes. Sometimes I get homesick." 

"You too, huh?" 

"Yeah," Lyra mumbled. "But it's not like I can't enjoy this for a little bit. I mean, I still have to be here anyways, so I might as well do it with a smile instead of fighting it every step of the way." She went quiet. "But...I'm starting to like it here. It's not...perfect. But nothing is." 

Gilda pretended to gag. "All this heart-to-heart talk is too mushy. Let's get back to small talk." 

"Maybe after all of this," she hesitated, "maybe I can even stay!"  

"For him?" 

She went slack-jawed. "W-Who? I don't know who you're talking about." 

"Save it, Lyra. I know about Adrian." 

Gilda knew fully well who Adrian was. She'd been tapping their phone calls for the past month. She just wanted to see how Lyra would react. 

"You know?"  

"Oho, I know all you two," Gilda snickered. "You two lovebirds take dirty talking to a whole new level." 

Her cheeks went red. 

"That's what your boyfriend was for, right? He's your little guinea pig?" 

"No," she snapped, her eyes flashing. "No, he's not." She hung her head. "I mean, it was like that at first. He was so kind...and, and helpful. I like him. And he likes me back." She blushed. 

She scowled. "Ugh. You work this out. I'm no relationship counselor. But you know what's going to happen, don't you?" 

Lyra looked away, as if trying to ignore her, pretend that it wasn't true. 

"This won't last, you know that, right?" 

"She gave us fake names, IDs, passports." 

"Those were for emergencies," Gilda replied. "We aren't supposed to use 'em. They're there just in case we get in trouble with the law." 

"I know, but we can use them, right? I could go away, after all of this is over," she reasoned. 

"What's with you? Don't you wanna go home?" 

Lyra scowled. "There's nothing for me back home." 

"Look, even I have a nest to go back to. You've got friends and family—"

She let out a bitter laugh. Gilda didn't question it. 

"Listen, you've had your fun, right? You got to play tourist with the humans," she said. "Don't be dumb. She'd never let you just run away. Are you done?" 

Lyra stammered, "W-Well, it depends what you call 'done'." 

"Did you get what she wants?" 

"Yes, I-I mean, no! Sort of." 

"So that's a yes, right?" 

She cast her eyes down. "Yeah. It's...done." 

Gilda extended the palm of her hand, curling her fingers. "Give it here." 

Lyra fished a USB flash drive, dropping it into her hand. "It's all in there." 

She frowned. "Gonna have to print it out for the dragon fire." She closed her fingers around the flash drive and pocketed it. "We send it and we go home." She stood up, stamping her cigarette out. "Meet me at the port, will you?" 

"How long do you think it'll take for her to come?" 

"Who knows? Could take her a day, a week. A month? The second we send this it'll be like a signal." 

The girl seemed like a wilting flower, drooping. 

She watched as Lyra walked away, shaking her head all the while. She pitied her. She was never going to see this place again. Never going to see Adrian Ross again.  

Gilda hooked an earbud into her ear and clicked the button on the cord. Three rings, then, 

"Hey. I got it." 

"Excellent. Send it immediately." 

"Address and zip code?" 

The voice snarled. "Shut up. Follow my instructions exactly..."





Lyra's heart was heavy as she drove home, only now coming to terms with reality. Her complete lack of regard for traffic laws seemed to reflect her state of mind, embroiled in turmoil as she yanked the wheel harshly. With the empty streets of Seattle before her she slammed her foot down on the gas, her teeth clenched as the speedometer slowly rose. The steering wheel stiff in her cold hands, she came to a steady sixty miles an hour. Even faster then. The world around her was a blur. 

Pulling into the parking lot, she rested her head against the steering wheel, yanking her key out of the engine. She punched it once with a growl before storming back inside. 

Up at her loft, Adrian hadn't even moved an inch, still sound asleep. She giggled, listening to him snore.

Lyra carefully reopened the briefcase and replaced the Glock inside, sorting through her passports and fake IDs and prepaid ATM cards. 

A while back she thought it prudent to have all of her essentials in one place. Plus, having them inside a combination briefcase meant that Adrian wouldn't accidentally stumble upon her stash. 

In her hands she held new names, new identities, new lives. She could travel, see the world, experience life in foreign nations. But at the end of the day, she could only run for so long before Gilda would catch up to her. She couldn't run forever. 

She flipped through her wad of bills. 

The initial ten grand had dwindled down to a measly nine, which, in the grand scheme of things, would not last forever. 

She closed it, locking it tight. She climbed the stairs to their low-ceiling bedroom and tore off his jacket. She cautiously slid next to him, careful not to wake him up as she held him close, squeezing him tighter than ever before. 





Adrian sat up with a yawn, stretching quietly and twisting his back with a few pops. Lyra snoozed peacefully by his side. He smiled, kissing her on her forehead before going through his morning routine. They had no plans today. 

Fresh out of the shower, wearing a white V-neck and sweatpants. He stared into the cabinet of cereal, thinking of breakfast. It dawned upon him the opportunity to surprise her. It was the desire to be a good boyfriend, or even just a good roommate. He certainly couldn't cook a three-course meal, but eggs and toast were right up his alley of expertise. 

He greased a pan, turning on the stove, setting out the plates and utensils before even cracking an egg over the skillet. It sizzled and popped. He gave himself three, and two for Lyra while toasting slices of Wonderbread in the oven. 

"Good morning." 

A shiver ran up Adrian's spine as he felt her warm breath on his neck, her arms encircling around his neck. It was a familiar sensation that made his body tingle. Lyra knew it just as well. He turned his head and placed a kiss on her cheek. 

"Morning." 

Over time he'd come to learn how to anticipate and interpret her body language. She liked to stand with her hips cocked to one side or another, one hand on her hip and the other dangling by her side. She had a tendency to slouch when she sat, except when she pulled her legs together or crossed them. When she stared at him for longer than ten seconds, it meant that she wanted a kiss on the lips. If she kept her hand on his neck, she wanted to hold it for longer. And if her fingers combed through his hair and she traced her other down his spine, it meant she wanted to French. 

"Are you making breakfast?" 

He nodded. "Uh-huh. I wanted to surprise you, but I guess you're already up. It'll be done in ten minutes, so just go sit do—"

He didn't even have a chance to finish his sentence as Lyra suddenly kissed him hard, practically bowling him over. It was a sudden display of passion that blindsided him. She hugged him, squeezing him tight. 

"I...I...You are just...amazing." 

Adrian was still in the process of trying to figure out what he'd done beside sunny side up eggs, toast, Vienna sausages, and OJ.

"Hugs and kisses for breakfast," Adrian said. He grinned. "Wonder what I get if I make dinner?" 

She playfully spanked him and went to shower. 





"This is good." 

He dipped his bread into the yellow yolk. 

"It's eggs and toast." 

"And sausages," Lyra said, her mouth full. She blushed and covered her face as she chewed. 

"It's not rocket science." 

"Is it harder than kissing?" 

Adrian smiled. "Maybe. Kissing is harder than photography, that's for sure." 

"Today's such a nice day. Why don't you take a few pictures?" Lyra said, tossing her hair in a not-so-subtle manner. "I could be your subject." 

Adrian grinned. "Sure! Today's a perfect day." He looked outside. "Just enough sun, a breeze." He grabbed Lyra's wrist and his DSLR. 

"Oh, what a coincidence, it just so happens I put on makeup too—eep!" 

They skipped around the balcony. Adrian struggled to have Lyra maintain her pose and told her to take a thoughtful expression, fussing with her hair and clothes. 

"I never knew how hard it was to take a picture," Lyra teased. 

"It is pretty hard. I mean, to be any good. I'm not gonna be one of those artsy types, but I still know a little bit about it." He crouched down, taking a third one. "You know how they say a picture's worth a thousand words? It's true. A photograph has to tell a story when you look at it." 

"See?" He showed her the display, comparing the shots he took. "This one is messed up because my hands shook a little and the framing is off. You gotta frame it just right. It's my fault for not taking the proper position." 

"Position, huh?" Lyra arched her eyebrows. "I know a lot of positions." 

"Hmm," he grunted in reply. "Technique is important too." 

"Most definitely." 

As he leaned forward, Lyra reached toward him. 

"You wear a necklace?" 

"Yeah. You didn't notice?" 

"Not before," Lyra admitted. "Probably cause you hide it." 

Adrian tugged at the cord, pulling it out from the inside of his shirt. 

"It's my class ring," he said, turning the ring over in his fingers and slipping it onto his ring finger. 

Compared to the rest of his classmates, his was a much simpler silver band, with only an engraving of his name and graduation year. 

He wiggled his finger. "Doesn't quite fit. So I wear around my neck." 

"That's cute." She held her hand out to accept the necklace, holding it up by the leather cord and admiring it. "It's very nice." 

"I guess. It's kinda dumb. No one ever wears them." He rolled his eyes. "Congratulations, you graduated from high school."

Adrian took the necklace in his hands and slipped it around her neck. "Looks better on you." 

"I want you to draw me like one of your French girls." 

Adrian frowned. "What?" 

"Titanic?" 

"You've watched Titanic?" 

"Leonardo DiCaprio was such a cutie!" she gushed. "While you were sleeping." 

He rolled his eyes. "Inception was better." 

"So? Draw me!" 

Adrian laughed. "I'm a photographer, Lyra. There's a difference." 

"You should take a picture of me wearing your necklace." 

He nodded, idly fiddling with the lenses of his Nikon. 

"Wearing only the necklace." 

He froze. He turned. 

"...Really?" 

"Really." 

"Serious?" 

"Cereal," she replied.  

"Nah." 

Lyra looked at him in disbelief. "Why not?" 

"You're joking, right?" he asked. 

"No! I mean it!" She began to saunter away. "Well, it's your decision. You talk the talk, but I don't see you walk the walk..." 

Adrian grabbed her shoulder. "What do you mean?" 

"You sure know a lot about portraits and scenery, but how about delving into nude photography? Unless you're not man enough..." 

"Oho, you did not just say that. Oh no you didn't."

"Oh yes I di-id," she said, shaking her head. 

"I might have to take you up on that offer." 

Lyra was already shimmying out of her pants. Adrian covered her face. 

"W-We should probably try this in the bedroom." 

"How daring of you, Mister Ross!" she pretended to gasp. 

He reddened. "I didn't mean it like that..." 





Lyra sat spread out on the bed, her backside towards Adrian, her golden lyre tattoo clearly displayed on her back. She looked over her shoulder, with an expression that could only be described as "bedroom eyes". It was all going according to plan. Soon, he would ask her to pose again. She would pull him into bed, and the magic would happen. 

"Maybe shift your leg..." 

It was an extremely intimate, extremely erotic act they were going to perform, as soon he got the clue. At some point she'd asked herself why she even wanted to engage in such an activity with Adrian Ross, of all people. 

Well, why the hell not?  

In the back of her mind she reminded herself of the inevitable. At the very least, they could reach third base. She didn't want to think about how things were going to happen. Would she just disappear one day, her existence completely wiped out from this place? 

No. Things will work out. She promised she'd let me stay.

"Look up? Up, over there. Perfect. Don't move." 

Adrian certainly wasn't the type to brag. He had a tendency to sell himself short. He'd shown her a bit of his portfolio, and she was genuinely impressed. His scenery photographs, even before being Photoshopped, looked almost professional. A central theme in his work seemed to be the city itself. 

"I think we're done." 

"Oh, what a shame," Lyra said with a seductive tone. "Can't we continue?" 

Lyra was barely unable to contain her frustration as he sauntered off. 

"Adrian!" 

She flung the pillow at him, smacking him right in the back. She stood up, nude, her hands on her hips. He turned around, glancing at her before averting his gaze, covering his eyes. 

"Lyra, y-you should put some c-clothes on..." 

"Oh, no you don't, mister." 

"W-What?" 

This time, she grabbed him by his shirt, forcefully pushing him down onto the bed into a sitting position. "You are not getting away.." 

"I-I'm sorry?" he apologized, not knowing what for. 

"You stupid—" 

Kiss.

"—dense—"

Kiss, this time with tongue. 

She paused, panting. "I can't think of any more words. Ugh, you are so oblivious!" 

"Awkward?" 

She kissed him. "Awkward." 

"Lyra, I—" 

"When a girl takes her clothes off for you it usually means that she wants you!" She pounded at his chest. 

"But—" 

"No! No, Adrian, no buts! Do I have to spell everything out for you? The dim lights, the sexy pose, no clothes! Adrian, you are hopeless." 

"I'm...sorry?" 

"Which is what makes you so cute." 

Their lips met again and again, each one more loving and longer than the last. 

"I didn't want to make a move..." 

"Mmgh...why?" 

He pulled away. "Didn't want to misinterpret." 

She held him longer. "How do you misinterpret a naked girl?" She stopped kissing him and sat straight up, still straddling him. 

"First time, you know," he panted. 

"Mine too," Lyra replied. 

"Liar." 

"Maybe." 

"Don't wanna mess up." 

"Be confident." 

"O-Okay?" 

She prodded him hard in the chest. "Girls like it when a guy is...dominant," she said, whispering the last word. "But nice! Not too nice." 

"Nice guys finish last?" 

"Nice guys finish last when the only thing that they've got going for them is that they're nice." 

A beat. Then they were all over each other. 

"I'm nice," he said. 

"But you're smart."

Adrian held her close, ending their string of smooches. "A lot of people are smart." 

"You're talented. And you're funny." 

Lyra must have had a strange sense of humor if she enjoyed dry, snarky, sarcastic, ironic, satirical humor. 

"Girls like a guys who are funny. Don't forget that." 

Somehow, he was sure he wasn't going to forget the naked girl sitting on his lap telling him this. When he tried to get up, she swung her legs along both sides of him and planted herself on top, grabbing his shoulders to force him to look forward. His eyes were locked with hers in a battle of wills. He would not succumb to feminine wiles! They were practically in his face, however, and he gave in, flicking his eyes downward toward her breasts only for a second, trying to take in as much of them as he could. 

"Hah!" She pointed. "Got you, mister." 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't look, I-I swear!" Adrian flushed, trying to look away, covering his face. "Lyra, I..." 

Her fingers ran down his toned chest down to the hem of his shirt. She slipped her fingers underneath, her nails dragging across his skin, making him shiver. 

"You've been...working out, haven't you?" 

He could only nod. She kneaded his abs, tracing a finger up the center of his ribs, running her hands over his neck. She stripped him of his shirt, bringing her hands around his neck and giving him a kiss on the lips once more. Without looking, she grabbed his arms and placed his hands firmly onto her rear. His eyes widened as he realized what he grasped in his hands. 

They parted. 

"Did you just squeeze?" Lyra accused, her eyes flashing dangerously. 

His eyes flicked back and forth and his mouth struggled to work. "I-I, no! I didn't!" 

"Don't stop." 

When he tried pulling his hands away, she made sure he kept his hands right where she wanted them. Her sultry gaze turned into a grin as she saw how profusely he was blushing. She propped her chin up against his shoulder. Body language dictated that he was to lavish her with kisses on her neck, to which he slowly obliged. He kissed the soft flesh of her long neck, moving slowly up towards the underside of her jaw, towards her ear. He took her earlobe between his lips in a daring move, gently nibbling. Lyra's soft breaths grew heavier and heavier, her voice cracking as he did so. 

They rolled over, Lyra beneath Adrian. She moved his hands toward her chest, which heaved, rising and falling with each and every touch of his hands on her breasts. The heat in the room rose considerably. His eyes took in the sight of her flat belly, her slim, petite hips, her broad shoulders. He ran his hands all over her body, tickling her a little. 

"Is that your phone in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" 

Adrian paled, pulling away until Lyra's long legs wrapped around his body. She reached into his back pocket, finding his Galaxy, and tossed it aside on the bed. They rolled again. Her finger searched for the remote, and turned on the entertainment system, one of Adrian's favorite songs playing at a barely audible level. Not quite lovemaking music from Robin Thicke, but it certainly had a good tempo. 

"Well now, this is interesting and sexy and all, but  y-you know I think we should put our clothes back because on I hear tonight it was going to be really cold and we don't wanna get sick!" he gasped, putting on a frantic grin at the end. 

"Really." 

He nodded several times before remembering to speak. "Sure, definitely, totally, the weatherman said so. Yup, yup, uh, low fifties high sixties, you know, super super cold!"  

She silenced him with a kiss. 

"You talk too much." 

"I do? I do, I think I do," he stammered. "You know, mostly when I get nervous, you know? I'm super nervous right now, I think I'm about to pass out. I should stop talking, shouldn't I?  I'll stop talking. I'm sorry, I talk a lot when I get nervous so...so...I'm still talking, aren't I?" 

"Mmhmm." 

A stream of words poured from his mouth. "I did it again, whoops, silly me. It's just that, well you're so beautiful and hot and sexy and pretty and wow, oh wow, is it hot in here? I think the weatherman lied..." 

Lyra ignored all of his words, pouncing on him like a cat. He swept her in his arms, rolling over once more so that he was on top. The look in his eyes changed from nervous to cocky. His body language, more...confident. He towered over her. Now he was in control. 

"Like this?"

"Like that," she giggled, her heart soaring as he continued his ministrations.





Gilda had spent a good portion of a day running around and trying to buy a ream of paper and a printer, which then came with accessories and cartridges that required installation on her MacBook. It was a goddamn hassle, but at the very least, it was done. A hundred pages of glossy paper in color in one big stack in the center of her room. 

"Final-fucking-ly." 

She hefted the glass bottle of bottled dragon fire, shattering it against the floor. The ream of paper was engulfed in green fire and disintegrating into ashes and scattering. 

She seemed to forget the flammable properties of dragon fire. 

"Oh shit." 

Thankfully, a fire extinguisher was nearby. 
> The Heartstrings Ultimatum
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The second week of July. 

The best week of his entire life. There were home cooked meals worthy of a holiday celebration, long nights spent roaming the streets of Seattle into the wee hours of the morning only for them to do it all over again. At the top of a Ferris wheel, they'd kissed, and Adrian felt like he was at the top of the world. 

To even begin to elaborate the feelings Adrian currently felt would be difficult. It was like riding an emotional high. Simply put, they'd made love. Calling it anything else would suggest that it was purely carnal. 

So of course this was a milestone in his life. He was now a "man", as his friends would say. That hopelessly awkward teenage boy that missed hints the size of anvils being dropped on his head was replaced by someone else overnight, someone a bit more confident, if not a little boisterous. Each step he took was filled with a slight bounce, a bit of a swagger. He smiled everywhere he went, and if there wasn't a cocksure grin on his face there was a determined, assertive look in his eye rather than an averted gaze of indifference or boredom. 

"Oh, Adrian?" Lyra called from the bathroom. "Could you get me a towel?" 

He reached into a closet and grabbed a teal one for her, knocking politely on the door. Lyra stood in the door frame, her skin moist and her hair damp. If he'd missed the fact that she was bare, it was that bite of the lower lip, the licking of the lips, the hungry look in her eyes that said it all. 

"Care to help me...dry off?" 

"It'd be my pleasure." 

She dragged him in with a giggle, locking the door. 





One week. 

Seven days, seven nights. A hundred and sixty-eight hours, ten-thousand and eighty minutes, six-hundred-four-thousand and eight hundred seconds. She cherished each moment like it was her last. She was living while she was young, living like she was going to die. 

But that faithful moment came in the dead of night on a Saturday night. Her heart skipped a beat as she felt it vibrate. Lyra clutched at her iPhone, her hands trembling as her thumbs tapped on the screen. 

"Seattle Port terminal 46"

She shakily answered. 

"i cant" 

"times up" 

She took a slow, deep, labored breath, letting it out with a tear. She swallowed. She felt claustrophobic. She'd come up with all sorts of elaborate stories to explain why she would be going away. Each one ended in heartbreak for both of them. Of that, she was certain. There was one word entered on the screen, a text message intended for Adrian's number. 

"goodbye"

It seemed too impersonal. This was quite possibly the worst offense in a relationship, according to human standards: breaking up via text message. Except instead of breaking up, she was going to disappear off the face of the earth. 

No!

She shook her head, tapping back to the Home screen. It saved as a draft. She was adamant. Things would work out. She was going to come back. Faced with two choices, to stay there or go home. At the time Lyra was certain she would take the road less traveled. At the same time, memories resurfaced of her birthplace. Some good, and some bad. The bad memories were the worst, when she was at her worst, bitter, angry, immature, confused. There were feelings of rejection mixed with acceptance.

She had money. She could attend college, maybe even the same university as Adrian! Study, get a degree in anthropology, or sociology, or even psychology. 

Things would work out. 

She repeated these words over and over in her head as she drove towards the port. 





Adrian felt a lurching feeling in the pit of his stomach as he felt Lyra leave his side. He thought she was just getting up to get a glass of water. But instead, he heard the sound of elevator doors closing. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. 

"Lyra?" 

Silence answered him. 

"Lyra?" 

Her jacket was gone. He was quick to jump to conclusions. What possible reason could Lyra have to leave in the middle of the night? He tried calling her. It went to voice mail. He spotted a glow from a trash bin. He reached in and fished out her iPhone, wondering why it was there, of all places. It had been placed on silent. 

"goodbye" 

For...him? 

He tossed the phone onto the mattress. His mind, groggy from sleep, sprung into action. He pulled on a jacket, scrambling to the balcony window. He saw her white Toyota Camry speed down the street, not once making a turn. In that direction...

The..docks?

He bolted to the elevator, mashing the buttons over and over again and sprinting out into the lot.

The engine stalled. He twisted the key over and over again, stepping on the gas until it came to life. His wheels screeched. His hands clenched the steering wheel hard as he breathed hard, fearful and confused. He tried to think of what he'd done, what he'd said, something, anything that would have offended her. He thought of none. Lyra seemed...hyper. The entire week had passed by so quickly, each day filled with activities that strengthened their bond even more and more. His mind flashed back to a moment at the mini golf course. It had been the perfect opportunity to put himself right behind her and show her how to swing. In a brief moment, he saw a distant look in her golden eyes, glazed over as he reached down to pick up his ball. Naturally, he was concerned. She dismissed it and went back to being herself. 

His foot went down harder on the gas as he chased after Lyra, unaware of the forces at work behind the scenes. 





Lyra pulled into the lot, parking her car and getting out. She shivered. 

The port district of Seattle was a large, varied, complex system that ran Seattle's airport and seaport system. There were hundreds upon thousands of shipping containers spread out in these maze-like cargo terminals. Terminal 46 currently had no ships or ferries docked. There were strange structures resembling cranes and plenty of red containers. 

She walked along the wet concrete, large warehousing structures and narrow alleys filled with boxes on the right, the river on the left. She spotted an SUV hidden away in an alleyway and ran forward, her bones chilling when she saw Gilda leaning against a shipping container. 

"Yo." 

Lyra let out a sigh. "Hey." 

"She's coming." 

"I know." Lyra shivered. 

"You need protection?" 

"It's cold," Lyra answered. 

Gilda gave her something to wear. 

At exactly midnight, the second the clock struck twelve, a single beam of light descended from the starry night sky, striking the ground. An explosion followed that blinded the both of them. From out of the green fire, a creature began to emerge, initially standing on all fours before its back twisted horribly with a crunch until it stood upright, taking on a human form. Features began to reveal themselves as it came closer. It took on a feminine figure. Shoulder-length cerulean hair draped over her bare breasts. Half-lidded acid green eyes framed with black eyeshadow fixed themselves upon the group of girls. A pair of supple lips covered in black gloss curved into a smile, revealing two glinting fangs. 

"Well hello there," it purred.  

Flanking her were a dozen bodyguards clad in all-black suits with blue mirror shades perched on their crooked noses. All of them were six feet tall, completely bald, hairless even, lacking any sort of distinguishable trait from each other as they marched in unison behind her, their black Italian loafers stomping against the pier. 

One came to their leader, helping her slip into a black evening gown and a heels. They removed their suit jacket, even going so far as to drape it around her shoulders.

"Hey Chrissy." 

Chrysalis scowled, not pleased with the affectionate nickname. 

"How was the trip?" 

"Exhausting." 

"Jet lag is a bitch, ain't it?" 

She tossed the keys to Chrysalis, leading her to the SUV and lifting the hatch. 

"Followed your instructions exactly. Even got the model you wanted." She gestured to the Mercedes-Benz hood ornament.

The changeling queen ignored her, eying the wide array of small arms, ammunition crates, and assorted explosives stored in the trunk, some of which included explosive charges and two disassembled .50-caliber rifles stored in their cases. It was enough to supply a private army. She reached inside and picked one out for herself, a SIG Sauer P226 9mm with a black cylinder screwed onto the barrel, deadly and precise in the right hands. Her six guards shoved Gilda aside, beginning to arm themselves with G36C carbines.

"And the money?" 

"I didn't touch it," Gilda stated. "It's in there." 

"And you, Lyra?" 

Lyra traced a toe sheepishly. "I used some of it. There's...not much left.

Gilda tugged at her collar nervously. "So what, are we done?" 

"You two have done very well," Chrysalis complimented, holding up a thick portfolio, "especially you, Lyra. This will be very helpful." 

Lyra let herself smile, if only to take pride in her work. Chrysalis leaned over, giving both of them patronizing pats on the head. 

"Heh, yeah. Sure. Now about going home..." 

"Disarm them." 

One changeling guard grabbed at Gilda's wrist. She turned around and knocked him out cold with an uppercut to the jaw. 

"Hey!" 

In the blink of an eye Gilda drew her polished chrome Desert Eagle .50 AE and fired off a shot just as Chrysalis reached for the barrel. The bullet ripped through the fleshy webbing of her hand and sliced an enormous gash across her cheek. Her claws got a grip on the end of the pistol and wrenched it from Gilda's hands as another changeling guard subdued the furious gryphon. 

"You bitch! We had a deal!" Gilda screamed. 

Green viscous blood oozed down her face and hand. Chrysalis lapped at her wounds like a cat with a long, serpentine tongue, very much enjoying the taste. 

"What the hell! Lemme go!" she spat. 

"You won't be needing this anymore," she said coldly, regarding the magnum with a look of distaste before disposing of it in the water. To her guards, she added, "Secure the area."  





Her car! 

He quickly parked his car and ran, his heart pounding away in his chest and the blood pumping in his muscles as he ran through all the terminals. The entire place was enormous. How on earth was he going to find her? 

In the black of the night, his eyes was drawn towards a green glow from a terminal. 

Terminal 46.

Despite the pain in his chest, he sprinted as fast as he could, his mind wandering and still pondering why Lyra would come to such a place at that hour in that weather. 

He heaved a breath, leaning back against a shipping container, his breathing labored as he continued. He saw a group of people congregated near the edge of the pier, and his steps slowed. 

Lyra!

He squinted, trying to see. Adrian recoiled visibly as he heard the crack and flash of a gunshot, ducking behind the container. 

"Oh shit." 

He squinted, poking his head around the corner, sidling up against the container and sneaking toward another one. He couldn't hear a thing, and could only guess that by the looks of things, things were not going well. 

No shit, Einstein. What gave you a clue?

It looked like a scene straight out of The Godfather, some illicit alleyway exchange being made in the dark with armed guards in nice suits. 

One, two, three, four, five...

Twelve. Twelve of them, all armed like soldiers. 

It finally occurred to him. It all made sense. It was that pivotal moment that everything seemed to click into place, and suddenly, he felt like an imbecile. The conclusion he came to seemed reasonable enough. Lyra was involved in criminal activities, probably a gang, maybe the Mafia. Everything about her now screamed criminal. The money, the flat, her passport, lack of a birth certificate. 

The past month had felt like...a romance movie. He was the socially inept virgin and Lyra was the romantic interest. He was deceived. He was shallow and stupid. She was hot, he was not. She clearly liked him and he didn't care about the things that didn't exactly seem so kosher about her. The entire thing was a bad joke, and he was the one who missed the punchline. He realized with horror that he was involved now, with whatever...this was. Simply being Lyra's boyfriend was enough to incriminate him just by association. 

It was a little late to be worrying about his record. The police! Of all the times, this was the time to call the police. 

His cold hands tapped three digits.

"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?" 

He blurted out key words and phrases. "P-Police, I need the police. There are men with guns at the docks, the uh, Seattle Port." 

A shadow fell over him. 

Oh crap.

He glanced up before he was struck in the nose with the stock of a rifle. His smartphone scattered away. 

"Sir? Sir?"





"We found someone, my Queen." 

Lyra's head turned, even as she felt the barrel pressed against her neck, chills running down her spine. She knew fully well what guns were designed to do and how devastating they could be on soft tissue. Her heart skipped a beat, then sank. Her cover was blown. 

"Let me go!" 

Lyra covered her face with her hands. "No, no, no..." 

Adrian was tossed haphazardly before Chrysalis' feet, a stream of blood running from his nose. 

"Asshole!" 

He scrambled away, recovering to a standing position and about to make a break for it before a SIG was placed at his head. He turned, gulping, his hands reaching for the sky. 

"Let me introduce myself," she said, holding her hand out in a dainty fashion. "Call me Chrysalis." 

Adrian didn't shake it. His eyes narrowed as he saw the biker. "You...I...I remember you!" 

"Shut up, kid," Gilda snapped. 

"Lyra, what the hell is goin—" 

He was immediately cut off with a vicious backhand to the face leaving three claw marks. Lyra felt anger rise in her chest. She wanted to scream at her. How dare she hit him! But she held her tongue, praying that they would all make it through the night unscathed. 

"Would you please refrain from swearing? We are in the presence," Chrysalis said, gesturing to Lyra, "of a lady." 

She couldn't help herself. "Fuck you!" Lyra spat. 

Chrysalis frowned. "My my, such language." 

Her eyes flashed, and in a single bound, she grabbed Lyra's face. She whimpered, gasping as she felt her sharp nails dig into her skin. 

"Maybe we should cut out that tongue of yours." 

She ripped herself away. The changeling behind her made his presence aware once more, subduing her with her arms behind her back. Gilda herself had two guards manhandling her. Her profanities had ceased with a little encouragement from the end of a gun. 

"I believe we should all be acquainted with each other before we continue. Why don't you introduce yourself, Gilda?" 

The biker muttered, "Gilda Griffin." 

"And you?" 

Adrian held his tongue. 

"Oh, come now. Don't be shy." Her lip twitched when he spat in her face. "He must be so confused, Lyra." She made the sound resembling a kiss, sounding sympathetic. "This must be the boy you've fallen in love with," Chrysalis said. "It must have been easy to seduce him." 

"Adrian, no! Don't listen to her!" 

"I've seen your pictures," Chrysalis said. "You two make such an adorable couple." She sounded like she wanted to gag. 

Adrian pointed, his hand shaking. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but—but y-you let her go. The cops'll be here any s-second," he said, not entirely sure his call made it through. It was a bluff. 

She shoved the barrel of her gun in his face. He gulped. 

"Do you see this?" 

He gulped, able to look down and see the bullet in the chamber. The bore was the size of a tunnel in his eyes. "Silencer," he mumbled.

"That is correct. So that way, when I..." She placed the barrel against her head, cocking the hammer. "...drive a tunnel through your skull, no one will hear." Her hand lunged for his face. 

He closed his eyes, whimpering slightly. 

"Look at me, shh, look at me. Open your eyes." 

"N-No." 

"Open your eyes, child, open—open your EYES! LOOK AT ME!" she roared. "LOOK. AT. ME! LOOKATME!" 

He cracked an eye open. He saw into her acid green eyes and looked into the face of instability. It was the look of a deranged madwoman, ruthless and willing enough to do anything. Her eye twitched slightly as she smiled. Her face lit up again. 

"It was such a wonderful plan—would you like me to tell you? Just kidding. I wouldn't tell you it even if you asked nicely. But now, everything is going to plan." She sighed, giving a girlish squeal. "I love it when things go according to plan. Do you know who I am?" 

"You told me." 

"Say it. Say my name." 

He clenched his jaw. "Chrysalis." 

"Yes." 

"Sounds like a stripper name." 

Gilda let out a snort. He received another smack across the other cheek, and she squeezed his throat. His face went red, turning into a dangerous shade as he struggled to breathe with a vice around his neck. Lyra screamed, begging her to stop. She released her hold, and Lyra felt herself releasing her breath at the same time. 

"Youngsters these days," Chrysalis sighed, turning her back toward him. "No respect." 

Adrian made a break for it. 

She sighed. "They always run." 

There was a crack, and a bullet slammed into the concrete inches away from his foot. Smoke rose from the barrel. 

"Ah-ah." 

Chrysalis strode forward. Lyra planted herself right in front of Chrysalis, blocking her from Adrian. 

"It's done! We got what you wanted! He's not a part of this!" 

Chrysalis pursed her lips into a childish pout, lowering the gun. "Oh, Lyra," she cooed, "Lyra, Lyra. Sweet, innocent Lyra Heartstrings." She suddenly lunged forward, her clawed fingers at her throat as she hissed venomously. "Did you really think I was going to let you go?" 

On the verge of tears she ripped away in terror. Chrysalis kept her vice on her throat, her nails digging into her flesh. 

"You're a smart filly, Lyra. Tell me, what would happen if I sent you," she said, and then gesturing to the captive biker with the gun, "and Gilda home to Equestria. Hmm?" 

She wept, tears sliding down her face. "I-I don't—" 

"Shh, shh, yes you do." 

"P-Please, I—" 

"Answer the question." 

"I don't know, I don't—" 

"Answer the question, come now, you know the answer." 

"We'd go home!" she shouted in frustration. "We'd go home and we'd never ever ever talk about it again! We'd take it to our graves!" She'd meant it. 

Dead silence. 

Chrysalis chuckled, her eyes lighting up in amusement. She released her hold on Lyra's throat, sweetly patting her cheek. The girl squirmed as her cheeks were pinched. 

"Ohhh," she sighed, tapping the barrel of the gun against her head, "you're just so sweet. Such a pretty face." Chrysalis pulled away. Then, a flat, "No. No, you would not. You see, I think," she paused, dangerously gesturing toward her gun in hand, "you would tell somepony. And then your princess would come save the day and ruin all my plans." 

"No!" 

"Yes! Yes, I think you would. You see, you three are loose ends. I don't like loose ends. See, this is all going according to plan. The last time, I made the mistake of letting that Cadance live. And I certainly won't make that mistake again." 

"He doesn't have to get involved! He won't tell anybody! You won't, right, Adrian?" Lyra pleaded, the desperation in her voice making it crack. 

"Oh, Lyra, you've fallen in love! And this poor innocent boy you seduced might go and tell the police." Chrysalis did a little hop and a skip. "Bring Gilda over here." She waved her gun. "Well?" 

Gilda obliged, with a little encouragement from the guard that came in the form of a rifle barrel prod in the back. 

"On your knees." 

She didn't comply. Without hesitation Chrysalis slammed the butt of her gun into Gilda's face. 

"On your KNEES!" 

With a stiff upper lip and a bleeding head Gilda fell, kneeling beside Adrian, who complied quickly lest he be shot like a dog on the spot. Chrysalis chambered a round in her gun, offering it to Lyra. 

"Will you do the honors?" 

"W-What? I don't—"

"Yes, yes you do sweetie." Chrysalis forced the gun into Lyra's hands. It was heavy. Very heavy, much heavier than the one she'd carried. She'd cursed herself, thinking of all the reasons why she should have brought a gun for herself to defend against Chrysalis. Then again, Gilda was bigger, stronger, and faster than her and was still disarmed. 

When she didn't take it she came around behind Lyra, wrenching her hands and forcing her into holding it, helping her to aim. 

"You're going to decide which one lives..."  

"N-No!" she screamed, horrified, the tears streaming more and more, shaking her head. "No, no!" 

"...and which one dies," she crooned. "Who would you sacrifice, who would you save?" In a demented game of life or death she switched the gun back and forth. "This one? Or maybe her? Should it be him? Or her? Hmm? Which one do you love?" 

"NO!" 

"It's so easy, just aim and pull the trigger, it's so easy..." 

Lyra looked back and forth between her two choices. It was like flipping a coin. Either way, she lost. Heads, Adrian, tails, Gilda. 

She swallowed, steeling herself. "Gilda, I'm sorry—"

Chrysalis was pleased. "Pull the trigger, you can do it. Just pull the trigger." 

"Shut up, Lyra!" Gilda shouted. "Don't you dare apologize!" 

"One, two, three, easy. Squeeze, squeeze," Chrysalis encouraged. 

"Gilda, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Lyra screamed. 

"Shoot me!" She stood up, gesturing at her chest. "C'mon, shoot me! What are waiting for, you doofus? Pull the trigger." When there was a pause as Lyra's hands shook, she goaded her. "Shoot me, come on."

Her finger trembled. 

"Shoot me, motherfucker, come on!" 

The slide snapped back. She nearly dropped the pistol as a casing flew out from it and she was able to witness the effects of a nine-millimeter slamming right into Gilda's chest. She crumpled, then fell still. Lyra screamed. 

"There's one..." 

Chrysalis shoved Lyra forward, taking the gun into her hands. She aimed the gun towards Adrian next. 

"No!" 

"Get out of the way." 

Lyra stood her ground, trying to shield him. "Adrian, run." 

He could only weakly gasp, his eyes locked on Gilda's body. 

Chrysalis sighed. "Why must you make everything so difficult?" 

"Adrian, RUN!" 

The slug slammed into her chest. It was strange, being shot. She couldn't describe it. It felt like she'd been punched in the gut. All the wind had been knocked out of her. Her vision faded to black. The last thing she felt was her skull connecting with the ground. The last thing she saw was Adrian running away. 

She smiled. 





Adrian's life flashed before his eyes. The first day of kindergarten, the first time he rode his bike, his first crush, his first car, his first love, his first heartbreak, graduation day. He saw the faces of his loved ones, his close friends. 

He ran. He ran as far as he could down the end of the pier, knowing fully well what lay for him when he reached the end. He ran faster than he ever did in his years of running track, but then again the bullets screaming past him were enough to motivate him. He felt hot lead slice past his arms and legs, praying that the next one would miss its mark. The edge of the pier approached, and he prepared to jump the railing before realizing that the only thing that would do would make sure that he'd have a few broken ribs on the way down. So he slowed, clambering atop the railing, one leg already on it. 

Adrian had never been a good swimmer. He'd taken one diving class, but that was about it. This wasn't the time for fancy spins and dives. The only thing he could do was straight out his toes and keep his hands at his sides to prevent any injuries, like say, broken ankles. 

He was about to leap forward when a round slammed into his shoulder blade, sending him on a one-way trip into the watery depths of the waterway. Cold, freezing waters engulfed him. His eyes had been screwed shut the entire trip down as he experienced that lurching feeling in his gut as he flailed. Then world around him went silent and muffled. Pain lanced through his back, going dull. His entire body was stunned. He saw crimson in the water. 

At least now he could figure out how long he could hold his breath. 





Chrysalis lowered the rifle from her shoulder. She'd hit him, center mass. If the 5.56 in his shoulder wasn't lethal, being unable to use his arms to swim was. She handed the rifle to her offspring. She looked up, raising a eyebrow, a curious expression on her face as the first drop of rain fell on her face and slid down her cheek. It reached her chin, and she smiled. She glanced at the two bodies. 

At the very least, they were out of the way.

"Dump the bodies." 

A grin spread across her face. 

Yes. Everything was going according to plan. 
> Resurrection 
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Below the surface of the earth was the Seattle Metro, a public transit subway system that ran through King County. At that late hour of two in the morning, there sat only a naked woman on a bench in the dank, eerie underground station.

Ashleigh Jackson sat up with a cry, her emerald eyes snapping open, her heart pounding in her heaving chest, sweating. Her head whirled around as panic began to set in, as she tried to gain an understanding on the world she was in and grasp her new, alien environment. Eventually, her breathing slowed. She relaxed. She sighed, leaning back in her seat, wiping her brow with her...hands? Questions ran through her mind. Where was she? And how did she get there? 

Her hands immediately shot to the top of her head. She frowned, feeling nothing but sun-kissed blonde hair. 

Where's mah hat?

She reached over on the bench she sat on. "There you are," she cooed, picking up her cowboy hat and placing it back where it belonged. 

"Psst! Applejack!" 

She nearly jumped out of her skin, startled. She looked around, searching for the owner of the mysterious voice. She spotted a shock of rainbow-streaked locks and grinned. 

"Rainbow!" 

She tried standing, only to have her legs collapse beneath her as she quickly became accustomed with having a set of two legs compared to four. 

"Haha!" Rain Dash snickered, pointing at her. "You ate it!" 

"Shut yer trap, Rainbow." 

She looked up. A young girl with fuchsia eyes and rainbow locks greeted her with a confident smirk. 

"Need a hoof?" 

Ashleigh accepted it, pulling herself up slowly and steady as she held onto the girl, testing out her new legs, bending them and finding a set of joints much different than she was used to. 

"Hand," another voice chimed in. 

"Twilight!" 

Tara Sparks revealed herself from behind a pillar. Straight dark blue hair with a pink stripe, pale skin. She looked rather flustered, stumbling slightly, her movements less like walking and more like waddling. 

She groaned. "I don't know how anyone could walk in these." 

Ashleigh dusted herself off. "Where's Rarity?" 

Rene Gem strode up to the three with confidence and flair, her long, smooth, shapely legs moving with coordination and ease, her head held high. Fiona Shy trailed not too far behind, her wide blue eyes hidden behind her long pink hair. Diane Pie skipped along, her normally poofy, messy mane now straight. 

Together they all stood naked, necklaces inlaid with gems around their neck, serving as the Elements of Harmony. 

"Hello, darlings," Rene said. 

"Speak of the devil," Rain snickered. 

"Wow oh wow!" Diane exclaimed. "Echo!" Her voice replied from down the dark tunnel. "Echo!" 

"I don't think we're in Equestria anymore, girls," Ashleigh remarked. 

Rain smirked. "You think?" She admired her new appendages, running her hands over her body and giving her small breasts an experimental squeeze. "What the hay are these things?" 

"Help us out here, Twilight. Where is she? And where are we?" 

She closed her eyes, concentrating for a moment, her purple eyes glowing a moment. "She's here. Definitely," she nodded. "This place has no magic at all. Normally it'd take me a while to pick out a unicorn's magical frequency, but there's only one more besides mine and Rarity's." 

"So follow the trail?" 

"It's...weak," Tara admitted. "She probably hasn't used her magic." She frowned. "It's like this place is dampening our magic." 

Rene nodded. "I feel it too. Now I can't possibly sew!" 

"So follow the breadcrumbs, then," Ashleigh said. "Then it's settled. We find Lyra and get the heck outta Dodge."

Fiona shivered, her teeth chattering audibly. "M-Maybe some clothes first?" 

"Shoot," Ashleigh muttered. "We don't even know our way around this...place." 

"There's tracks. So it must be a train station," the fashionista reasoned. 

"This place could use a little more color," Diane chirped. 

"Clothes first," Tara agreed. "Let's take the stairs." 





Lyra felt a cold shock. Her eyes fluttered, snapping open, realizing that she was engulfed in freezing waters. On one hand, she felt terrible. There was a gigantic bruise right below her left breast where her heart was that ached with each twist of her body. She was numb, stiff, and had a headache. On the other hand, she was certainly grateful that Gilda's bulletproof vest had saved her life. Her choice of words had been strange, asking her if she needed "protection" from the weather. Then she figured out what kind of protection she was talking about. Gilda didn't trust Chrysalis, but she didn't really had much of a choice, now did she? 

As it turned out, she was right. 

Something brushed up against her side. Lyra, unable to scream underwater, thrashed wildly before a firm grip on her wrist reminded her of who was next to her. 

"Gilda," she mouthed. 

The biker pointed up towards the surface. They broke the surface of the water with a huge gasp, before Gilda clamped her hand over Lyra's mouth, flicking her hawkish eyes upwards towards the pier from where they'd been tossed. They treaded water, listening for the sound of car doors slamming shut and a screech of wheels before swimming to shore. Lyra went first, grabbing a secure hold on the concrete edge and having Gilda push her up. She helped Gilda onto land. The gryphon ripped open her jacket, revealing what lay beneath: a bulletproof vest. In the spot directly over her heart, there was a flattened slug embedded in the Kevlar. Lyra, too, wore the same vest. Her 9mm round had caught her right in the gut, knocking the wind out of her. 

"That bitch tried to dump us!" Gilda sat down, trying to get her bearings. "Ruined my jacket too." 

"W-Where's Adrian?" Lyra's eyes widened. "I told him, I told him to run! H-He ran to the end, Gilda!" 

"Ugh, you've gotta be kidding me." 

"Gilda!" Lyra screamed, shaking her. "What if he's hurt?" 

"Yeah yeah, I'm moving." 

The gryphon tore off her jacket, muttering to herself as she dove back into the water. 





At least twenty feet below the surface, Adrian twisted his right shoulder. A stream of bubbles escaped his mouth as he screamed underwater, furiously kicking his legs and dragging his good arm through the water. That feeling in his chest tightened. He was going to drown. His vision began to go black around the edges. He blinked rapidly, clenching his eyes shut. They snapped open and widened when he saw a figure swimming towards him. Out of desperation he reached out wildly. He felt his savior grab his wrist and pull him up, wrapping an arm around his torso and dragging the both of them to the surface. 

They broke. He gasped, coughing and spitting and taking a lungful of glorious air. There was a crack of thunder. Rain poured from the sky, smacking the water. He slumped, craning his head to see who held him as they swam back to shore. 

"Y-You..." 

Gilda helped him grab onto land. Adrian pulled himself onto the ground with a grunt of exertion, weakly rolling over onto his back. She joined him, forcing him to his feet and throwing his good arm around her neck. 

"Adrian!" 

His head jerked and he looked up. His jaw dropped as he struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. 

"What the...what the fu..."

His face paled considerably, as if he'd seen a ghost. He was certain he was seeing ghosts, as at the moment, both Lyra and Gilda stood before him, their clothes soaking wet, looking no worse for wear other than a gash on the side of the biker's skull. 

"You got shot! I saw you both get shot!" 

Lyra parted the lapels of her jacket, but Gilda answered for her. 

"There's this thing called Kevlar, see—" 

"Shut up!"

"Oh my god," Lyra whispered, grabbing his cheek. 

There were three small cuts from where he had been slapped for his insolence. He shoved her hand away. 

"What the hell is going on?!" 

"Listen, we need to go to the hospital—" Lyra started.

Gilda cut her off. "Do you really want to explain how this kid got shot?" 

"Hello? Just took a bullet to the back!" 

"He is bleeding!" Lyra shouted. 

"Is anyone listening to me?" he yelled. 

She glanced at Adrian. "Take off the jacket." 

"What?" 

Gilda strode over, repeating herself. Adrian complied, wincing in pain. She touched his arm. 

"How do you feel?" 

"Like crap." 

"Little more specific?" 

"Feels like I took a sledgehammer to the shoulder." 

"You're in luck, kid." 

He didn't like the way she was talking to him. "Yeah?" 

"Just a graze." 

Adrian twisted his head, peering over his shoulder. There was a long, oozing gash that ran along the length of his shoulder blade. Lady Luck had been on his side that night. He had been leaning forward when he'd been shot. The bullet had barely missed its mark, skirting across the surface of his flesh and missing bone and muscle entirely. But still, this was no miniscule cut. It bled profusely, and looked like hell.

"You're good to go." Gilda patted him on the shoulder, making him wince and shove her hand away. 

"What the hell is going on?" he muttered under his breath. 

Lyra touched his arm. "Adrian, I'll explain everything later, okay?" 

He shrugged her off. "I want answers." 

"Gimme your keys." 

"Why do you need my car?" Adrian asked. 

"Did you call the cops?" 

"Of course I called. The fucker broke my nose and I couldn't finish it—would anyone please just tell me what is going on?!" 

"Adrian, please," Lyra whispered. "I promise. I'll explain." 

"So," she started, "when this place becomes a crime scene, do you really want cops scratching their heads wondering what your piece-of-shit car is doing parked there?" 

"I'm not breaking the law!" he spat, pointing at himself. "This isn't my fault!" 

"It's nobody's fault," Lyra interjected. "We need to get going, just give her the keys." 

Adrian fished into his wet pockets, shivering, tossing her the keys. 

Gilda said, "Lyra, your flat." 

"What about it?" 

"You leave anything there? Anything that can help us?" 

"Just the case," Lyra answered. "Some guns and money. Passports and stuff." 

"My place is done for," Gilda groaned. "Can't believe I listened to her." 

"It's not your fault," Lyra said. 

"I knew she would pull something like this." She dismissed it with a toss of the hand. "Whatever. What's done is done. I didn't keep a stash, so we need that briefcase," Gilda ordered. "Where do you live?" 

"If you think I'm gonna tell you where my house is—" 

He stopped short. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was too much. Still, he counted his blessings and followed the two in silence, limping slightly. There were tiny cuts in all sorts of places on his body that the rain made sting. The gash on his arm was most pressing. The three slunk through the port, muscles tense and on edge. That Crystal woman and her goombahs were nowhere to be found. 

Adrian crouched down and picked up his smartphone, muttering a curse as he examined the screen. It had slid several feet, and the edges of the screen were scratched. Upon inspection, it still worked, but nonetheless he was irritated.  

"Can we hurry this up?" 

He slid into the passenger seat of Lyra's Camry, watching as Gilda unlocked his car. Lyra started the car and sped off with a lurch, his Accord trailing close behind. She turned on the heat and windshield wipers. 

His throat was hoarse. His body ached. He was cold, uncomfortable, and had a headache. He was not in the mood to talk, and it looked like Lyra wasn't either. He didn't mention how recklessly Lyra was driving, or ask any more questions, and closed his eyes. He drifted off into a state between sleep and consciousness, aware of the sounds of the rain pounding against the hood of the car and the subtle lurches as the car switched lanes and made turns. He heard the sound of the gears switching, and cracked an eye open. 

Lyra had pulled back into the lot of the high-rise and had run in quick. He shifted in his seat, aware that he was probably bleeding all over the upholstery, and closed his eyes, trying to get warm. Moments later Lyra came back, a duffel bag around her shoulders and a briefcase in hand, which she tossed into the backseat.  

"Got your clothes," Lyra said, short of breath. "Camera. Everything." 

He closed his eyes again, nodding. His head throbbed. When he opened them again, they were at his house. The cars were parked side by side on the driveway. The two of them helped him out of the car and unlocked the front door. He stumbled inside, weary and wet. From there, Lyra and Gilda began locking all of the windows and drawing the curtains shut. 

In the bathroom, Adrian slowly stripped himself down to nothing and turned on the shower with Lyra in the bathroom and Gilda standing in the door frame. There was a fine line between being a "man" and being stupid, but he himself didn't feel like having to explain anything to doctors or the police. 

He sat down shakily in the tub, feeling the numbness from his extremities begin to fade in the warmth of the hot water. The water stained with tinges of red as they washed his cuts down. There was an ugly purple splotch on his lower back, most likely from the fall into the water. 

"Get the rubbing alcohol in the cabinet," he ordered, shivering still. "And the roll of bandages and that bottle of pills, the orange one—no, no, not that one. One down. What does it say on it?" 

"It's says," Lyra read slowly, "hydrocodone." 

He instructed Lyra to open the bottle of rubbing alcohol and pour it over his shoulder. 

"Won't that hurt?" 

"Just do it," he said coldly. 

Lyra slowly tipped the bottle over the gash. Adrian clenched his jaw, biting the inside of his cheek and letting out a hiss as his gash stung in agony. He bit his lip and let out a string of subdued profanity under his breath. 

"That's enough," he said, standing up in the water. 

Now sufficiently warm, he toweled himself off, taking extra care around his cuts and dabbing them dry. 

"I need to do your cheek." 

It was superficial and only stung a little, and his nose had long stopped since flowing and would heal in time on its own. Still, he held still, sitting on the edge of the bathtub as Lyra soaked a cotton ball in rubbing alcohol and gently dabbed it across his cheek. He refused to meet her gaze, and Lyra resigned herself to patching him up in silence. Meanwhile, he took the roll of bandages and wrapped it around his upper arm twice, securing it with a pin. Lyra placed a small Band-Aid on his cheek. 

Meanwhile, Gilda was making herself right at home. She'd stripped off her jacket and pants, toweling herself down with a borrowed cloth in his bedroom. She let out a hiss as she touched her sore breast. Adrian sat down on his bed, gesturing for Lyra to give him the bottle of Vicodin. He popped the cap off and shook a few white capsules into the palm of his hand. He swallowed one. 

"It says to take only one," Lyra reminded. 

Adrian ignored her and swallowed a second one, downing it with a plastic cup of water. He tilted his head back, his eyes scrunched up as he felt the effects of the medicine begin to take effect. 

"Mind if we use your shower?" Lyra asked. 

He waved his hand dismissively, rolling onto his back on his bed, quickly falling into a dreamless sleep. 





Adrian's bloodshot eyes snapped open. There were bags underneath his eyes. He shifted slightly underneath the warm covers of his bed, wincing as he felt a twinge of pain in his shoulder. Slowly he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Light streamed through his blinds, catching him in the eye. His throbbing head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. He remembered the day Lyra had called him, and felt an eerie sensation of déjà vu. Out of his Vicodin-induced coma, he twisted his head, quickly discovering that if he moved too quickly, he would amplify his headache. 

Adrian stumbled downstairs. His face felt oily and his hair messed up. He scratched at the scruff of his face, reminding himself to shave again. He turned into the kitchen. 

"You're awake." 

He stopped, his hands dropping to his side. Gilda and Lyra sat at the kitchen table, dressed in new clothes. Aside from some stitches on the side of the biker's skull, they both looked a-okay. There was a duffel bag set down on the floor next to the front door. His camera sat atop the coffee table. 

Adrian clenched his jaw, moving over to his Nikon, examining the device. He limped stiffly over to the cupboard and began rummaging around. 

"Are you okay?"  

"...Yeah." 

Fruit Loops? He wasn't particularly in the mood for cereal. 

Adrian stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you Gilda." The way he said it indicated that he was not pleased to make her acquaintance. It was low and firm. 

Gilda stuck her cigarette into her mouth and shook his hand. "Sup." 

"Adrian Ross." 

They nodded, not letting go, still shaking. He squeezed firmly. 

"You're Lyra's friend, yeah?"

"You could say that," she mumbled. "You her dweeb boyfriend?" 

He flicked her eyes at Lyra, a questioning look. She had described him as her "boyfriend"? 

"You could say that." He snatched her smoking cigarette from her lips and quashed the flame in an ashtray. "Don't smoke in the house." 

Gilda smirked. Adrian then went back to the fridge and grabbed some orange juice and a glass for himself. Both sat in silence as he poured himself a glass. Then, 

"Adrian...," Lyra said softly. 

He slammed the carton on the counter top, angrily capping it and shutting the fridge door. He took a large refreshing gulp. 

"Can you just...please tell me what's going on?" 

"Maybe you should sit down." 

"I'm fine." 

"This is going to sound crazy. You're not going to believe me." 

"Talk," he said icily. 

They told him everything. Lyra started, haltingly, and Gilda spoke up to interject her own side of the story, and every so often Adrian would seek clarification. Once upon a time in the magical land of Equestria, yadda talking ponies who could fly and cast magic spells, yadda, monstrous androgynous parasites called "changelings" that could take the form of anypony so that they could feed off of their emotions, the whole shebang. Lyra's real name was Lyra Heartstrings, and in a past life she had been a unicorn with mint-green hair and a matching coat and a lyre for a Cutie Mark, explaining the tattoo.

Oh, and she didn't have amnesia. 

Gilda Griffin was—you guessed it, a gryphon. They told him how they'd been captured by Chrysalis, Queen of the Changelings, who used them as pawns as a part of some elaborate chessboard master plan to enter the human world. She'd been savvy enough to send one of her minions in advance to set the whole operation up. It explained everything: Lyra's expensive flat and expensive furnishings, her ten-thousand dollars, her fake passports, fake IDs, fake driver's licenses, her lack of a birth certificate. 

And the entire time, Adrian kept a completely straight face. There were the idle twitches of the lip, the looks of incredulity and disbelief when either of them said something so completely ridiculous and unbelievable that he couldn't help but wonder if it was all a bad dream or an overdose on hydrocodone. At some point he wondered what on God's green earth the two of them had been smoking, because whatever it was, he wanted some. 

"Why do they want to come here?" 

The answer he got was serious. "Duh. They want to feed off you!" Gilda said, as if it was the most obvious thing. "Regain their strength. They're probably integrating right now, masquerading as humans. Soon Chrissy will have enough power to bring her entire empire here." 

Here? To Earth? 

"Next step is probably to take over the world," she added. 

"How?" 

"Didn't you hear her? They can change at will into anything!" 

"Anyone?"

"Anything! And anyone. Including you. Or me. Or Lyra." 

"The President?" 

"Makes sense," she shrugged.

"She...she couldn't do that, right?" Adrian gulped. "That's impossible." 

"Anything is possible. Who knows what's going on in her head?" 

"She'd have to be crazy." 

Oh, right.

He meant it as a joke. It scared him. The very concept of creatures that could take the shape of any creature that it wanted to and blend in seamlessly scared him, no, frightened him out of his wits. But what scared him the most was that Lyra and Gilda believed their little story. And he found himself believing it as well. There was no denying proof. But it was a struggle, coming to grips that there were other sentient creatures, other worlds, other universes out there and that interdimensional travel was possible. 

Adrian looked away. "Whatever." 

At last, when they finished their tale, he reached over and grabbed Lyra by the wrist. 

"C'mon, both of you, let's go." 

"What?" Lyra said. 

"I need to take you two to the hospital because you're OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND!" 

He wanted to deny, deny, deny. Most people would. It was like having everything you knew to be true in the world being chucked out of a window.

And he denied it all. 

The sheer volume of his voice was enough to make both of them cringe. His face was red. Lyra thought she saw a bulging vein on his neck. She had never seen him like this. The entire time she'd been with him he'd always spoken to her in a calm, level tone.

"I can't believe this! You tell me some—some bullshit, made-up fairy tale after I just took a bullet to the back!" 

"Graze," Gilda corrected. 

"Adrian, I'm not!" Lyra said. 

"You think this is a joke?!" 

"No—" 

"You think this is funny?! Because it's not! I'm not laughing!" He took a breath, glaring at Gilda, who had relit her doused cigarette. He roared, "And DON'T SMOKE IN THE HOUSE!" 

Adrian felt a pang in his heart as he saw Lyra slump and hang her head. He'd never raised her voice at her, never yelled at her like that. But he felt that he was justified in this case. It was the most insulting thing anybody had ever done to him, lying straight to his face. 

"This is nothing but the truth! I promise!" 

"Why are you here?" When she didn't understand he repeated himself. "Why you? Why are you, you, here?" 

Lyra bit her lip. "I was a...scout." She wrung her hands. "She, Chrysalis I mean, she sent me here to do some uh, reconnaissance and..." 

"Spy," Adrian finished for her humorlessly. 

Lyra wilted. "Yeah. To spy on you guys." 

"And that little journal of yours?" 

"It's like a dossier on humans," she admitted. 

"Humans for Dummies, huh." 

They all shared a small laugh. 

"Now there's no way it could be thorough enough for her to know everything about us." 

"It's not," Lyra replied. "I could have just copied and pasted Wikipedia. But she wanted pictures. I think she wanted me to scope out the area more than anything." 

"And Gilda?" 

"Motivation," the biker sneered. "So that Lyra didn't forget to do her job." 

"And when she said you seduced me?" he said coolly. There was a hard, vacant look in his eyes. He didn't have to look at her to let her know that he was addressing her. "What was that?" 

Lyra opened her mouth to answer, thinking of something to say that would justify it all. But she couldn't find the words. 

"W-What was that?" he repeated, his voice trembling. "Some sort o-of game to you? Just to mess with me?" 

Lyra shook her head. "No. She was lying." 

"So what, I was just some guy you used to learn about—about humans?" Adrian's voice was faltering. His voice cracked slightly, out of anger or frustration or despair.

She was shaking her head more and more. "No. No." 

"Then tell me, what was it?" 

This was the wrong place and the wrong time to be discussing their relationship. Gilda, surprisingly, found the situation growing ever more hostile and unpleasant. Normally she would have relished such a confrontation, but this time there was no joy it in it. 

And at last when emotions were high, there was a chime. The doorbell rang. All three turned their head at the same times, wondering the same thing. 

Who could it be?

Gilda moved first. She reached for the briefcase. 

Adrian stepped forward, slowly approaching the door, taking a peek through the peep. He saw six girls. He unlocked the door and opened it only slightly, enough so that he could stand in the frame. 

"And who the hell are you?" Adrian snapped, not at all in the mood. 

There was a blonde, two strawberry blondes, two black-haired girls (though one of them seemed to have a purplish tint to her hair and the other a pink stripe). The only one that truly stood out was the girl with all seven colors of the rainbow in her hair. Their eye colors ranged from reasonable to absurd. They all wore some mismatched wardrobe, random articles of clothing haphazardly thrown together. He thought he spied some of the tags still dangling off the clothes. All in all, a ridiculous sight, but Adrian was no longer fazed. 

"Okay, wow, rude. Ahem, my name is, uh, Tara Sparks, and I was wondering if you were having anypo—body in your house." 
> Filling in the Gaps
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tara Sparks? Sparks in itself was an uncommon surname. Nicholas Sparks came to mind, along with many unpleasant memories of having to sit through such drivel like The Notebook and Dear John. But he was getting distracted. Tara Sparks had long black hair in a straight, no-nonsense haircut with a distinctive pink stripe. But was most striking was the color of her eyes. The last time he'd heard about anyone with violet eyes was the late Elizabeth Taylor. 

"Who's asking?" 

Tara frowned, and repeated her name. 

"I don't have time for this." 

He was able to slam the door shut before a boot stopped it. 

"Settle down there, sugarcube." 

Did she just call me sugarcube?

Adrian sneered. "Okay, listen. Hannah Montana, whoever you are." 

"Ashleigh," she suddenly blurted.

"What?"

"Ashleigh Jackson. That's my name," she said, her eyes flicking back and forth nervously. 

"I...I don't care!" 

Ashleigh Jackson seemed to be the most normal out of the bunch, which was saying something, considering she was wearing a Stetson and had a Southern drawl thicker than a Polish sausage. Blonde hair tied up in ponytail, pale green eyes, and freckles. 

"Are you having a party?" a bubbly voice chimed in. "My name's Diane! Diane Pie!" 

Diane Pie had long curly strawberry blonde hair, a few more shades strawberry than blonde but still reasonable. Her eyes were an especially brilliant shade of blue and sparkled. 

His temper was slowly rising. 

"Adrian, who is it?" Lyra asked. 

"Girl Scouts," he deadpanned, keeping the door half-shut. 

"Changelings?" Gilda hissed. 

He snarled at her. "Thin Mints or Caramel deLights?" 

"We aren't Girl Scouts," another voice piped up. "Rain! Rain Dash!" She jerked a thumb towards herself. 

Rain wasn't too unique as a name, but Dash? Out of all the girls, she by far had the most ridiculous, flamboyant haircut with rainbow streaks. Her eyes were a bright ultraviolet. 

"Thin Mints!" Lyra hissed. 

"Lyra? We know you're in there!" Tara called. 

Adrian slapped his forehead. He recalled some sage words of advice his friend had given him, something along the lines of, "Don't stick your dick in crazy." Lo and behold, he'd done exactly just that and got crazy in return. This was insanity. 

"Do you know these people?" 

A posh voice chimed in, "We may have shoplifted for a change of clothes, so perhaps could you let us in before law enforcement shows up?" 

"And you are?" 

"Rene, darling." 

Rene Gem had a pair of smoky blue eyes and dark hair, bordering black with a tint of purple. At the moment her coiffure looked disheveled and frazzled, yet she held her head high. 

"And her?" 

There had been another girl trying to make herself as small as possible behind Rene. 

"Fiona," she answered, her voice barely a whisper. 

Fiona Shy was a strawberry blonde, just like Diane, though more blonde than strawberry. Her hair was long and flowing, and acted like a curtain. Blue eyes seemed to be a running theme in this group. 

Or rather, exotic colors in general. 

Lyra tiptoed up behind Adrian and peeked over his shoulder. 

"LYRA!" six voices cried in unison. 

"I'll take that as a yes." Adrian shoved them all inside and slammed the front door shut, locking it tight. 

The six tumbled inside with yelps and cries, attempting to untangle themselves from the pile of limbs. 

"You!" Rain snapped, jabbing a finger at the biker. 

"You!" Gilda shot back. "What are you and your dweeb friends doing here?" 

"Oh, oh! Oh my," Fiona uttered. 

"Lyra, we've been looking everywhere for you!" Tara cried. 

"Yes, darling, where on earth have you been?" Rene said.

"HeyheyHEY!" Adrian shouted, making himself heard over the commotion. "HEY!" 

At once the house fell silent as everyone stared at him. 

"I don't know who you are, but I'm going to get some answers soon. Everyone, living room, now." He didn't give anyone a chance to speak. "Living room, go, sit down. Not one word." 

He had never seen Lyra angry before. The moment the six girls entered the house, her demeanor changed. He could see her jaw clench, her teeth gritting together, her lip curled in a pout. She chewed at it as he tried to get everyone settled. 

Adrian leaned back. He crossed his legs, uncrossed them. He leaned forward, meshing his fingers together, leveling a cool gaze at the eight girls in the room. 

"Who are you?" He glanced at Lyra. "Who are they?" 

"The Elements of Harmony. Here to swoop in and save the day with her friends, like always," Lyra said lowly. 

Adrian repeated himself. 

"We already told you who we are. My name is Tara Sparks—" 

"Cut the crap," he snapped. "I know you're from Equestria." 

Tara took a slow breath and heaved a sigh. "My name is Twilight Sparkle." 

One by one the other five girls revealed their true names to him. Fluttershy, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, Applejack, and lastly, Rainbow Dash. They were the Elements of Harmony. Adrian didn't catch onto much of what they said but got the gist. They were national heroes, basically. This Twilight Sparkle was a protégé to a Princess Celestia, yadda yadda, demigod who moved the sun—

"Listen, I can't keep up with this." Adrian seemed to cradle his head, almost massaging his forehead. "Right now this sounds like a bad cartoon, I need a drink and—" 

"Wait, you don't believe us?" 

Adrian stood up, popping open his fridge. "Noooo, I really don't." 

"Why?" Tara asked. 

"Because right it looks like I have a harem of eight strippers in my living room." 

"What's a 'strippper'?" Fluttershy asked. 

"I did the best I could," Rarity huffed. "Thrift shops are hardly fashionable. We had to make do with what we had." 

"My name doesn't sound like a stripper name, does it?" Lyra asked. 

"Lyra Heartstrings sure does." 

"Adrian!" she whined. 

"Twilight Sparkle?" Adrian asked skeptically. "Rainbow Dash? God, that sounds like the gayest name in the world." 

"HEY!"

"I happen to like my name, thank you very much!" Twilight huffed. 

Gilda cackled, struggling for air. Applejack covered her mouth, her shoulders quaking as she stifled a laugh. He set his glass of OJ down and leaned back and crossed his arms and delivered an ultimatum. 

"I want proof." 

Tara shrugged. "Well, okay then." She scanned the room for a second, and set her eyes upon the glass. She pointed. "See that?" 

"Yes," Adrian said. 

She closed her eyes in concentration, channeling her magic towards the cup. Adrian could scarcely believe what he saw next. The glass of orange juice was suddenly engulfed in a purple aura. It began to quiver and vibrate, the contents of the container rippling as it lifted one foot into the air. 

Adrian scrambled to his feet. "Jesus!" 

Tara let out a sigh as she carefully set the glass back down, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. "Whew." 

"What was that?" he stammered. 

"Magic," she answered. 

"Don't mess with me right now." 

"Magic," Lyra said. 

"This isn't funny—" 

"Magic!" eight voices in the room insisted. 

Adrian slowly sat down, his eyes wide with shock. He shook his head slightly. "Magic," he repeated. 

"That's how we found Lyra," Twilight said. 

"Magic. You have got to be kidding with me." He looked at Lyra. "Do you have magic too?" 

Lyra nodded sheepishly. "Not as much as she does. But I can levitate things too." She demonstrated by lifting a ballpoint pen off the coffee table. "That's about it." 

"Why didn't you show me earlier?" he blurted. 

She glared. "Gee, I dunno!" 

"So...it's like the Force." Adrian giggled. "'Luke, I am your father.' Could you like, choke me like Darth Vader?" 

"I'm starting to consider it," Lyra threatened. 

"Waitwaitwait, wait a minute," Adrian said. "This...is all real." 

She rolled her eyes. "No, really?" 

"So...that means you were telling the truth." 

"Yes!" Lyra snapped impatiently. 

"You're all...ponies?" 

Seven heads bobbed up and down. Adrian's eyes widened as he come to a horrifying conclusion. He stared blankly into space, his mouth ajar. He began to breathe hard, his chest rising faster and faster until he was nearly hyperventilating. 

"Adrian?" Lyra waved her hand in his face. "Adrian?" 

"So that means...I fucked a horse." 

Lyra squinted, a disgusted look on her face. 

"You had relations with him?" Rarity inquired. 

"What? Okay, yes! Moving on!" 

"I fucked a horse," he repeated. 

"I am not a horse!" Lyra groaned. "I'm human, just like you!" 

Adrian continued, ignoring her words. "You're a human...in disguise!" 

"That's not the point!" 

"You're technically a horse, and I technically had sex with you." 

"How do you 'technically' have intercourse?" Twilight inquired. 

Adrian shrank and lunged forward, grabbing her by her shoulders. "Is that bestiality? It's not, right?" 

Twilight yelped as he shook her. "I-I suppose—" 

"Y-You don't understand! Nothing was off-limits! It was like an all-you-could-fuck buffet!" He sank down to his knees, curling up into a fetal position. 

There were groans of disgust. 

Gilda made a face. "Dude, T.M.I." 

"Can we just get back to the subject on hand?" Lyra snapped irritably. 

"Yes, indeed," Rarity said. "How did we come to this point in this situation—WAHAHA!" She screamed as Adrian jumped up.  

"Let's see!" Adrian screamed like a madman. "Some stuff happened, we had sex—" 

"STOP!" Applejack shouted, covering Fluttershy's ears. 

"Like a LOT. We did it! Five times! I counted!" 

Lyra's face reddened as she buried her face in her hands. 

Adrian flailed his arms, as if trying to paint a vivid picture. "Every-fucking-where! Oh lord, we did it on the couch, the floor, in the shower—" 

"In the bed?" Rarity suggested. 

"Did you use any protection?" Tara asked. 

Lyra choked. 

"WE ARE WAY PAST SAFE SEX NOW!" 

"ANYways!" Tara shouted. "Lyra, how did you get here?" 

"What? Think I don't have the magical skill to create a portal?" 

"N-No—" 

"Bug lady," Gilda interjected. 

"Who?" 

"Bug lady, you know. Chrissy." 

Their jaws hit the floor. 

"Queen Chrysalis?!" 

The room burst into accusations and shouts. Most of it, indecipherable. Adrian was at a loss of what to say. Lyra clenched her jaw, hanging her head lower. 

"Lyra, how in Equestria could you work with that monster—"

WHAM! 

Lyra's hand slammed the table. 

"SHUT UP!"

Stunned silence. Adrian's jaw dropped. Lyra looked furious. 

"Now that was uncalled fo—" 

She wheeled on Rarity. "You shut your mouth. I'm not talking to you." She fixed Twilight with a look. "I didn't work with Chrysalis on purpose. She kidnapped me and Gilda so that she could send us to scope out this universe." 

"Kidnapped? How did she kidnap you? Cadance and Shining Armor sent her and her icky changelings out to the badlands!" Rainbow said. 

"I left Ponyville," she said. "Then she captured me. End of story." 

"Why did you leave?" Twilight asked. 

"You know why." 

"Huh?" 

"I said, you know why."  

"Lyra I don't—" 

"Oh? You don't remember?" Lyra feigned an expression of shock. "Maybe this'll jog your memory." She began to imitate Twilight's manner of speaking in a mocking tone. "'Oh Lyra, there's no way these humans of yours exist! They're just fairy tales and myths—nothing of real scientific significance!' You remember that?" 

"I didn't mean—" 

"The Canterlot Board of Research rejected me! They wouldn't even give me a chance! You wouldn't even give me a chance! All I need was your recommendation, but no!" 

"What does that have to do with anything?" Twilight shot back. 

"But that wasn't the end of it, oh no. They had to go and humiliate me in the newspapers! All of Equestria thought I was crazy!" She swallowed, and laughed. "Do you know what it feels like? Knowing that everypony is laughing at you behind your back?" 

From what he could glean, Lyra held a grudge against this Twilight Sparkle. 

"Humans do exist. My data was correct!" 

"That's aside the point—"

"What I wouldn't give to slap you in the face with all my data!" Lyra jumped up from her seat. 

This was starting to look like the beginnings of a cat fight, and not the funny kind. 

"Lyra," Adrian said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back into her seat. 

"...I-I'm sorry—" 

"Everywhere I looked, ponies were whispering and snickering and making fun of me—" 

"We weren't laughing at you!" Fluttershy insisted, touching her arm. 

Lyra clenched her jaw. As gently as possible she shrugged her hand off. "Maybe not. Not all of you." She crossed her arms. "But I couldn't take it any more. So I left. Okay?" 

"Forever?" 

"Not forever," Lyra scowled. "Just for...awhile. Someplace far away, where no pony knew who I was or what I tried to do. Like Appaloosa. Figures that they'd get the news too. And then Chrysalis found me." 

"What were you doing in Appaloosa, Gilda?" Rainbow asked the gryphon. 

Gilda snorted. "Typical ponies. No surprise you flunked geography too, Dashie. The gryphon kingdoms are located near the badlands." 

"Then how did you get caught by Chrysalis?" 

She scowled. "I don't have to explain myself to you." 

It seemed as if everyone held a grudge in the room. 

"Wouldn't you miss your friends, Lyra?" Pinkie asked. 

"My friends?" She snorted. "How's Bon Bon, by the way?" The way she phrased the question and her tone, oozing with sarcasm, indicated that she could care less about this "Bon Bon". 

"She's worried sick, Lyra!" Applejack said. 

"Oh really? My roommate, my best friend," Lyra hissed, her words filled with contempt, "who could never take me seriously and thought I was crazy, and—and didn't even want to be seen in public standing next to me—is worried sick." 

"Yes! By golly she misses you!" Applejack insisted. 

"Probably cares more about the rent," Lyra muttered.

A pregnant pause followed. Passions ran high. The ones separate from this seemed uncomfortable, namely Rarity, Fluttershy, Pinkie, and Applejack. 

"I'm sorry," Twilight suddenly said. 

"I don't want your sorry! It's too late for sorry!" 

Adrian reached out. "Lyra, c'mon—agh!" He winced, touching his sore shoulder, letting out a hiss. 

Fluttershy looked concerned. "Are you alright?" 

"Yeah," he said, rolling his arm a few times before his face contorted in pain. "Yeah, no." 

"Take off your shirt," Fluttershy said. 

He glanced at her. 

"Please?" she begged. 

The pleading look in her wide blue eyes forced him to give in. Slowly, he tore his shirt off, revealing his bandaged shoulder. Fluttershy let out a soft gasp as she saw his bandages.

"Oh my." 

And in an instant, she was all over him. The others separated, watching as Fluttershy did her work. She commanded him to lay on his stomach and removed the bandages. Dried, sticky blood clung to the oozing gash. The others let out groans of disgust, looking away. 

"Twilight, do you think you could heal this?" she asked. 

"Maybe. I don't know how much I can do."

"If we stitch it up, would your magic work better?"  

Adrian pointed to a drawer containing his mother's sewing supplies. "There's a sewing kit...in there." 

"Allow me to assist," Rarity insisted. 

With great care Rarity disinfected the needle with hot water, as per suggestion from Twilight, and threaded string through the eye. Using some cotton, they swabbed his wound with disinfectant. 

"This might sting a lot," Fluttershy told him. 

"Just do it quick." 

Adrian swallowed, shutting his eyes and clenching his teeth. Lyra offered a hand for him to squeeze, which he did. The needle penetrated his skin. He let out a hiss of agony as Fluttershy drew it through and began to stitch his gash closed. The pain was dulled mainly by the pills, but still. A minute later he felt her take a pair of scissors and snip off the extra string. 

"Done." 

Twilight placed a hand on his shoulder. He winched, feeling a warm sensation. When she pulled her hand away, he tried to rotate his shoulder. To his amazement, he no longer felt any pain. The gash was still there, but looking much healthier and no longer bleeding. He felt like it was cheating. 

"What are we gonna do about Chrysalis?" Applejack suddenly said. 

"We could just zap her with these," Rainbow said, puffing out her chest to show off her necklace. 

"What are those?" 

Twilight unclasped the necklace from her around her neck and let him hold it. There was a pink gem inlaid into the gold. 

"The Elements of Harmony. Each one represents an element of friendship." 

"What do they do?" 

"I...I'm not too sure. But it usually does the trick," she said. "With all six of us we can stop Chrysalis." 

Applejack put a hand up. "Now hold on, Twilight. Do we really gotta help these uh, humans?" 

"What?" Adrian asked incredulously. 

"We were supposed to come here and find Hearstrings, and well, we found her," she said, pointing at said girl. 

Rarity nodded. "I'm inclined to agree, Twilight. It's not our responsibility to stop Chrysalis, and these humans seem capable enough." 

"My animals are still at home all alone," Fluttershy added. 

"What ever happened to, 'With great power comes great responsibility'?!" Adrian said, raising his voice. "You can stop her, can't you?" 

"Humans seem plenty capable on their own," Gilda said. "Just nuke 'em." 

Adrian choked. "Nukes?" 

"You get my point," the gryphon bristled. "It's not like you monkeys are hurting for weapons." 

"She tried to kill us! Kill me, kill you, just cause I saw her face! So what you're saying is that I'm gonna have to run for the rest of my life?"

"Okay," Gilda said. "What's your plan?" 

"What?" 

"To stop Chrysalis." 

"I-I don't know! Get her in trouble with the cops or something! Call the police and tell them to investigate the crime scene." 

"One problem, genius. Chrissy was savvy enough to clean up after herself. No casings." 

Adrian blinked. Gilda was right. There weren't any casings left behind. 

"Then fingerprints! Something, I don't know!" he growled. 

She held up her hand, wiggling her fingers. "None of us have registered fingerprints. None of them do either. And any evidence that was left behind got washed away by the rain." 

His face grew red with fury. "Then we prove it. We tell the cops what you told me. We show them your magic." 

"And get hauled off to Area 51." 

"We hunt her down, follow her...magic trail. Whatever." 

"Changeling magic and unicorn magic aren't the same thing. We wouldn't be able to detect it and she wouldn't be able to detect us either," Twilight explained. 

"BULLSHIT!" 

He hurled his empty glass against the wall, cringing as it shattered and the shards splashed all over the floor. He covered his face with his hands. 

Silence. 

"Sorry," he mumbled. 

He bent down and began scooping up the pieces. It was all broken. Everything was broken. 
> The Boy Who Kicked the Changeling's Nest
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had gone upstairs to think. 

"Adrian?" 

She'd followed him. She shut the door. His heart pounded faster. Even faster now. He was waiting for those words. 

"We need to talk about us." 

It was the last thing he ever wanted to hear come out from Lyra's mouth. There was nothing to talk about. There was no more "us". He'd come to terms with it on the ride home the night before. The moment those words left Chrysalis' mouth, he felt something in him break: his heart.  Lyra hadn't seduced him. But she had deceived him. Whatever excuse she had, whatever the circumstances, he felt lied to. For what purpose, he hadn't known at the time. Now it was all too clear. All the hugs, the kisses, the sex: all of it felt fake. He'd made a mistake, emotionally investing himself into Lyra. He'd done it again, chasing after girls out of his league, jumping too quick into a relationship that was doomed from the start. 

Adrian threw his hands up in defeat, letting his palms smack his thighs. "What do you want me to say?" 

"Nothing," she said. "I just want you to listen. Adrian, I—" She began to stride forward. 

He crossed his arms, not letting her get the best of him for a second. He sat down on the edge of his bed. 

"I'm listening," he said. 

Lyra opened her mouth, then closed it, choosing her words carefully. Finally, she said, 

"I'm sorry. For lying to you." 

Adrian's head nodded slowly. He pursed his lips. 

"Okay." 

Lyra looked relieved, stepping forward to embrace him. "Thank you, Adrian, I—" 

He stopped her. "No." 

"What?" 

"I said I forgive you. I didn't say that things were okay." 

Lyra blinked. 

It hurt. It hurt so much. More specifically, right in his gut. He supposed that it was a good thing that it hurt him to hurt her. If he didn't hurt at all, if there was no feeling, then in the end their relationship would have been nothing. But there was something. And telling her this, it hurt him so much and he was almost starting to think he actually loved her. 

"W-What, you think we just kiss and makeup? Just l-like that?" 

Lyra frowned. Maybe she had been entertaining the idea...

"Just because you're telling the truth doesn't change the fact that you lied to me." 

Lyra flinched. 

"What did you tell her? Chrysalis?" 

"Nothing," Lyra said. "Nothing important."

"That's all?" 

She nodded. "Mostly. It wasn't anything big, Adrian! Just snippets of us doing things together. The pictures I took were mostly for Chrysalis to scope out the area. And anything about human relations I got from case studies and...experiments." As if to emphasize her point, she added, "With you. But all of it was real. I...I like you a lot. Really." 

"Do you know how I feel?" 

She remained silent. 

"Right now, I feel like I was used. I feel used." 

"It was never like that," Lyra insisted, shaking her head. 

"That's what you keep saying." 

"I wanted to be with you." Lyra corrected herself. "I still want to." 

"What if things had gone the way they were supposed to last night? Once you were done you were just gonna get up and leave, is that it?" Adrian said. "I'd wake up and get a text and you'd be gone?" 

"I-I didn't know any other way." 

"You could have told me the truth." 

Lyra scowled. "You'd think I was crazy." 

"No, I wouldn't—"

Lyra snapped, "Yes, yes you would! Even when Twilight showed her your magic you still wouldn't believe us! And you already thought I was insane and had amnesia!" 

Adrian murmured quietly, "I would have listened." He scowled. "I don't know what Equestria is like Lyra, but I live here—in the real world?" 

"What's your poi—" 

"My point is that things aren't okay!" he shouted. 

A thought crossed his mind. He wanted to banish it immediately from the depths of his mind. It was the most awful, most cruel thing he could think of. In the heat of the moment when passions were high, he thought to himself, 

I should have just taken you to the hospital and left you there. 

Lyra's face screwed up with anger. 

"You were the one who chased after me!" Lyra accused, jabbing a finger at him. 

"What?!" 

The blame game. It was too easy to resort to such measures. 

"Yeah! You're right!" he shouted back. "It won't happen again!" 

There. He'd said it. He regretted it instantly and tried to figure out why. But he knew he was right. At least, in his mind, he was right. He wasn't going to play the bad guy this time. 

"Lyra, I have a future! I'm going to go to college!" he stressed, driving the point home. 

She tried to placate him. "Adrian, please—"

He stopped her. "No, you know what? Save it." 

Lyra's lip trembled. He walked over to his bedroom door and tore it open.

"Go."

She didn't move. 

"Go." 

"Can't we talk about this?" 

"Not now." He shook his head. "Not here." 

For a moment they simply stared at each other, as if expecting the other to say something. 

"Adrian..." 

"Get out." It wasn't a shout. He didn't even sound remotely angry. Just frustrated. "Please? Just go. I can't do this right now." 

She wasn’t the type to get emotional. “Fine,” she said, turning away just in time to stop him from seeing her break into tears. 

Adrian gritted his teeth, his lower lip curled in a bitter, angry look, and mouthed a swear. 





"Hey, Butterfly," Gilda said. 

Gilda took the wheel. The Toyota sedan only had four passenger seats. Lyra rode up front next to Gilda in the passenger seat, while Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Twilight, Fluttershy crammed into the backseats meant to hold only three. With great protest Rarity was relegated to lie on the floor of the backseat, with the others trying their hardest not to step on her. Pinkie Pie was content to ride in the trunk.

There was a suffocating silence. No one dared speak. 

"Butterfly," she repeated. 

"Her name is Fluttershy," Rainbow said tersely. 

"Fluttershy." When she received no response, she continued. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry." She chewed her lip. "For, you know."  

Fluttershy replied, "That's okay." 

Gilda nodded, letting out a barely audible sigh. At least that was over with. She leaned into the seat, taking the wheel with one hand. 

"I'm sorry, Lyra," Twilight said again. 

She didn't reply at first. She clenched her teeth, thinking of all the words she could snap back with to chew her out. She wanted to scream at her until her lungs ran out of air. Coupled with Adrian's rejection, Lyra's temper was on a hair-trigger. She hated Twilight Sparkle. Of all the ponies she could hate for her predicament back in Equestria, Twilight was the only one she could unleash her rage upon at the moment. Lyra didn't want to say, "That's okay", because it wasn't okay, and saying it would have meant that she had given in. As curtly as possible she responded, 

"Fine." 

"Where are we going?" Rainbow asked. 

"A motel," Gilda answered. "We'll stay there for a day or two while things settle down—" 

"And then we leave?" Applejack piped up. 

"No." 

"Excuse me?" Applejack said. 

"I said no, we aren't leaving." Before anyone could speak she cut them off. "Because I said so. We're helping Adrian out."

End of discussion. 

Applejack poked the inside of her cheek. "Alrighty then." 

And that was that. 

For the low, low price of seventy-five dollars they managed to rent three rooms for eight adults at a nearby Super 8 motel. 





Gray skies. Everything was gray. His room was gray. His house was gray. Something was missing in his life. He knew what it was, but he'd be damned if he would admit that Lyra made his life colorful. It was Psychology 101, Maslow's hierarchy. With Lyra, he felt loved. He felt as if he belonged. Now that she was gone he, he...

Adrian lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. There were some cobwebs in the corner. A crack in the ceiling. 

"Dammit."  

It was the third day wasted since they left the house. He'd decided to call his parents. They'd be back by August. He smiled, thinking of them. They really deserved the vacation. And he needed one too. He had to get away, not because there was any resentment towards the house itself, but rather, the feelings of frustration and resentment associated with it. He had to get away. He quickly threw on a white V-neck undershirt and black skinny jeans. His phone, his wallet, a gray hoodie that hadn't been washed in a few days and he was on his way down the hall, down the stairs, out the door, gone. He decided to walk. He was aware of his surroundings, but at the same time, almost dazed and confused. There were trees and grass. Other houses. But dead silence. He liked it that way. He didn't know how to feel. 

A few blocks down the road at a house that looked almost exactly like every other house on the street, he jogged up to the porch and knocked. 

Adrian felt ashamed of himself for neglecting his friends. His friends were many things. Obnoxious and vulgar, no doubt. Dependable? For sure. And loyal, too. And he'd been so caught up with Lyra that he'd barely spent any time with them at all.

"Knock knock," Adrian said, pounding a fist against the door again. 

"Who's there?" a muffled voice replied. 

"Open the door, asshole." 





"You thinking about him?" 

Lyra stood with her elbows propped up against the railing. Gray skies. It had been a few days. Maybe it was going to rain today. There was a faraway, forlorn look on her face. She let out a contemplative sigh. 

"Yeah," she admitted. "What do you think he's doing right now?" 

"Probably thinking about you." 

"You think so?" 





Adrian took a long drag on his blunt. His eyes were bloodshot and red. He let out a snort. 

He was not above the influence. 

"I dunno man. I think...I think I was more in love with the relationship. You know? The idea of a relationship," Adrian rambled, letting out a sigh. "She's just so...beautiful. She's smart, kind. Funny," Adrian said. "Hot," he added. "I think I fell in love with her looks first. Is that wrong?" 

His two buddies didn't answer. 

"Hey asshole," he said, giving one of them a wallop on the arm. "Is it wrong?" 

"Nah. Nothing wrong with thinking a girl's hot." 

"I mean, I'm not shallow or nothing..." 

"You're not shallow, man," he reassured him.  

"Tits or get the fuck out." 

Adrian snorted. "Love, man, it really makes you think." 

"Yeah, about how high you are right now!" 

"Ay, how 'bout we go to the club tonight?" 

Adrian dumbly shook his head. 

"Trinity Nightclub! Number one nightclub in downtown Seattle, man!" 

It took him a while for the gears in his head to turn. "Isn't that place only twenty-one over?" 

"So?" 

"Problem. We're all eighteen." 

His companion cleared his throat, handing newly printed driver's licenses to everyone. Adrian tilted his over in his hands a few times, scrutinizing the quality. It looked authentic, except with one minor detail: his date of birth, which now read as if he was twenty-one years old. 

"You shouldn't have!" Adrian howled. "Dude! How did you get this?" 

"Man, that shit's easy. Anyone can get a fake driver's license!" 

Why does life have to be so ironic?

"Think of it like a celebration." 

"No, no," Adrian said. "It's...not a good idea." 

"Dude, why not?"

"No." 

"C'mon." 

Peer pressure, peer pressure...

"...Alright." 

The boys cheered and whooped, giving him pats on the back and shoving him. 





"He's probably thinking about you right now," Gilda said. "Bah, humans." She took a drag on her cigarette. "Sure are something." 

Lyra grunted in reply. 

"Kinda scary," she said. "Ponies and humans are almost the same." She blew a ring of smoke. "Emotional." 

"Yeah." 

Gilda flicked her cigarette over the edge. "Tell me something," she said. "How come you like humans so much?" 

"Hands," Lyra said quietly. 

Gilda blinked. "Hands? Seriously?" 

"Yes. Hands. I love hands." 

Gilda stared. 

"It's called a joke." 

"Oh." 

"It's not only humans. I like myths, and fairy tales, and stuff." 

Gilda smirked. "This place what you thought it was gonna be? Paradise?" 

"No. It's not paradise. It doesn't have to be." 

"Listen, I know this probably isn't what you want to hear, but Adrian still loves you." 

"Gilda, cut the crap." It was stunning how easy profanity came off the tongue for Lyra after a month. "This isn't Equestria. You heard him. It's over." 

The gryphon let out a hiss. "He never said that things were over." 

"You didn't hear him." 

"Everyone heard him." 

"Telling someone to get out is a pretty obvious." 

"He told you to leave because he needed time to think things over." 

Lyra chewed her bottom lip, her eyes shut tight as she tried to hold tears back. Gilda, unsure of what to do, remained silent. There was a sniff. 

"You...You need a hug?" Gilda hesitated. 

Her voice was strained, the reply like a strangled cry. "No!" 

Gilda came up and hugged her anyway. "Yeah, well, you look like you need one anyway." 

Lyra's body sagged as she leaned against the gryphon, smothering herself into Gilda's bosom, her body quaking. "Oh...God, Gilda. I-I...." She buried her face deeper, squeezing her tight. 

Gilda said nothing. She was never good at any of this emotional kind of stuff. But she stayed quiet, letting Lyra hold her for as long as she needed to. Lyra's shaking began to end. 

"You want me to go talk to him?" 

Lyra sniffed and pulled away, wiping at her face. "No." 

Gilda touched her shoulder. "Get some sleep." She began to walk off.

"Where are you going?" 

"A ride." 

"Be careful," Lyra warned. 

Gilda tossed up a hand, not looking back. 

She was going to talk to him.





"You look like shit," was the first thing that came out Gilda's mouth when Adrian came strutting out the front door. 

He had gone through all of the trouble of showering too. There was nothing more stylish than a suit, and for an even more daring look he'd blacked out for a night at the club in a fitted black blazer, slacks, and dress shirt with the top two buttons undone and a pair of black Converses for a youthful flair. 

Adrian had to admit, Gilda wasn't quite as ugly as he remembered. Maybe it was the pot. She had a tomboyish sort of grace when she moved, like she was constantly stalking. She was tall, curvy. Even her punk hairdo, her bleached hair cropped short and molded into a fauxhawk, was attractive. She reminded him of P!nk. Though the snakebite piercings turned him off. And her style of dress was a little too grungy for his tastes. 

"Fuck off with the fuckin' wisecracks," Adrian muttered. "I'm not in the mood. What are you even doing here?" 

"Are you high?" Gilda inquired. 

"Like a kite," Adrian snickered before dissolving into a fit of laughter. His eyes were bloodshot and his breath stunk. "You got your bike?" 

"Yeah. Went back to the apartment," Gilda told him. 

"You find anything?" 

She shook her head. "Apparently someone set fire to the place." 

Adrian was silent. "Sorry." 

"Sorry?" Gilda scoffed. "What's to be sorry for? I came and I got what I wanted," she said, affectionately patting the Suzuki. "Listen, I know you and I aren't the best of friends, but Lyra cares about you," Gilda said. "I've heard the way you two talk to each other—" 

"Waitwaitwaitwait, WHAT?" 

She sighed. "I eavesdropped on your conversations." 

He was dumbfounded. "H-How?!" 

"Neat little app on my iPhone," she said, remorseful, "which I don't have anymore courtesy of bug lady. Man, that thing was so freaking cool. There was an app that could help you crack a safe—"

"All of our conversations?!" 

"All of them," Gilda shuddered. 

"Did you hear when we—" 

"Yeah." 

"—and we were gonna—"

"Yeah, that too." 

"—on the—" 

"Can we stop talking about the sex? I'm not a prude and even I was uncomfortable," she said. 

"You tapped our phone calls?!" he yelled, his eyes flashing dangerously. 

"That's not the point. The point is that you should think about your relationship. I'm not saying you two have to be together anymore, but at least...break it off, and don't leave her hanging." 

He scowled. "Go to hell." 

She shrugged. "Maybe later." 

A car horn blared. A Lexus pulled up in front of the house. There was a repetitive thumping bass. The window rolled down and they screamed. 

"Adrian, c'mon! You get the trunk!" 

Adrian flipped them off. He jerked his head. 

"There's my ride." 

"This isn't a good idea." 

He spread his arms. "What you gonna do?" 

He shut the car door, rolling down the window and waving goodbye to Gilda, who simply stood still. He felt something vibrate in his pocket. His phone rang. 

It was a private number. 

Lyra no longer had her iPhone; neither did Gilda. His parents, maybe? On a whim, he answered the call. 

"Hello?"

The line went dead. 

"Who was it?" 

"Wrong number. Weird."  


One night later....


"Jesus..." 

The simple act of getting into a sitting position was arduous. His head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. It felt like someone was driving a spike into the back of his head as he craned his head. 

"What did I do last night?" 

His mind flashed back briefly. 





"Tequila!" Adrian shouted over the pounding R&B beats, looking over his shoulder. "Three, four, five...six! Six shots!"

Pounding beats raged through the club. They howled at the top of their lungs. He began doling out drinks. 

"Watch it, watch it!" he yelled. "Don't spill, don't spill it!" 





Oh yeah.

Maybe the shots weren't such a great idea. For this first time he was experiencing a hangover. Looking back, the phrase "getting hammered" made a lot more sense now, seeing as it felt like someone had taken a hammer to his head. Then again, going to a place where electronic house music was played at barely legal decibel in a cramped, enclosed space filled with sweaty dancing teenagers. It may have had to do with the fact that his three friends had no inside voices.

He heard the doorbell ring. 

Adrian sat up and threw his legs over the edge of his bed. He was shirtless, still wearing his slacks. The room spun as he tried to get into a standing position, half-crawling down the stairs. 

He peeked through the peep of the door. 

Lyra?

As if she knew he was watching, she beamed and gave a small wave. The whole thing screamed fishy. His mind screamed for him to stop himself, but the desire to speak to her, having had the time to think over his words, overwhelmed him. He twisted the lock and slowly opened the door. 

It was a gloomy summer day with a chilly breeze. Lyra was clad in a fashionable black pea coat and skinny jeans with a teal scarf thrown around her neck. 

She smiled. "Hey." 

He tried to return the smile. "Hey." He frowned. "How'd you get here?" He tried to get a look into the driveway. 

Lyra blocked his view. "I drove here, silly." 

"Where's your car?" 

She pointed off across the street. "Parked over there. Can I come in?" she blurted. 

Adrian squinted. He had taken his contacts out and while he wasn't blind as a bat, he couldn't pick out details at a distance. He saw a white sedan parked across the street, assuming it was her Toyota. 

It took him a few seconds to respond. "Uh...yeah. Sure." 

She stepped inside. He stared at her from behind, shutting the door and locking it. 

Lyra suddenly turned around and hugged him. "I missed you." 

There was something...off about Lyra. 

"Yeah," he said, not returning her affection. "Why are you here?" He pulled away from her embrace and sat down his couch. 

She took off her jacket and scarf and planted herself down next to him, giving him another hug. He scowled. She was touchy-feely. That was how Lyra normally was. But this was the sort of I-want-to-bang touchy-feely. Her hands roamed around his torso. 

"Ga-ah, Lyra!" Adrian said, moving away from her. 

He yelped as he felt her cold hands stroke his flesh. She grabbed him forcefully, making him sit down on his couch, and planted her rear in his lap. Their lips crashed, but Lyra was the only one who was putting any effort into kissing him. He half-heartedly kept his lips pursed, trying to pull away. She began to unbutton her shirt, keeping his face pressed into her chest.

He pushed her off to the side, standing up, his back facing away from her. 

"Lyra, no. This...this isn't right." 

Lyra encircled her arms around his neck from behind, planting soft kisses on his cheek, blowing air into his ear. 

"Why not?" she whispered. 

"Because." 

"You're just stressed." 

"This isn't the right time." 

His mind was telling him no, but his body was telling him yes. His eyes wandered and fell upon Lyra's teal scarf. He frowned. 

"Adrian?" 

"That's funny," he murmured softly.

"What?" Lyra's arms tightened around his neck.

"I don't ever recall buying you a scarf." 

"..." 

"Lyra?" 

"You're imagining things." 

Tighter. 

"No, really." He swallowed, suddenly aware that he was having a hard time breathing, patting her arm. "Lyra, let go." 

Tighter. 

He pulled at her arms. "Lyra, let go!" He struggled. 

It dawned on him. 

She clamped her arms around his neck, trying to choke him. He dropped down onto the floor, his right hand reaching up and around looking for something to grab at: her hair. He yanked hard, feeling her grip loosen. He crawled forward on all fours, gasping. Even as he tried to stand up, she punched him right in the base of the skull, making him fall flat onto his belly. 

He didn't see stars; he nearly blacked out.  

The imposter threw her hands around his neck. Adrian's hand came up just in time to prevent him from being garroted by the nearly invisible wire. Someone was trying to kill him. It was surreal, just even thinking about it. 

And then the pain brought him back to reality. The piano wire sliced into the flesh of his palm, cutting deep, white-hot searing pain making itself aware. He grit his teeth, warm blood dripping down his hand. Somehow, the cord seemed to amplify the pain that much more. In a knee-jerk reaction, he drew his elbow up and rammed it back once, twice. When this failed, he then drew his head forward and rammed the back of his skull into their nose. 

He heard the sound of a wet crunch. The sound of choking, the lurch of a breath expelled. Adrian felt the noose around his neck loosen. His hand still being sliced by the razor, ripped the garrote away from his assassin and hurled it across the room underneath the couch. 

He turned around, rubbing at his throat, spitting. He wiped his hands quickly on his jeans. The flesh on his palm was raw. 

"Motherfucker!" he rasped. 

The imposter had a stream of fluid running down its chin, its broken nose gushing. Still, it smiled and charged into Adrian, smashing his back into the wall with its arms wrapped around him, driving its fist into his gut. Breathless, Adrian reared his elbow up and brought it down onto its spine. The assassin howled, clutching at its back as Adrian scrambled away, putting his fists up weakly in a fighting stance. 

Adrian was never one for hitting a girl. But this time, he made an exception, morals be damned. What followed next could only be described as visceral, senseless violence. 

The changeling recovered, straightening its back with a grin, licking at the blood running down its face. It humored Adrian, putting its fists up before coming at him with a right hook. The boy put his left hand up, blocking the fist with a graceless smack before receiving one straight to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Adrian crumpled to his knees, gasping and clutching at his belly. Laying prone and his eyes full of tears, the changeling planted a foot on his side and kicked him down onto his back, raising a foot, about to curb stomp his face in. 

The teenager drove his foot up between its legs. The changeling snarled, falling back as Adrian stood shakily, blinking away the tears. He shuffled backwards slowly, sucking in air, feeling a soreness in his rib. His attacker stood up, steeling itself. Adrian faked left and went right, grabbing at their collar with his left hand and yanking at its hair with his right. 

His mind flashed back to a psychology lecture. Fight or flight, and he'd chosen fight. There was this desperation that he felt, the will to survive. At this point, adrenaline would be pumping through his veins. Blood would be rerouted to his muscles. His lungs would expand. His pupils would dilate.  

Adrian pulled at its hair. It screeched. He slammed its head against the wall with a pound.

Crash! 

He slammed her head into a glass display cabinet filled with vases and trophies. He tried again into a different glass case. It jabbed an elbow in his chest. Still, he managed to rip some strands out from its scalp. 

In the midst of all of this, he came to a sudden realization of how action scenes were so blatantly choreographed. All Hollywood stars had to do was pick themselves up and dust themselves off after being tossed around like rag dolls, looking no worse for wear, still gorgeous and handsome. 

Taking an elbow to the sternum, Adrian fell onto the ground on his back. The changeling was quick to act, pinning him down with a knee and wrapping its hands around his neck, its clawed fingers crushing his windpipe, digging its thumbs into his Adam's apple. Slowly beginning to black out, Adrian fumbled around with hands, grabbing onto the assassin's face. A thumb found an eye socket, beginning to dig in while another hand ripped at an ear. It pulled away, screaming. Adrian stood up quickly and threw himself at it in a football tackle, wrapping his arms around its midsection. 

With incredible strength it rolled, tossing him onto and over a coffee table. 

Both reeled from their injuries, taking a second to recover. There were no rules, no honor. Everything was permitted. 

Adrian felt tired. In real life, there was no certainty of both parties coming out unscathed. There was sweat, blood, and tears. They stumbled and fell. There were no flashy roundhouse kicks or haymakers or judo chops to be found here, only swift jabs and punches and calculated blocks and dodges. 

In that moment, the changeling decided to change things up. From an ankle holster, it drew a German-made Heckler & Koch USP45 and leveled it right at his head. 

Perhaps it was luck. Definitely luck. Lady Luck was on his side that day, for if he hadn't moved his head there would have been surely a mess on the floor. He grabbed a vase (his mother's favorite, oh well) and hurled it at the changeling, throwing its aim off. The gun discharged, leaving a hole in the ceiling. The sound was deafening in such close quarters. The changeling was on one knee, aiming at him again. He grabbed the slide of the gun (admittedly the stupidest thing to do) and redirected the barrel away from his face. The slide cycled, locking back due to his grip, and the iron sight sliced his hand. 

It was his only chance. 

He reacted accordingly, moving faster than he thought he was capable of and grabbing its wrist and slamming its hand against the wall. The gun scattered across the floor. 

"You disgusting—" 

His swift hand and dealt justice in the form of everyone's favorite. The back of his hand connected with the changeling's face with an audible slap, demonstrating the true meaning of "turning the other cheek". 

"—parasite!" 

There was a resounding distinct crack of its skull against laminated wood as it fell. Dazed, the changeling tried to recover, pushing itself slowly, grabbing at his ankle. He didn't let it get up, grabbing its collar and slugging it as hard as he could in the face. 

"Piece—" 

One to the jaw. Teeth smashed together. 

"—of—" 

Another to the cheek. Definitely some loose teeth. 

"—shit!" 

Again and again, his bleeding knuckles met its jaw with a wet, meaty crunch of bone on bone long after it was unconscious and beaten to a pulp, limply laying on the floor. 

"Hngh!" he grunted, walloping her harder and harder. "Hngh! Hng!" 

It had a bloody lip, a bloody nose, a black eye. He himself came out with a noticeable red mark around his neck. Underneath his shirt, there were several bruises. His hand was cut. He wheezed, sniffing and swallowing air, his shaking hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. 

Wiping at his face, Adrian stumbled forward, crouching down and reaching for the gun. He tapped the clip, yanked the slide, bringing it forward. He circled the body, the barrel hovering over its head. His finger quivered around the trigger. 

Adrian's eyes widened and he tucked the pistol away. All of a sudden he wanted to throw up. 

He reached for his phone (the screen now visibly cracked), and dialed a number. 

"Adrian?" a despondent voice spoke. 

"House," he wheezed, "now." 

Lyra started, "Adrian?" 

"No time...to explain." He gulped some air. "Just get over...here. Hah...." 

He ended the call and tossed his smartphone onto the coffee table. He wiped his hands, one pant leg smeared with blood from his sliced hand. He surveyed the damage. The couch was knocked over. The glass cabinet had two shattered windows. His mother's favorite vase was in pieces. There was a hole in the ceiling and a hole in the wall. He wondered how much it would cost to have the cleaning lady tidy the place up. He thought about filling the holes with some plaster or something. 

He was surprisingly calm. Maybe the shock of attempted murder had faded. He reached into a drawer and found some duct tape. The unconscious changeling twitched slightly. He planted a foot on its back as he wrestled its arms behind its back and secured it tightly. He tore off another strip and covered its mouth, and for good measure, bound its ankles as well. 

Fifteen minutes later after he was idly cleaning up the disaster of a living room, there was a knock at the door. He opened it. 

Gilda began, "Hey Adrian, where'd you get the swanky European ri—oh." 

All eight girls stared at him, jaw agape. Adrian stared back. They saw the unconscious imposter behind him, bound and gagged. 

"Oh, her?" 

A trickle of blood ran from his nose. He sniffed, wiping at his lip and scrunching his face. In an almost conversational voice, he asked, 

"Does," he gasped, "does anyone have a Band-Aid?" 
> When You Look Into the Abyss
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Adrian!" 

And suddenly his knees felt weak. He stumbled, and tried to steel himself. But the moment she touched his arm, he gave in. Adrian fell into Lyra's arms. The foyer was suddenly filled with activity. 

It was strange how the passage of time could heal wounds in the heart. The last person he wanted to see was now the one his heart ached for the most. Along with other parts of his body. Perhaps someday when all of this came to pass it would just be a faint memory, something he could look back on or something he could hold over her head and tease her about. 

Funny as hell. It almost hurt to laugh. 

"Jeez," Gilda could only say as she supervised the collateral damage. 

Fluttershy and Lyra helped Adrian stumble over to the couch. 

"Lay down, please?" 

Fluttershy's steady hands tended to Adrian's wounds as he lay shirtless on the couch, laying his head in Lyra's lap, gazing up into her soothing amber eyes. Her fingers combed through his messy brown hair and stroked his neck and jaw. He squeezed her hand, letting her feel the contours of his knuckles. Tears pricked at her eyes. He saw her choke up. He reached up and gently stroked her cheek, as if to reassure her. Fluttershy took a roll of bandages, wrapping them around the palms of his hands, sliced by the garrote. She soaked a cotton ball in antiseptic and gently ran it down his cheek. His torso was covered with yellow and black splotches, fresh bruises. The red mark around his neck was fading.

His "mild" hangover didn't seem so bad compared to taking a blow to the base of his skull. He made himself two cups of coffee and downed Vicodin with a glass of water. 

He swallowed, licking his dry lips. "How is it?" 

"Oho," Gilda snickered, glancing at him. "You beat the snot outta her." 

He scoffed. "She beat the snot outta me too," he bristled. 

Killing is unnatural. It is something you are taught. It doesn’t come naturally. And there are many people who are very good at it, namely soldiers, who have permission to do so. They are not born killers. They are trained killers. They are trained to take the human element out of the equation, to dehumanize whoever they are shooting at. One need look no farther than a shooting range. What do you see as target practice? Faceless terrorists, masked robbers, zombies, and occasionally, Justin Bieber. 

His hand fell upon the H&K USP45 that he had set down. It dangled loosely by his side. He crouched down and held the barrel against its temple. Adrian swallowed, remembering how close he had come to pulling the trigger. 

He tucked it in his waistband.  

How was he supposed to empathize with something he viewed as less than human? Adrian would have had no qualms with killing the changeling. After all, it was less than human. It was a bug. A parasite. 

What was stopping him?

It took the form of a human. And that made that much harder to pull the trigger. It was nothing new, really.  It looked like Lyra. It sounded like Lyra. They’d touched. They’d kissed. It was human and it was not, all at the same time. But there was something missing from her kiss, her carress. 

Warmth. 

Lyra murmured, "It looks just like me." 

Adrian's hands were roaming over the changeling's body. He pulled up its shirt, twisting it around and finding that Lyra's lyre tattoo was missing. 

"So changelings can copy appearances, but only what they see," he said aloud. "I should have checked." 

"Adrian, what are you doing?" Lyra sputtered, her face reddening.

Seemingly groping her, he fished a folding knife out from her pocket. 

"She had me," Adrian murmured.

A razor-sharp blade flicked out with a sharp clack! Adrian closed the knife and set it down, perturbed. 

"Why didn't she just slice my throat?" 

"It's messy," Gilda answered nonchalantly. "If she cut your throat there'd be blood all over the floor." 

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." 

The gryphon sighed. "I used to have claws, dweeb." 

He also found a DROID RAZR smartphone. It looked almost brand new and recently formatted. No history, no contacts, no text messages. Lastly, he found a set of keys. 

$60,000 worth of German-engineering, a BMW M3 with a sleek design and gorgeous pearl white paint job and a full tank of gas, sat parked across the street, luxurious and with plenty of horsepower yet ordinary enough so as not to turn too many heads. The car looked almost brand new, with no trash or personal effects to be found inside. 

"What do we do now?" Fluttershy asked. 

"We call the police, that's what we do. This isn't 24 and I'm no Jack Bauer." 

"That's not such a good idea," Twilight said. 

"Excuse me?" 

"She's our only chance of stopping Chrysalis," Twilight reasoned. 

Adrian scowled. 

To take their mind off the issue everyone began helping Rarity tidy the place up. They began sweeping up glass and the broken shards of his mother's vase and rearranging furniture and fixing paintings on the wall. No one spoke. To lighten the mood Adrian turned on the TV. Instantly Twilight was drawn towards the plasma screen, her eyes wide with fascination and curiosity. 

"What is that?" she uttered. 

"TV." Adrian stared. "Television." 

There was a commercial for an Apple iPad playing. 

"Entertainment?" 

"Yeah." He nodded. "Satellites and stuff." Adrian slowly sat down, slouching on the couch. "You like this stuff?" 

There was a rerun of Big Bang Theory on. A laugh track blared. 

"I'm very curious," Twilight declared, as if it were something to be proud of. "But the past few days hasn't given me much time to learn about humans and the world." She paused, looking over. 

Lyra was standing in the kitchen, covering her face, filled with regret. Her shoulders shook as she silently wept, occasionally sniffing. 

"And I don't think Lyra would appreciate me asking." 

He nodded curtly. "Excuse me." 

Adrian crept up behind her, unsure of what to do. She was leaning against the counter, facing away from him, no longer shaking but still covering her face with a hand. No doubt that Lyra felt guilty. 

"Lyra," he murmured. 

She took a slow breath. "I'm sorry." 

"I'm fine, Lyra." His tone was hard but his heart was soft.  

"This is...all my fault." 

It took him a long time to say something. "Yeah," he finally said. 

"Now Chrysalis is trying to kill you, and you're hurt and—" 

"Yeah." 

Lyra whirled around. "I'm sorry," she whimpered, turning around, bleary eyed and cheeks stained with tears. She wiped them away. Her hands fell to her sides. They lifted slowly before pulling back. 

Adrian moved closer. "I...I know." 

Lyra wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight. Adrian hissed, and she loosened her grip. 

"I'm sorry," she repeated, the words muffled. 

He stared blankly forward, eyes cast down to the tiles of the kitchen floor. He turned his head and nuzzled her, drinking in her scent. 

"I know," he croaked. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." 

He didn't know how long he let her hold him. All he knew was that he didn't hug her back. 





Not silence. 

Tick. Tock. Tick of the clock. Slow like the heart. Sun high in the sky; the afternoon. Adrian sat reclining in a chair, never taking his eye off the unconscious changeling laying on the floor. Everyone else was around the foyer, half-awake and half-asleep. 

The changeling stirred. 

Adrian trained its USP45 on its head. Oh, the irony of having your own gun turned on you. He took slow steps toward it. He thought about saying something cool, something badass. 

"You're awake," he growled menacingly. 

It struggled against its restraints. Duct tape was surprisingly effective. It was curled up in a sort of fetal position with its ankles and wrists bound. It writhed a little. 

"You're going to talk," Adrian snarled. 

"Easy," Gilda chided. 

It rolled its eyes, her words lost behind the duct tape. Adrian clenched his jaw and reached down and ripped the strip of tape off its mouth. 

The changeling took a breath and hissed. "Ow!" It looked up at him, sniffing. "What gave me away?" 

Adrian stammered. "What?" 

"Is she not as slutty as I thought?" it said, leering at Lyra. 

"The scarf." He threw it in her lap. 

It stared at the teal piece of cloth. "Seriously?" It snorted. "You go through your girlfriend's closet or something?" 

"I went shopping with her," Adrian snapped. "Who the hell wears a scarf in the middle of summer?" 

It groaned. "A stupid scarf! I can't believe it." 

"Hello?" Adrian growled. 

"I had everything down pat. Facial expression, movement, voice!" the changeling lamented. 

It seemed that there was a bit of a learning curve for changelings when changing into another species. Its performance had been incredibly convincing. It was almost...human. 

Adrian grabbed a fistful of hair and made him look at her. He was seething. "I ask a question, you answer." 

"Tough guy, huh?" 

He pulled. It screamed. He held its head against the ground and put the gun to her head. He didn't hear what the Elements or Lyra was screaming at him about. The protests died down, but they were like background noise. That parasite was the only thing he could see. 

He thumbed the hammer. Click-click.

"Al...Alright," it panted. 

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Pinkie whispered. 

Twilight gave a shrug. 

"I can be whatever you want me to be," the changeling panted, a wheeze in its voice. "Sometimes I mix and match."

"What are you now?" Lyra suddenly asked. 

"A girl."  

Adrian let go. 

"What's your name?" 

"My name is...Pinocchio," the changeling spoke, slowly sounding out its designated alias. 

"The perfect name for a pathological liar," Adrian said. It was hard to look at Pinocchio. At the moment, it looked as if Lyra had been physically assaulted with a chipped tooth, a black eye, and dried blood all over her face. "Change back." 

"Feeling guilty for physically assaulting your girlfriend?" the changeling challenged with a sly grin. 

In a green flash of fire, the changeling reverted back to its default human form. Caucasian female in her mid-twenties, date of birth unknown. Five foot six with size A-cup breasts. Striking, icy blue eyes, bleached hair. Shallow cheeks, sharp jaw, high cheekbones, thin lips, pale complexion. She resembled an androgynous albino and seemed almost...harmless. But looks were deceiving, and he'd made that mistake once already. 

"You had a gun," Adrian pointed out. "Why didn't you just shoot me?" 

"Why shoot you? Then there would be an investigation. It made more sense to strangle you and fake your suicide." 

So she was planning on making it look like he'd hung himself. Crafty, he thought. Murder wasn't exactly the first thing that came to mind when someone hung themselves. 

"How many of you are there?" 

"What?" 

He repeated himself. "I said, how many changelings are here in Seattle?" 

Pinocchio smiled. "Many." 

"How many?" he repeated.

"Too many." 

Adrian's fist lashed out. 

She spat. "Twenty." 

"I bet you thought I was easy, didn't you? Didn't think I'd put up a fight?" he taunted, suppressing a laugh. "You got cocky." 

"Maybe I did," Pino said with a grin. 

"You're stupid. You came alone, all by yourself." 

He stared, chewing at his lip. "Well?" 

Pino sighed. "Twenty Praetorians, including myself." 

"Praetorians?" Adrian thought for a second. "Bodyguards. Elite bodyguards." 

She looked away. 

"Maybe not so elite after all." 

Pino snarled something in a foreign tongue. 

Adrian asked, "Why did you come alone?" 

She smiled toothily. 

"Who said I did?" 

Adrian half-expected the room to explode into chaos. He expected bullets to start tearing through the front door, and for a second, he dropped to the floor. 

But nothing ever came. 

"You're all by yourself," he declared. 

"Maybe I was taking some initiative," Pino spat.

"Or maybe," Adrian reasoned, "you're desperate." 

"The rest of the Praetorians are no better than mindless drones, obeying every word! I knew that you were alive, I suggested to pursue you, but she was certain she'd killed you." 

"She's on the defensive," Gilda added. "She's not taking any risks." 

"Yeah," Adrian said. "Why? Shouldn't you be robbing banks and assassinating senators?" 

Pino snorted. "Fool." 

"You're desperate, aren't you?" Adrian said. "You've seen my face. You could impersonate me, commit crimes." 

"Why would we need to rob a bank?" Pino snapped. "Money is worthless to us! And why would we do anything using your disguise? That'd simply send law enforcement after you, so that you could reveal our presence! My Queen only wishes to prevent our extinction!" 

"...What?" 

"We would silently integrate, bring the empire to Earth." 

"And how many is in this empire?" 

"Nowadays? Less than five hundred, estimated. We are a dying species." Pinocchio went on. "How would we gain your love if we take it by force? Or make you hate us?" 

Good point. 

"Would you like the truth, Adrian Ross?" 

"I don't care about the truth. The truth is for them," he said. "I want to get on with my life." 

"I do not wish to see any more violence. I am tired—we are tired," she said. "So many years of fighting and famine, struggling to survive. I just want to live, just as you do. We all have wants and dreams. We all do. Even our Queen." 

"I think your Queen has a few screws loose." 

"Don't you think we already know that?!" Pinocchio suddenly shouted. "She is not fit to rule any more. But this last, last act of desperation, the Great Changeling Migration...will be her last as Queen of the Changelings. I will not apologize for her actions. It was for the greater good." 

"Bullshit." 

"You are angry, Adrian Ross. You are angry. I understand," she said quietly. 

"You're goddamn right I'm angry. I'm mad as hell!" 

"But she only silenced you three because...she didn't want any mistakes. She has lost," Pinocchio choked, "so many of her children. She could not afford it again. Without family, who are we?" 

"That's...a good point," Twilight said aloud. 

Adrian glared at her. "Are you really trying to justify attempted homicide?" 

"Ah yes, the Great and Powerful Twilight Sparkle," Pinocchio spat. "Heading the witch hunt against my brothers and sisters. I wonder, how many have been executed at your hooves?" 

Twilight was aghast. "We never executed anybody! We simply relocated them back to the Badlands." 

"A death sentence," the changeling hissed. "I would certainly relish slicing your throat if I had the chance." 

"You bugs were the ones who invaded Canterlot first!" Rainbow Dash pointed out. "So the way I see it, we should keep kicking you guys out!" 

"Can we get back on topic here?" 

"My Queen is the one who planned the siege of Canterlot. I did not agree," Pinocchio said. 

"That's because she didn't want monsters who fed off of deceiving ponies!" Rainbow argued. 

"Hello? Guys?" 

"An entire swarm took the city!" Applejack snapped. 

"Only because we were following orders! We were desperate! Do you think we asked to be born as these creatures? Do you think we enjoy being parasites, feeding off emotions?" 

"Listen, this is getting too existential for me. Why did you come for me?" 

"Because you know too much!" Pinocchio shouted. 

Adrian was taken aback. 

"Her reasons for killing you are valid. You are a liability. You risk exposing our hive," she huffed.  

Adrian mulled over this. "And how did you find me?" 

"You said your name was Adrian Ross," Pinocchio said. "My Queen said she shot you and the pony. And the gryphon too. I thought I'd come finish the job." 

"Answer the question. How did you find me?" 

Pino smiled coyly. "You shouldn't have kept your phone." 

Adrian blinked. His jaw dropped. 

"You were the one who called last night." 

He set the gun down. His hand fell to his Samsung Galaxy. He deactivated it. 

"Oh yes," Pino said. "Of course, the pony and gryphon's phones were deactivated. And yet your signal remained. We assumed yours was simply laying someplace, but I decided to investigate and tracked you down." 

"Where the hell are you getting this kind of gear?" he asked exasperatingly. 

"You'd be surprised how many criminal organizations there are in this state alone. Not hard to...'borrow' some of their toys." 

He mulled over this piece of information for a moment. She said "borrow". Was there some kind of deal? Or did they just steal the guns and money? 

"Does she know we're still alive?" Adrian asked, clenching his jaw. 

The changeling paused. 

"No. Not yet." 

"You changelings sure got a hard-on for German engineering," Gilda remarked, snatching up the pistol and admiring the etching on the slide. 

Adrian glared at the gryphon for derailing his interrogation. 

She closed an eye and leveled it at the captive changeling's head. "What's with that?" 

Pino said quietly, "If nothing else, you have to admire them for their ingenuity and quality. Mercedes-Benz, BMW—" 

"—SIG Sauer, Heckler & Koch," Gilda added. 

"Did you know that Germans were persecuted?" Pino suddenly asked. 

Adrian looked at her. "You talking to me?" 

"Yes." 

Adrian racked his brain but came up with nothing. 

"I'm not surprised." Pino clicked her tongue. "It happened on such a large scale as well."

"Apparently not, seeing as I haven't heard about it," Adrian said, irritated. "If it was important I would have read about it. It would have been on a scale less than even the Japanese during World War II." 

"I wasn't aware that it was a contest."  

"Where the hell did you find the time for history lessons?" 

Pino shot back, "It would be foolish not to at least have a basic grasp on 20th century history and current events." 

"Are you talking about denazification?" he piped up.

"Even you can figure out 'denazification' was code for 'anti-German', can't you?" the changeling said. 

"After what Hitler did, it would be hard not to be anti-German," Adrian pointed out. "You can't ignore the situation surrounding the sentiment. It was war." 

"And is that any justification for the discrimination and prejudice that those few faced?" Pino challenged. "Tell me, is the concept of collective guilt a valid one?" Pino paused. "Collective guilt is—" 

"I know what it is!" Adrian huffed. "What's your point?" 

"You think all changelings are the same. Are all Germans the same? Are they all genocidal monsters? Should they have to face persecution for the actions of an evil man and his followers?" 

Twilight accused, "You were the ones that attacked Canterlot first." 

The others agreed. 

"Do you think that the entire changeling empire was there in Canterlot?" Pino said. "Because if you did, you ponies are truly ignorant." 

They fell silent. 

Pino sighed. "Hitler truly was a great man." 

"You're sick. Hitler?" Adrian choked. "He was a genocidal maniac." 

"Not great as in wonderful," Pino bristled. "Great as in powerful. He truly had a way with words. Isn't it amazing what the power of words can do? To have the power to change the course of history without ever lifting a finger." 

That, Adrian supposed, everyone could agree on. 

"My Queen has that power," the albino said. "She is a radical, much like Hitler was. The ones that were there during the attempted invasion of Equestria's capital are her followers, like the Nazi Party," Pino explained, drooping slightly. "And we...are the German citizens that stood and watched and did nothing." 

"Who is 'we'?" Adrian growled. "Is 'we' just you?" 

"'We' are the few who escaped and fled to Equestria. And 'we' are also the ones who follow orders like a good little soldier," she muttered. 

"Does 'we' include the changelings that shot at me at the docks?" 

Pino opened her mouth to reply, but closed it. 

"And if you didn't agree with her, why are you still following her? Why aren't you fighting back?" 

"The concept of revolution is difficult to grasp if you're starving," the changeling said. 

Adrian begrudgingly let Pino win that one. All anyone had to do was take a look at North Korea and see the same thing. 

"My Queen is our last and final salvation for our species," she declared. 

Adrian stood up, fed up. "You keep trying to make yourselves out to be the victims. So far, every single one I've met has tried to put a bullet in my head. You can't explain that."

That shut her up good. 

"You know I'm right, don't you?" Adrian challenged. 

"No," Pino bitterly spat. 

"You're a bunch of monsters." 

No response. 

Adrian crouched down. "You hear me? Monsters." 

"Shut up." 

"You know it too, don't you?" 

"SHUT UP!" 

Wham!

The palm of his hand slammed into the wall right next to her head. Pino flinched and squirmed away.

"THEN PROVE IT! PROVE IT! ALL I SEE RIGHT NOW IS A MONSTER!" Adrian shouted back. "You can cry all you want about how the cards are stacked against you, but the truth is? I don’t care. They don’t care. No one cares.” 

Adrian held the phone in front of her face. 

"What do you want me to do?!" 

"Suck it up," he said in a carefully measured tone. "Make. The. CALL!" 

"What call?!" 

"Call the hit off! Get Chrysalis off my back." 

"I can't!" Pino shouted. 

Snap. 

Whack!

Quick as a whip his hand lashed out and struck Pino across the face with an audible slap that sounded like a gunshot in the silence of the living room. He shoved her down as she cried, clamping a hand over her mouth. 

Stunned silence. The Elements, if he had bothered to look, had looked on, jaws agape. Then Lyra ended that silence. 

"Adrian!"

Fluttershy shrieked, shrinking. Pinkie comforted her, leading her someplace else. Gilda looked on curiously, an eyebrow arching in surprise. 

Adrian kept a hand firmly on Pino's mouth, careful not to let her bite him. 

"I...am done playing games," he snarled through gritted teeth. 

Even the changeling seemed a little surprised at his change in temperament. Not fearful, but nonetheless shocked. Adrian was a patient person. Lyra knew this. But now, it seemed, his patience had run dry. Lyra was seeing another side of the boy she'd fallen in love with, one she'd never seen before. It was his ugly side. Everyone had an ugly side, and now his was starting to rear its head around.

And now he was in control. It felt so good. 

"I'm gonna hurt you so bad." 

At that moment, Adrian scared her. 

Adrian growled, "Do you hear me? I'm gonna hurt you." 

"Please, stop it—" Lyra tried to say. 

He ignored her. “Huh? What’s the matter? Not so tough now, huh?” 

“Adrian!” she pleaded. 

“You’re a bunch of freaks of nature,” he snarled.

That cocky, self-assured smirk on her face turned a frown. She opened her mouth to protest, but Adrian cut her off. 

“How can you live with yourself?” 

She fell silent, blinking once and turning away. 

“How can you…do what you do, and sleep at night?” Adrian continued. “Knowing…that somebody loves you, and you’re just…using them?” 

Lyra winced. Pino closed her eyes, refusing to look at him. 

His words seemed to strike a chord in her. She didn’t answer. Her silence was enough. In that very moment of weakness Adrian saw how vulnerable she truly was, and hated himself all the more for having to exploit it. Tangled in a web of carefully crafted lies, it had all finally caught up to her. It was unthinkable, inconceivable that such a pathetic species could exist. Talk about identity crisis. He wasn’t even sure if she was a she at all. More like an it. A thing. Was Pinocchio really her name? 

Adrian did not feel any sympathy. He did not empathize with her situation, there was no compassion, no remorse from him. 

Only pity. 

She didn’t enjoy doing what she had to do to survive. It wasn’t her fault; she didn’t choose to be born as a changeling, she had no choice in the matter. It was the cards she was dealt by the hands of an angry god. It was the way things were. And now he was forcing her to confront her very own nature. 

"I don't care about your sob story," he said, releasing his grip on her face. "You're going to help me. Make the call. Get her crosshairs off my head." 

"And how do you think I'll do that?" 

He held the gun at her temple. "By asking nicely," he sneered. 

"We want the same thing!" the changeling insisted. 

"Sure we do. Now make the call." 

"I am your hostage, correct?" 

Adrian blinked. "Yes." 

"So I am your bargaining chip," Pinocchio said. "Exchange me and have her leave you alone." 

"So we set up a meeting? Face-to-face in some dark alleyway in the middle of the night?" He shook his head. "I'd rather take my chances."  

"You don't have much of a choice, now do you?" Pino shot back. 

Adrian raised the gun, aiming down the sights. "I could just shoot you. Shoot her." 

"But you wouldn't. You can't," the changeling said smugly. "Do you know what it's like to kill?" 

"You're less than human," he spat angrily. "You tried to kill me. I should kill you." 

Adrian's concept of justice could have been perceived as warped. An eye for an eye. 

"And in return, my Queen will hunt you down like a dog," Pino said, "for the rest of your days." 

Adrian scowled, turning away, assessing the situation. As much as he hated it, hated her, she was right. He had no choice. Just like Gilda had no choice. 

"There's always a choice," he tried. "I could run." 

"For how long? Would you be willing to give up your life? Ties to your family? Friends?" 

"There is always a choice!" he said through clenched teeth. 

"No. No, sometimes, there's really not."
> Overture
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lyra's hands trembled slightly as she cut lettuce. In a relationship, communication is key. But there are things that go unsaid, things that are implied, things that are kept away deep inside, things that she came to learn about Adrian. Simple things like how he liked his coffee, or the reason behind the calluses on his hands. Things like how he had gotten the scars on his back during their lovemaking, or what folder he hid his Internet pornography in. 

And sometimes, life throws you a curveball. This side of Adrian, she did not see coming. 

He didn't hear her shout at him. He ignored her, and not just her, but all of them. And the worst part of it all was that he seemed oblivious to how frightening he was. His soft, mellow voice had become something bordering unstable and utterly psychotic as he wore down Pinocchio with each word. The violence he was capable of committing horrified her, justified as it was. She shivered, squirming as she remembered how his smooth hands had run over her skin, gently caressing her in the night, stroking her flesh. How could hands capable of such love be used for something so awful? 





This was not the calm before the storm. This was the foreboding drumroll of rumbling thunder leading up to the inevitable. Lightning lanced through the black night sky. Hard rain washed down his windows. 

His body seemed relaxed. His expression, dazed. His breathing, slow and lethargic. Adrian leaned his head against the window, his glazed eyes watching droplets of rain slide down the glass.

For a while the strawberry-haired shrinking violet was tending to Pinocchio's wounds. She fixed the changeling's broken nose with a butterfly plaster, bandaged up a few of her cuts from when he'd tossed a vase at her, stitched up her split lip, and gave her a few painkillers. He stood, towering over Pinocchio, who sat up against the wall while Fluttershy crouched next to her. And Adrian had half a mind to undo all Fluttershy's hard work.

He was sorely tempted to kick in her teeth down her throat. 

"Thank you," Pinocchio said quietly, still a little sickly-looking. 

"It's no trouble," the pegasus replied with a blush. 

As a matter of fact, the changeling was looking better and better with each passing moment. Her pale, sickly skin wasn't so pale as it used to be. In fact, some of her bruises were fading. Her icy blue eyes seemed more alert. It clicked in Adrian's head. 

His fist clenched around the grip. "Are you feeding off of her?" he snarled. 

"Um, it's alright," Fluttershy said. "I-I don't mind, really." 

Pinocchio was eternally grateful. 

"Don't try anything stupid." 

"If...If I'm going to help you, I need to be in the best shape I can be," Pino shot back weakly. 

Lyra was busy helping Applejack and Pinkie make dinner. He came up from behind and gently touched her shoulder. He felt her tense up. She froze. 

"You need any help?" 

Lyra shook her head. It took her a second to actually use words. "N-no, we're okay." She was pulling away from his touch.

It wasn't even that kind of touch. 

Adrian bit the inside of his cheek and stormed away. He shoved open the front door and let it close. Gilda was outside underneath the balcony, reclining in a chair with her feet up on a table and watching the rain trickle down from the drainpipes and the occasional car speed by, contemplating another cigarette. He wrapped himself a little tighter in his windbreaker and pulled up a second chair and wordlessly sat down, exhaling. 

"You pissed?" Gilda murmured, brushing a bang behind her ear. 

"No." 

"Okay." 

Adrian flinched, hearing thunder erupt. It sounded like a gunshot. 

"You cold?" Adrian inquired. 

"Nah." 

Lightning flashed. He swallowed, breathing a little harder. The muzzle flash of the gun.

Adrian took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of rain. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Pino's DROID phone. He had deactivated it as soon as he realized that Chrysalis could track them. He chucked the phone as hard as he could off his front porch into the street. A car passed by and crushed it underneath its tires. 

He reached over to the pack of cigarettes and the Zippo sitting on the table. 

"You mind?" He took it anyway. 

"You smoke?" 

"Depends," he answered, popping open the top and shaking one out and pursing his lips.  With practiced hands he used a palm to cover the flame from the wind and flicked his thumb, striking a weak flame. It ate away at the paper. He took one, two puffs.  

Gilda arched an eyebrow. Adrian choked, suddenly coughing up a storm. 

"Okay, a little different from pot." 

"That's what I thought," Gilda smirked. She took one for herself, trying to light it several times. The sparks refused to ignite.  "Gimme a light." 

Adrian took a drag. "Don't have one." 

Gilda rolled her eyes, keeping her cigarette in her lips. "Right here." She leaned in, cupping his face, and pressed her cigarette to Adrian's lit tip, their eyes locked and their faces in close proximity. He blushed faintly. Seconds later she pulled away. 

"You okay?" she asked. 

"Yeah. Of course. Nothing like Jägermeister and dubstep to keep a migraine off." 

"You change pretty quick." 

"Excuse me?" 

She lazily waved, flinging ashes everywhere. "One second you're shy and quiet and then bam, you're vicious." 

"I wasn't." 

"You were," she insisted. "You should have heard yourself. Your voice was deep and low and it was like you were growling." 

"I...don't know," he admitted. 

"That's not an answer." 

He shrugged. "I don't know. I was mad." 

"Clearly." 

He glared at Gilda. "I was mad and all I could see was Pinocchio. I wanted to do even worse things to her. Maybe if you guys weren't watching, maybe I would have." 

"Killed her?" 

Adrian stiffened. He remembered holding the gun to her head with one hand. Holding her life in his hands. God, he felt so powerful. 

Like a God. 

"I was just doing it to scare her. Wasn't gonna shoot." 

"Did you want to?" 

"No." Adrian extended the H&K USP45 off to the Gilda, grasping it by the barrel, the grip facing her. "Listen, maybe you should take this." He added, "You know how to use it better than I do." 

Gilda's golden eyes flicked down at the firearm. She grasped the grip and tucked it away. "Sure," she smirked, tucking it in her leather jacket. 

Adrian's head snapped to her. "Screw you," he said cooly. 

"I didn't say anything." 

"I said I wasn't gonna do it. I mean what I say." 

"I believe you," Gilda said earnestly. "Total freaking silence, okay?" 

They relaxed, resigning themselves to feel the bitter chill of the wet wind on their faces. Adrian wrapped himself a little tigher in his jacket.

"You ever get bullied?" Adrian piped up. 

"I thought we weren't talking." 

"Shut up," he murmured. 

Gilda chewed her lip. "Nah. Never got bullied." 

"Not even once?" 

"Once," she quickly said. "But that was the first time." She took a drag on her cigarette, blowing smoke. "And last time." 

"Were you a bully?" Adrian said, his tone darkening. 

Gilda was choosing her words carefully. "Maybe." 

"I hate them." His cigarette was almost a stub by now and he hadn't even taken more than three drags. He kept it between his lips, not daring to breathe in. The ashes fell off. "I hate them so bad." 

"Hate's a strong word." 

"Sometimes, there were times during high school, just one of those days where I was just ready to snap. I thought there was something wrong with me. Just walking to my next class and I was thinking about just punching the person in front of me for no reason."

"Not too crazy." 

"No reason. But there was this one guy I wanted to do some serious damage to. Straight up sneak up and punch him in the throat and just stomp on his face in front of everybody. Kick him in the ribs a few times." He let out a laugh. "And I thought...if I had the guts to do that, no one would ever mess with me again." 

"You got bullied?" 

He paused for a while. "Yeah. It got better. People grow up. I'm friends with them now. And all of a sudden," he swallowed, "all that...had nowhere to go. I was so focused on hurting someone. I'm not a closet psychopath. I was just mad." He took a breath. "And one day, I wasn't mad anymore. Life was great. Had a car." He shrugged. "Had a girlfriend. Got accepted into uni. Life was good."  

"Sucks." 

"I was just...I wanted to know, you know? What it felt like to—to hit someone, kick someone, hurt someone." 

"Curiosity killed the cat." She titled her head. "You ever been in a fight?" 

"Does it count if it's one-sided?" he snorted. 

"Well, you won your first one." She nodded. "So. How do you feel?" 

"Pretty shitty," he admitted. "I thought that was how the other guy was supposed to feel." 

"Did you like it?" 

He gaped. "What?" 

"Winning," Gilda said, tapping the ashes off her cigarette. "Getting to whale on her after you beat her." 

His jaw dropped. He shook his head. "W-what? I-I wouldn't do that. I didn't." 

"I'm not stupid." 

He bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head furiously. 

"You had her by the collar and kept hitting her. I saw her face. No one has aim that good." 

Adrian was adamant. 

"Did you like it?" 

His jaw dropped. "I...no! Of course I didn't like it."  

"Adrian, no one's saying that it's wrong to feel like that." 

He shook his head. "Lyra's scared of me." He chewed his lip. "She's scared of me. I'd never lay a finger on her, but...but when I touched her, she pulled away. I feel like an asshole." 

"She understands." 

He let out a scoff.

"Pino started it," Gilda continued. "You finished it. It's alright to win. You hit her after she was down, didn't you?" 

Adrian breathed hard and closed his eyes. "Seriously, Gilda." 

"It's cool. Anyone would have done that. Pretty dirty," she mused. "Even after that you were pretty scary." 

He laughed bitterly. "I never thought someone say I was scary. I'm the least scary person ever." 

"That's what made it even worse," Gilda said. "How unpredictable you are. It was like—like the flick of a switch." 

Snap. 

Adrian idly rubbed his bandaged hands. "Well, when someone tries to kill you maybe that's what happens. Maybe when humans feel threatened we do things we wouldn't normally think of doing. Things we never thought we could do." He snorted.  

"Maybe," she shrugged. 

"You kill someone before?" 

That wasn't a question you asked anybody. Gilda paused, as if she had to think about it. She turned towards him and opened her mouth. Before she could answer there was a knock behind them. Twilight peeked from the door. 

"Dinner's ready." 

Gilda and Adrian gave each other a look. 

Was she eavesdropping?





Dinner was a silent affair. Lyra's cooking, combined with the efforts of Applejack and Pinkie Pie, was in short, amazing. It began with a salad and balsalmic vinegar and extra virgin olive oil dressing with freshly baked croutons, canned corn, and tangerines. Then came the garlic and onion pasta garnished with mint leaves, pepper, and a dash of spice. And for dessert, cupcakes. 

And it was for that reason it hurt to think about how dinner was once an affair only between them. Their dinners always began with fresh groceries and music and would end with both of them full and exhausted from having to clean the dishes. And despite all of the burned meals, the mishaps, and occasional grease fire, it was hopelessly, pathetically romantic. 

Everyone sat at the table. He relocated himself to the couch. The food was probably delicious, but at the moment, it hurt to swallow. It was silent, save for the sound of utensils and plates clinking together. He liked to think that they were communicating telepathically, probably about him. 

Pino suddenly planted herself down next to him on the couch. Adrian flinched, nearly taking a steak knife to her throat. 

"Hello." 

"Hey," he said as pleasantly as he could, scooting away from her. 

In a flash of green fire, Pino reemerged as Lyra. "If you could change anything about her, what would you do?" 

It took a moment for him to register that the question was directed towards him. "What?" He peered over his shoulder. 

The real Lyra looked positively green in more ways than one. She glowered at the changeling and huffed. 

"What would you change?" 

Pino stood up and did a little twirl. 

"I can change anything," she said in Lyra's voice, only with a much more sensous lilt and tone. 

"Lyra" winked, batting her golden eyes, tossing her green hair back. She leaned forward, her bust much larger than the unicorn's. She squeezed them. 

"Nice new tits?" 

Adrian's lip twitched. "Lyra's are better."

"They're small," Pino pointed out. 

"Hey!" Lyra huffed. 

"Much more perky," Adrian said. 

His answer seemed to placate the girl. 

Physical attraction plays a part in a relationship, but alone it was nothing. There is emotional attraction, spiritual attraction. Call it what you want. It is impossible to love every single inch of your lover. 

Pino turned around, bending over a little. Twilight choked on her pasta. 

"A nice ass?" 

"Already perfect." Adrian stabbed a piece of pasta. "I like Lyra just the way she is. She doesn't have to look like an airbrushed model." He snuck a glance. 

Lyra's eyes widened and her heart soared. 

Pino frowned and changed back. "Hmph. No need to be so serious." 

A beat. 

"Okay, maybe her boobs could be a little bigger," he admitted. 





Adrian felt the need to indulge himself in America's favorite past-time after dinner. He rubbed his head with a smirk, still feeling the sting of Lyra's slap after his comment on her cup size. 

Everyone lazed around the living room in various stages of lethargy. Rainbow plopped herself on top of Gilda, who was reclining and hogged an entire couch. Fluttershy and Rarity and Pinkie Pie sat at the dining table, sipping away at some tea and some treats. Twilight and Lyra sat next to him on the couch. Applejack watched Pino closely with the both of them in a loveseat. 

"Dash, get offa me." 

"Nah," Rainbow said. 

"Dash, get off." 

"So this television," Twilight said. "You can watch up to hundreds, even thousands of plays?" 

Adrian nodded. "Sure. Plays. Shows. And sometimes there are commercials." 

"Like advertisements." 

Adrian nodded, eyes glazed over, the flicker of the flat-screen on his face. "Talk shows and news." 

"Wow," she uttered, absolutely baffled. "That's amazing." 

An obnoxious laugh track rang from the TV. Big Bang Theory was his go-to when he needed to feel stupid for a little bit. 

Applejack gave a little chuckle. "This Sheldon is a lot like you, Twilight. Uses lotsa big words, awful smart, awkward." 

Twilight gasped. "I am not awkward!" She looked around. "Right?" 

Adrian cleared his throat awkwardly, flipping the channel. 

"Today, the killer of a Seattle man in a warehouse district has been arrested. He was found carrying the victim's empty wallet and a gun after a car chase and a standoff. For what seemed to be hours, police cruisers surrounded the building shown here."

"How can she be so matter-of-factly about it?" Rarity said. 

"That's awful!" Twilight exclaimed.  

Adrian found himself saying, "So?" 

"So?" Twilight was taken aback. "So someone's been killed!" 

He stared. "I'm guessing murder doesn't happen very often in Equestria?" 

She shook his head. "But you don't even care!" 

"I don't," he shrugged, getting up to get a drink. "I mean I do. My condolences to the family, but what can I do?" He gestured towards Lyra, who had been staring blankly off into space. "You've been reading those history textbooks. Notice a trend?" 

For the first time in a while, Lyra actually replied, "Yeah. Lots of wars," she remarked with a hum. "Lots of killing." 

"There you go," he said, opening the fridge. "We're really good at that. Isn't it amazing?" 

"'Amazing' isn't the word I'd use," Twilight said slowly. "What's your point?"  

"It's amazing how a million deaths is a statistic, but one death is a tragedy," he said. "You read those numbers. How come you aren't mad? I'd be foaming at the mouth."

"I am mad. It's terrible," Lyra agreed. 

"It is. It's absolutely horrible. But one guy you don't even know dies," he said, gesturing towards the TV, "and you're up in arms." 

Twilight paused. "You're right."

"I know," he said. 

"That's so weird." Lyra bit her lip. "Doesn't it make you mad sometimes, the things we do?" 

"We?" he snorted. 

"Humans. How we can do such bad things toward each other?" 

"It does. That's why I hate watching this," he said. He shrugged. "But you and me aren't 'we'. We don't represent humanity." He cleared his throat, shifting over. "Well, at least I don't. I'm not saying that we're perfect. People aren't perfect. But sometimes people seem to forget that people can do good things too. And we do do good things. It's just that the good gets lost in all the bad, so those people just talk about the bad and never the good." 

"I guess you're right," Twilight sighed. 

Adrian turned the volume down, sighing a bit. "Sparkle, humans aren't all the same. It's just too easy to group us all into one group and call us 'bad'. We're a diverse species. We're all different, each and every one of us." 

Lyra mused, "Sometimes it just feels like there's so many bad people out there." 

"The world is full of bad people," he said cynically. 

When he saw her distraught expression, he did the unthinkable and touched her hand. She flinched just a little, but let him hold her hand. He gently squeezed her. 

"And good people too. And some in between." 

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the weather. 

"But does it not make you want to change things?" Rarity inquired. 

"Make the world a better place," Fluttershy added. "A little kindness goes a long way."  

"Look, I try and give money. You know, charity and stuff like that, within my means." He shrugged. "I'm young. I'm handsome. I could be one of those liberal arts activists." He snickered. "You know, save the trees, save the whales." 

Lyra noted, "You saved me, didn't you?" 

He faced her. "I can't help everyone. I can try. I helped you because I was the only one there." 

"But when it comes to all that other stuff, you expect someone else to do it." 

He rubbed at his chin, listening to the scratchy sound of his fingers rubbing against his hair. "Huh," he finally said. 

"Just some food for thought," Lyra said. 

She squeezed his hand, her thumb lovingly caressing his skin. She smiled just a little. 





Midnight. By then everyone had dozed off. Applejack pointed out how Rainbow and Gilda slept soundly together, with the Pegasus laying atop the gryphon in an intimate manner, her face shoved into the biker's bosom. The farmer took the other couch. Rarity, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, and Twilight took the guest room with a few sleeping bags. 

Adrian dangled a set of plasticuffs in front of Pino's face. 

"Gimme your wrists." 

"Kinky," Pino leered. "All we need is a riding crop and we're set." 

"Shut up," Adrian snapped. 

He pulled the cuffs taut, giving little room for movement. He moved a little lower, down to her feet. 

"Isn't this a bit excessive?" Pino asked as her ankles were also bound. 

"The blindfold and gag are optional," he deadpanned. 

"Yeesh." 

"The floor is optional too, if you don't like the couch," he added. 

Pino nodded, trying to get comfortable in the loveseat, her feet dangling over the edge. 

"I'll be watchin' you, you hear?" Applejack told the changeling. 

Satisfied with the living arrangements, Adrian looked for Lyra. She was in the kitchen, finishing up the last of the dishes. 

He approached her. "Lyra, you don't have to do the dishes." 

She didn't answer for a while. She scrubbed at the last dish and placed it in the washer. "And done!" 

He jerked his head. "C'mon. Time for bed." 

She yawned. "Called the couch—" 

"Taken," Applejack piped up. 

"The other couch—" 

Gilda and Rainbow mumbled. 

"The loveseat—" 

"Occupied," Pino butted in. 

Lyra glared. "The floor." 

Adrian shook his head. "No you're not." He put his hand on her back, leading her.

"It's alright." She pushed his hand away. 

"C'mon." He tested the waters, gently grabbing her hand. She made no move to snatch it away and only tensed up. "You can have my bed." 

Without asking he dragged her upstairs. Lyra trailed behind like a child. 

"Then where are you going to sleep?" she asked, protesting. 

"The floor," he echoed with a smirk. 

"No you're not," Lyra said. 

They were at an impasse. Neither said anything. Adrian moved first, not willing to pursue the issue any longer, and began slipping beneath the covers. A moment later he felt Lyra join him in bed, back to back with him. They faced away from each other, uncomfortably aware of each others' presence and warmth. 

"Night," Adrian said. 

Lyra echoed his words. 

And just like that, all his troubles seemed to melt away for those precious eight hours. 





Until morning. The sun did not rise. A pale yellow light streamed through his blinds. There was a faint trickling sound from the roof. Adrian peered outside of his blinds. It was your typical Seattle overcast, misty and wet.  

When Lyra opened her eyes she expected him to be by her side. She shifted, and felt emptiness. Only his lingering warmth remained. She moved towards his side of the bed and wrapped herself tighter in the blankets. 

Adrian cleared his throat, thinking of his words. This was no proper way to say goodbye. But he dialed the number on his home's cordless phone, standing outside in his background. He didn't wait for the ring. He went straight to voicemail. 

"To leave a message, stay on the line."

Adrian's jaw clenched. 

"Mom? It's uh...it's me." 

He thought about his parents. 

"Hope you're having a great time, wherever you are." 

He thought about his mom, tearfully saying goodbye to her "baby" as he went off into the big bad world of college. 

He sat down, finding his words. "L-Look, I know you and dad want to see me off to uni, but I just got this i-invitation from my dormmate and I wanna meet him, so..." 

He thought about his dad. The good times, the bad times. 

"I'm gonna pack all my stuff and take the car. You already paid for parking so that'll be okay. I-I can't promise I won't start drinking, hah. But, I guess, this is goodbye for now." 

He paused. 

"Bye. I'll pick you up from the airport." 

He hung up the phone, putting it back in its charger with a click and heaved a sigh. 

"We need to leave now." 

"Adrian—" Lyra started. 

He faced her with a steely gaze. "No, you listen to me. The longer I stay here, the more danger my parents are in and I am not going to risk that!" 

There was no longer any fear in his eyes. He wasn't some scared little boy anymore; he was eighteen years old and it was about time he took control of his life. His parents couldn't be responsible for him any more. They couldn't pay for his mistakes. 

"I know," she said softly. "I'm sorry." 

"What's done is done. We need to go someplace safe. Get off the streets, stay under the radar." Jesus, it sounded so cheesy. "For now. Until the deal." 

"A motel?" Gilda suggested. 

He rolled his eyes. "I said safe, not completely exposed with no security." Adrian thought for a moment. "Marriott Hotel should be good." 

"But first, we need to make a stop," Pino said. 





"Turn here." 

Chrysalis clearly had no sense of location, judging by her choice of real estate. The neighborhood was...a bad one, in a place that could have been a war zone by itself. The apartment was, in a word, "sketch". It was a dark, dank, decrepit studio apartment with a narrow hallway into a place with only a mattress and a coffee table with a laptop on it. The paint was peeling on the wall.

Pino had been given her share of armaments and funds. "In there." 

Adrian slid open a sliding closet door. 

"Oh man, look at all this gear!" Gilda said eagerly.  

Semiautomatic handguns, a rifle, and a shotgun from every corner of the globe lay strewn out on the coffee table with assorted magazines and ammunition, none of them having any serial numbers. There were half a dozen stun and smoke grenades as well, and Adrian swore that he saw a few blocks of C4. Seeing all of these made it that much more real to him, hammering home the gravity of the situation. 

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Gilda grinned. She hefted a match-grade AR-15 rifle, aiming down the telescopic sight. 

"Are these firearms? Like flintlocks?" 

Adrian nodded. "Something like that." He looked at her. "You guys have flintlocks in uh, Equestria?" 

"Not us," the wizard said. "The gryphons. They use them for hunting and sport." A bit later she added tentatively, "And for...self-defense." 

"Are we going to kill them?" Fluttershy asked. 

Adrian froze. This was the same boy who felt guilty for returning washed clothes to the department store, for coming up short on a tip at a restaurant. Now he was contemplating murder. In his mind, he tried to call it something else, call them something else. They weren't people, they were bugs. It wasn't murder, it was pest control, or self-defense. 

"Why can't we just go hoof to hoof?" Rainbow asked. "Err, hand to hand. We fought them last time."  

"Rainbow, last time we lost," Applejack pointed out. "They all transformed to look like us. It was hard telling who was who."

"And barely held our own before being captured," Rarity added. 

"You guys fought them before?" Adrian asked skeptically.

"There were a lot of them," Rainbow said, puffing her chest. "But we kicked bug butt." 

He was not entirely convinced. "You girls fought an army of changelings." 

"What's so crazy about that?" 

"We're going up against changelings," Twilight explained when some of the others were reluctant to touch them. "It couldn't hurt to defend ourselves with something more than our bare hands." 

Five heads nodded in agreement. Everyone began loading things into black duffel bags. Things that were needed, things that could be useful. Appropriate ammuntion for specific weapons, holsters, magazine pouches, vests, et cetera. 

Rainbow Dash opted for the Beretta PX4 Storm as a sidearm and Applejack equipped herself with a Colt M1911 .45. Gilda kept the rifle and took a Jericho 941 "Baby Eagle".

"You a good shot?" 

The gryphon nodded. "Heck yeah. They don't call me 'Hawkeye' for nothing." 

"They call you 'Hawkeye'?" Rainbow snorted. 

Lyra already was carrying her olive-drab Glock 26. Twilight took a Taurus PT92 and Pinkie happily took up the explosives, juggling a few grenades. Fluttershy and Rarity refused to arm themselves.

And Adrian kept the H&K USP45, much to Pino's chagrin. It would have been cliché to mention that it was heavy and felt like a brick in his hand, but it was. There was some serious weight to it and it was bulky, yet slim. He thumbed the magazine release. 

Twelve hollow-points in a clip. Not much.

He found a good holster and dual magazine pouch, securing them on his belt. He felt like a gunslinger. 

"You know how to use it?" Gilda inquired. 

His use of firearms extended only to last summer at a shooting range where he plinked away with a .22 peashooter at a paper target less than seven yards away wearing hearing protection. He understood how to hold it and a proper stance, but absolutely none of that extended to actual combat training where he was moving, ducking, dodging, or diving for his life. 

So basically, he knew about as much as anyone how to pull the trigger. 

"It's like a camera, right?"

He racked the slide, chambering a round.

"Point and shoot." 





Adrian took a deep breath. He let it out. He closed his eyes and let the sour smell of rain fill his nostrils. 

Sour. Decay. Destruction. Pollution. 

He stood, elbows against the balcony of their hotel suite. They were lucky to get three rooms on such short notice, seeing as it was summer. Then again, a little money went a long way in terms of securing a safehouse. In terms of security, there was little that could stop creatures that could transform at will to look like anyone and seemed to have endless resources and finances. How much of that was true was anybody's guess. 

"We need to stay here, where it's safe," Adrian had said. "Don't go outside unless you have to. They know our faces and they'll recognize you too." 

The guns were hidden beneath the bed. He'd specifically requested that no maids were to enter any of their suites, and he had given the woman a wink and a promise to keep things clean. 

The look on her face!

"Mm. What a view," Lyra said, joining him by his side. She wasn't quite as touchy, but that was alright by him. He wasn't ready to forgive her yet. 

"Yeah," he croaked. 

For a moment he thought about how easily someone could snipe them from where they were standing. 

Morbid, much? 

The rain during the day had stopped for the most part, the sound of faint trickling only heard from the balcony and drainpipes. There was a faint mist in the black night. Seattle was lit up like Christmas, like a metropolis should be. 

Adrian turned around. Everyone joined together in Adrian and Lyra's suite to listen in. He handed Pino a Nokia burner phone. "Call her." 

Pino stared. "Okay?" 

"We call her using a disposable. It's obvious she can track us. Let's get out stories straight. Gilda and Lyra are dead. The Elements of Harmony don't exist. The less Chrysalis knows, the better." He nodded. "Make the call." 

Pino nodded. She dialed the numbers in hesitantly before handing it to Adrian. It rang three times. 

"Hello?" Chrysalis asked. 

"Excuse me ma'am, is your refrigerator running?" 

"BAHAHAHAHAmmgh!" 

Thud! 

"Pinkie, be quiet!" Rainbow Dash hissed.

All of the other Elements had to wrestle Pinkie to the ground to contain her outburst. She could barely contain her laughter, her eyes watering as she thrashed. Gilda raised an eyebrow, snickering. 

He frowned. "Hello?" 

Moments later Chrysalis answered, out of breath, "Yes, in fact, it is running." 

Adrian's jaw dropped. Gilda was doubled over, on the floor, shaking silently. Pino slapped her forehead and buried her face in her hands. Talk about embarassing.

"Hello? Is this some kind of a prank?" Chrysalis snapped. 

He returned to his normal speaking voice. "Remember me?" 

Chrysalis had taken at least thirty seconds to respond. Stunned silence. 

"And here I though ghosts didn't exist. Adrian Ross," Chrysalis said. "How did you get my number?" 

Adrian tilted the phone towards Pino. 

"H-hey mom," the changeling said weakly. 

"Pinocchio?" Chrysalis' composed, menacing tone changed. She sounded...frantic. "You listen to me, you little shit! You will let my child go—"

"Or what? You'll shoot me again? What's it gonna take for you to leave me alone?" 

"I am willing to...negotiate. In person," she said.

"Gimme a time and place," he said cockily. 

"Trinity Nightclub, eleven o' clock. Do you know of it?" 





Depending on your defintion of a good time, it could be said Adrian had had a good time during his stay in the prestigious, exclusive nightclub of downtown Seattle. It was a discriminatory venue, and as such, baggy jeans below the waist and oversized hoodies wasn't going to cut it for dress code. 

Adrian had gone all out with his wardrobe with a fitted three-piece suit and brown wingtips.  It was step above your typical dress shirt and dark wash jeans combo and was guaranteed to get him in. There was no time to slip the bouncer a bill or argue. As for Pino, a little bit of leg would be enough to get past the bouncer. 

He stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his French dress shirt tucked into his navy slacks. 

"You look good," Lyra murmured from the doorway. 

Adrian smiled at her reflection, looping his pink silk tie around his neck. She saunted up to him, tying it for him. His eyes met hers. She blushed and looked away, holding the knot and securing it around his neck like a noose. He began buttoning the matching vest. Lyra helped him put his suit jacket on. 

"You ready?" Gilda asked. She carried a black duffel bag around her shoulders, presumably filled with a dismantled rifle and ammunition. 

"Sure," Adrian said, Pino by his side. 

"I'm coming," Twilight insisted. "A sniper always needs a spotter." 

There was no arguing with that. 





"Adrian, I want you to know something," Pino started. 

A slight tilt of the head was the only sign of him even remotely paying attention to the changeling. 

"Chrysalis." Pino paused. "Despite what you think of her, she doesn't want to hurt anyone. We don't want to hurt anyone."  

"Except me." 

"You're the exception. The Elements, Lyra, Gilda. But hurting other humans, how does that benefit her?" 

"So she's not a complete sociopath, great. What is your point?" 

"The point is that Chrysalis and the changelings won't harm innocent people, which means we can use that to our advantage," she murmured. "If we need to make a getaway, we can run through right through the club and they won't fire a single shot." 

He nodded faintly. The rest of the ride was filled with silence. 

"We meet again," Adrian murmured as they pulled up to the sidewalk.

Across the street was Trinity Nightclub. He scanned the line of people winding around the building, the smoky windows, and neon lights. 

"Looks like they're patting people down good tonight," he noted. 

"You can't go around carrying a full-sized .45," Pino reasoned. She handed him a holster clearly meant to be strapped around his ankle. 

He pulled out the revolver, flicking the cylinder out. Five chambers loaded with .38 Special. 

"Ruger SP101, .38 Special, snubnosed. Easy to hide and easy to shoot." 

"It won't be easy," he grunted. He flicked the cylinder shut with a snap of the wrist. 

"Nothing ever is." 





Gilda and Twilight climbed the stairs of the warehouse opposite of Trinity Nightclub, with Twilight trailing behind as they reached the rooftop. They'd followed the BMW on motorcycle. The VIP area was on the top floor of the establishment, and their vantage point was at least a block away. From there they had a full view of the site and more importantly, a shot of where the meeting was going down. 

"Ya know, you don't have to be here," Gilda murmured.

She began assembling the AR-15. She kept several loaded twenty-round magazines within reach. She affixed the scope atop the rail, and chambered a round. She popped the bipod open and shouldered the rifle. 

"Do you think Chrysalis is gonna be reasonable? Leave Adrian and Lyra alone?" 

The gryphon snorted. "If she was reasonable, we wouldn't have to do this." 

"You're not gonna shoot her, are you?" Twilight asked. "Do you see them?" 

"Not yet. I don't know which floor. " Gilda smirked. "She shot me." 

"Still." Twilight scanned with her binoculars. "There. I think that's them. Third floor." 

"Looks like it." She took the safety off with a click. "Payback, baby," she muttered.  

"We're here to negotiate, not assassinate," Twilight stressed. "If you shoot, even if you kill her, Adrian's life is over." 

"I know." 

"Only if things go wrong, right?" 

She didn't answer. 





"Can I see some ID?" 

Adrian's heart sank. He looked at Pino, and reluctantly reached into his back pocket to hand him his license. The bouncer traced a finger down the list, scrutinizing both the guest list and his false driver's license carefully. Pino made sure to act especially flirty, hanging off Adrian's arm in a manner that was eerily similar to Lyra. 

He gulped. 

After a moment, the burly man nodded and handed him a card with a magnetic strip on it. 

"Looks like you're a VIP tonight." 

They strode through the doors. Adrian was already sweating bullets. Perhaps it was his nerves, or maybe it was just summer. It was disgustingly hot in the nightclub. 

"Coat check?" 

Adrian handed off his navy blazer off with a folded dollar bill. He fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt, rolling up both of his sleeves, wearing nothing but his navy vest and slacks. 

Shadows danced in the blackness of the room, with lights flashing fast enough to induce epilepsy. The smell of sweat, alcohol, and cigarette smoke filled the nightclub while house music played. Adrian began to tune it all out. 

"There's the VIP lounge," he shouted over the music, pointing towards a set of double doors that led upstairs. 

He swiped the card, leading Pino inside and closing the doors behind him. Adrian reached down and drew the Ruger .38 revolver from his ankle holster, holding it to Pino's back. 

They began ascending slowly. 

"You ready?" she asked. 

Each step made his stomach lurch. He didn't answer. 

She opened the door to the VIP lounge, revealing two Praetorians standing at the ready and Chrysalis lounging around on a comforter, a cigar between her fingers. One of the Praetorians at the door made a move. 

He pointed the gun right at it. "Back up!" 

The guard moved back, hands up. 

"Adrian Ross," Chrysalis hissed with a wide grin. "Back from the dead!" She spread her arms wide theatrically. 

He held the gun tight to Pino's neck. Pino tried her best to look agitated at having a gun to her head. They stepped forward slowly, with Adrian using her body as cover. 

"Any of your goombas try anything funny Pino gets a bullet to the brain stem!" he shouted. 

He tried to sound intimidating but he felt cheesy. And he was pretty sure his voice cracked. 

"Come now," Chrysalis said cooly. "We can be civil, can't we? Sit." 

Adrian complied. Ever the gentlemen, he pulled Pino's seat out for her while simulteanously holding a gun to her head. They seated themselves around the round table. Dim red lights served as ambience, casting harsh shadows across their features. Half of Chrysalis' face seemed to be shrouded in blackness. 

The noise of white noise filled Adrian's ears. He felt cold. 

"Are you hungry? Thirsty, perhaps? I can have Klaus whip you up a cocktail, maybe a martin—" 

"No," he said harshly. "Nothing to drink. Are we gonna talk, or what?" 

"It's all business with you, isn't it, boy?" Chrysalis sighed, downing her glass. "You know, it's important to enjoy life." Her eyes flashed. "While you still can." 

He gulped, never breaking eye contact. He wasn't going to show his fear. Somehow, he knew that she could smell it. She could see it in his eyes, see it in the way the barrel of the gun twitched as he held it. Chrysalis stared at him. He stared at her. She stared at Pino. Pino stared back. 

"So!" Chrysalis said. "How...did you two meet?" 

The way she spoke, she enuciated every word, every syllable, as if holding back. Adrian didn't humor her with a response.

"Did she fuck you?"   

Adrian choked. 

"God, I love her so, Adrian. She is one of my many children," she said. "Sometimes it's hard to keep track but God, do I try." 

His left eye twitched. 

"It's just that sometimes I get a little frustrated is all, I'm sorry, Pino," she said, putting a hand to her chest to excuse herself. She tossed her blue locks over her shoulder, wiping her brow of imagined sweat. "I love them all equally, but Pino was the wrong one for the job." 

Pino said nothing. 

"In all honesty, if I had sent Klaus here—Klaus, do be a dear, won't you?" Chrysalis held a cigar between her lips. Klaus, ever so loyal, leaned down to light it for her. She puffed a little. "Where was I—yes, Klaus. If I had sent Klaus to kill you, he would have brought me your head on a fucking platter!" 

She slammed her hand down. Adrian and Pino nearly jumped out of their skin.  

"You disobeyed me, Pinocchio," Chrysalis hissed. "I told you to stay put." 

"But Mother, I—" 

"You have made things very complicated for me, Pinocchio!" the changeling queen snapped. 

Adrian recognized that tone of voice. It was a tone his mother would frequently use on him when reprimanding him. And he realized that Chrysalis was a mother. She was scolding her child. At the end of the day, there was one thing Adrian could be certain of. Chrysalis truly cared for her children. They weren't disposable mooks. She was Mama Bear and Pino was her cub and Adrian was in the way.

"But I digress, Pino has done well. After all, if it wasn't for her, I wouldn't know that you're still alive." She gazed at him. "And as I say, the right pony in the wrong place," she hissed, her eye twitching, her claws digging into the table, "can make all the difference in the world." She gripped her glass a little harder. "Change the course of history. Ruin your plans." 

Crash!  

Chrysalis' hand was bleeding. The shattered remains of her glass littered the table, shards of glass stuck in her flesh.. She used her claws to pick a shard of glass embedded in her skin, flicking it away. 

"Forgive me. I've made a mess." 

"What are we waiting for?" 

"If you'll be patient," Chrysalis sneered. 





Lyra hummed a tune. She turned the shower knob with a squeak, grabbing a towel. It was a familiar tune that she played on her lyre back in...

God, it seemed like so long ago that she was in Equestria. 

She toweled her naked body. She stepped out, wrapping her hair up in a little towel turban while dressing herself in panties and a shirt. 

Knock knock. 

Frozen. Lyra froze. 

Two more knocks. 

"Room service," a false falsetto voice chimed in. 

Lyra froze. She grabbed her Glock, clutching it close to her breast. 

The door knob was jiggling. As if someone was fiddling with it. 

Crash!

The door was shoved open. Lyra fell backwards onto her back in a prone position, her Glock already drawn from her hip. She squeezed the trigger. There was no click. There was nothing. She pressed against the plastic trigger and it didn't move. It was a short moment. The moment Lyra realized she was stupid enough to not rack the slide and actually chamber a round in her gun. How stupid she was, unable to use a Glock that only needed a round in the chamber and a finger to pull the trigger. 

She yanked the slide back, but it was a mistake that cost her. The changeling was on her in a flash, one hand grabbing at her wrist and wrestling the gun away from here, the other making a grab at her neck, succeeding in grabbing her shirt. Lyra fell backwards and flipped, throwing the first changeling over her head and across the room. 

She stood up, making a run for it. Lyra knew when to fold them. She was no Royal Guard. 

Lyra bumped into a second changeling. It smiled at her. She cried out, whirling around, until it wrapped its arms around her in a tight bearhug. The first changeling had swiftly taken her Glock pistol apart, separating the slide from the frame after dropping the magazine. Useless, now. The first changeling approached her, a yellow device in its hand. 

The girl screamed, kicking her legs out and landing a hit. Her arms were pinned. She thrashed wildly, throwing her body left and right in the cramped hallway, slamming the second changeling holding her a few times until its grip loosened. She shoved the changeling down and ran for the door until it grabbed her ankles. She fell forward onto her belly with an oomph. She got onto her back and her eyes widened when she saw the glint of a deadly syringe. She tried to scream, falling limp as the changeling fell on her, pinning her down. She felt a prick in her side. Then, she lost all feeling. She couldn't even struggle. 

Her arms were roughly twisted behind her and her wrists bound by plasticuffs. Her mouth was duct-taped shut and her eyes blindfolded. Lyra felt herself being hefted over the changeling's shoulder. She could see nothing, and only feel the changelings descending. Stairs. The emergency stairs? 

Then she passed out. 

And still, it was business as usual at Marriot Hotel. 





Adrian swallowed. Imagine that feeling of butterflies in your stomach. Multiply that by a hundred. Chrysalis was even more terrifying sipping a martini than shooting at him. What scared him more was how Chrysalis was being completely nonchalant about the situation. It bugged him. 

Her phone rang. It penetrated the silence with two errant rings. 

"Excuse me. Hello?" Chrysalis said. "Oh? Oh my. Perfect." 

He didn't like how smug she looked. Chrysalis smiled a bit too widely. Her body language changed from prim and proper to almost euphoric. She leaned back in her chair, swirling her class playfully, watching Adrian like a hawk.  





"Is the radio dead?" Twilight asked, putting an ear to the device. "I'm not hearing anything." 

"Me neither," Gilda grunted. "How long has it been quiet?" 

"Fifteen minutes. What do you see?" 

The gryphon lined the crosshairs up to Adrian's head, then shifted over to Pino's. Adrian still was holding Pino close, probably keeping a gun pressed into her side. Chrysalis was still sipping her drink.  

"They're just sitting there." 





Fifteen minutes passed. It felt like hours. Adrian was periodically checking his watch, sneaking glances, but Chrysalis seemed more interested in her cocktails. 

Crash!

Chairs toppled over. Adrian turned around. He saw two changelings. A shock of green hair. 

"Son of a—" 

They had brought Lyra through the back alley entrance up all the flights of stairs. In his brief moment of panic, Adrian turned his back to Chrysalis. He turned around, and felt his face go cold as he looked down the barrel of a SIG Sauer. Chrysalis had stood up and closed the distance between them in less than a second. 

"Ah ah. Don't move, boy." 

He could see the bullet nestled in its chamber, ready to blow his head off. He heard Lyra sniff. 

Bastards!

"Shit!" he muttered. 

"Now I have a bargaining chip," Chrysalis said. "Put. The gun. Down." 

Adrian's fingers loosened around the grip of the revolver. It fell to the floor with a clatter. 

"How stupid do you think I am, boy?" the woman spat. "Did you really think I couldn't find you?" 

How...?

A changeling guard crept up behind him and grabbed him by the shoulder, jamming a foot into the crook of his knees. Adrian let out a grunt as he was forced down. 

The earpiece was ripped out of his ear painfully, and the cord unjacking itself from the radio at his hip.

"What's this?" it hissed. It held up the transparent cord up for Chrysalis to see. 

"Who are you working with?" she asked. 

Static. 

"Adrian?

Chrysalis' eyes widened. "That voice..." 

There was a faraway look in her eye. Like a hunter she began to approach him in slow, halting steps. He took a step bac—

"Don't move, don't move," she whispered. "I-I know that voice. Ha...Haha." 

"Adrian! What's going on!" the radio screamed. 

She loomed over him. The boy reached down the try and silence Twilight on the radio—

"YOU MOVE, YOU DIE, CHILD!" the queen bellowed, snagging the collar of his shirt.

Her claws nearly pierced through the silk fabric as she reeled him. Her face was inches away from his. Her other hand roamed down to his waist. 

"Come in!"

She ripped the radio from his belt and screamed into it. "TWILIGHT!" Chrysalis turned her back, livid. "TWILIGHT SPARKLE! WHERE ARE YOU?!" 

Adrian flinched.

"WHERE!" She faced Pino and Adrian. "Pick up the gun." 

"W-What?" Pino stammered. 

"PICK! UP! THE GUN!" 

Pino seemed out of touch with reality. The way she moved, it was less confident, less sure of herself. The changeling crouched down, almost stopping halfway, before picking up the Ruger. She whirled around, the gun extended in a shaky grip, her thumb cocking the hammer.

Adrian slowly raised his hands, closing his eyes. 

"Kill him." 

It was all a ruse. Pinocchio was no changeling assassin, no elite Praetorian guard of Chrysalis' army. She was nothing more than a lowly "civilian" in the changeling's world. Trained? Maybe. 

"You are going to redeem yourself, my child. Kill him, Pinocchio," Chrysalis bellowed. "Right here, right now." 

He lowered his hands a bit. 

Pino's grip relaxed. "N-No..."

"Excuse me?" She sounded less...menacing, and more like a mother. 

"No." 

"Did I stutter? Pull the trigger!" 

Pino's finger tensed around the trigger, as if she was having second thoughts. But she set her finger against the side of the gun, wiggling her finger and showing it to Adrian. He could barely squeak, let alone nod, acknowledging that at the very least, her gun was the only gun not ready to put a slug in his head. 

"PULL THE TRIGGER!" Chrysalis screamed in that voice Adrian would never forget. It was the voice of instability. 

"Then you'll have to shoot me," Pino screamed back. 

And Pino raised the gun. She leveled it right at her mother's head. She backed up, making sure that she stood in front of Adrian. 

"This isn't right! This isn't fair!" 

"W-What?" 

"HE DOESN'T DESERVE THIS!" 

"Pinocchio, I am done playing games." She raised the gun at her own flesh and blood. "Either you shoot him or I shoot you." 

Pino's jaw dropped. 

"Pull the trigger." 

She choked back a sob. "W-What?" 

"PULL THE TRIGGER NOW!" 





"Egghead, shut up!" Gilda disconnected her mouthpiece from the radio. "This is bad." She flinched when she saw a shot go off in the VIP lounge. 

"Gilda?" 

"Shit," Gilda muttered, shouldering her rifle. 

The situation was going south fast.

"Gilda, you can't shoot all of them." 

"I know," the gryphon hissed, her crosshairs hovering over the changeling queen. "Just tell me how far." 

Pino was aiming at Chrysalis...protecting Adrian? 

"Just wait for the wind to stop." 

Her finger twitched.





The sound resembled the crack of a rifle. No, not a crack. More like an explosion. Did you know that bullets travel faster than sound? So first came the bullet tearing and slamming into the glass. Cracks spread across it like spiderwebs. Then there was an echoing roar of the gunshot screeching. The instant the sound reached the yard everyone seemed to freeze, as if trying to comprehend the situation. Muscles tensed. Hearts stopped. In that split-second, everyone hit the floor. 

A second shot. The glass disentegrated. 

One of the guards opened fire, firing three shots from his SIG P220 .45. All of the shots missed, slamming into the painted wall behind him. With the music cranked up in the mosh pit on the dance floor, the report of gunfire barely registered as an offbeat in the club. 

Pino grabbed Adrian's wrist and dragged him downstairs.

"We have to get Lyra!" 

"Are you kidding me right now?" Pino shouted. She handed him the gun. "Okay. Fine. Go and get Lyra. No, seriously, go ahead." 

They scrambled down the stairs, Adrian shoving the double doors leading to the dance floor in a rather dramatic fashion, the once muffled house music kicking up a notch. 

Just because Chrysalis and her Praetorians weren't going to hurt innocent people didn't mean that they were safe. If they cornered him and Pino, they were done for. They shoved their way through the crowd. 

"Hey!" 

"Who the fuck is pushing?" 

A hand snatched Pino's arm. Pino let out a cry. One of the changelings had grabbed her arm forcefully. Using her gender to her advantage, she began to make a scene. 

"Hey! Let me go! I told you I already have a boyfriend, you creep!" she screamed. 

Already some of those at the bar had noticed, with some of the dancers giving them space. Adrian acted quickly. In the typical drunk alpha male role, he shouted, 

"Don't touch my girlfriend, asshole!" 

He punched the changeling right in the nose with a crack!. The suited changeling fell back into the crowd, nearly getting trampled by clubbers. There was a resounding scream as people were knocked off balance. 

"That fucker touched my girl!" Adrian pointed out. "You got knocked the fuck out!" 

"I don't care what he did. Get out!" 





Gilda collapsed the buttstock of the rifle and folded the bipod, detaching the scope and removing the magazine and stuffed it into the black duffel bag. She threw it around her shoulders. 

"Egghead, let's go!" 

It was a race to descend the staircase. They hopped down and skipped steps and sprinted over to the parked motorcycle. They both put on their helmets. Gilda kickstarted the engine. 

"You know how to use a gun?" 

Twilight drew her Taurus. "Not a clue!" 

"Great," she muttered. 





"Shitshitshit!" 

Adrian turned the key. The engine jumped to life, revving loudly. 

"They're coming!" 

Adrian floored the throttle, screaming with frustration before he realized he had to stomp down on the clutch. He shifted the car into first gear, the wheels screeching as they sped away. Thunder boomed, follow by a flash of lightning. The windshield was battered with rain. In the rear-view mirror he spotted three black Mercedes-Benz approaching in a squad. 

He narrowed his eyes, focusing on two changelings riding a motorcycle, both clad in raincoats and motorcycle helmets. The passenger one extended a gloved hand. 

"DUCK!" 

The round slammed into the rear windshield. The motorcyclist shot forward. He turned his head for just a moment and paled, seeing them rapidly approaching from his side. 

"Pino, take the wheel!" 

The changeling reached over and held it steady. 

The barrel of a gun was shoved in his face from the other side of the window. Adrian popped open the driver's side door and kicked it into them as hard as he could, knocking them off balance. One flew off, tumbling into a ditch. The other hit the trunk of their car with a sickening thud before bouncing off. 

Adrian took control of the wheel. 

What do you think when you hear "car chase"? Fast and Furious. Hollywood. Loud screeches of tires burning rubber, drifting around corners, crashes, and occasionally driving the wrong way down a freeway. 

Adrian yanked the steering wheel. With the streets slicked with rain, the sharp turn made the car oversteer, drifting around the turn. He held down the throttle, the pitch of engine going higher and higher before shoving the stick and switching into the next gear. 

This was a real car chase, literally "defensive driving". The rain-slicked streets of downtown Seattle were largely empty in the dead of night, and luckily, very wide and spacious. It was a game of cat and mouse, if you will, where Adrian was trying his best to obey traffic laws and simultaneously drive like an idiot, cutting across lanes and signaling in opposite directions, trying to get away from convoy of three Mercedes-Benz automobiles giving chase. Maybe in Hollywood speed was valued above all else, but in the real world, maneuvering was everything. 

His right hand gripped the stick tightly, his knuckles white, his left hand clutching the steering wheel at a 10 o'clock position. He had just run a red light. 

He was going to have a hard time explaining things to authorities. 

The BMW fishtailed around the corner as he wrestled the car back into control. The front of the Mercedes connected with the back of the car in a PIT maneuver. He shouted. Pino gritted her teeth and held on as the car spun around. He was directly facing them now. 

Without even thinking his right hand shot forward and put the car into reverse, driving backwards down the road. They were catching up, having realized what he was doing. 

Adrian reached down and pulled the handbrake, yanking the wheel, and turned the car around in a 180-degree spin. He stomped down on the clutch, shifted the car back into first gear, and sped forward. 

Pino stared. "Where did you learn how to do that?!" 

"Grand Theft Auto! Where's Seattle's finest when you need them?!" 

In the rear-view mirror he saw Gilda and Twilight on their motorcycle, hot on the trail of the cars behind them.

"C'monc'monc'mon!" he growled. "C'MON!"  

"Faster, c'mon! They're gaining on us!" 

"Shut up, shut up..." 





The motorcycle shot forward. Twilight shakily took aim, firing at the rear wheel, missing. Gilda suddenly swerved, cutting the Mercedes off. Unable to go any further, Twilight fired, emptying her entire magazine into the windshield of the car. Granted, her eyes were closed shut, but it was good at suppressing them for just a bit. Their windows were bullet resistant, and stopped the rounds, leaving cracks in the glass that looked like spiderwebs. In the distance he heard car alarms go off, the rattle gunfire echoing through the skyscrapers. Her slide locked back and Gida turned the motorcycle around and sped off in another direction, disappearing. One Mercedes-Benz trailed off from the group, chasing after them. 

"Not bad, egghead!" 

"You too!" 





Now, they only had to deal with two cars. 

Pino commanded, "Rightrightright! Here, here. Back up." 

Adrian put the car in reverse and backed into an alleyway. He killed the engine, his right hand hovering over the key. His left hand twisted the knob, killing the headlights. He could hear his heartbeat pound in his ears. 

Tactical driving was a combination of not only speed and maneuverability, but also stealth. Of course it was just common sense, but it was definitely a tactic used by special forces in urban warfare. 

He saw the flash of a black sedan pass them. He waited three seconds. A minute. Two. 

A collective sigh was released. He got a call from Twilight on the disposable. 

"You guys okay?" 

"Sure," he snapped. "Define okay." 

"Let's meet up at the hotel." 





When Adrian and Pino pulled up to the hotel, the valet didn't even bother with any questions. Adrian looked furious, surely. His sleeves were disheveled, his vest unbuttoned, and his tie loosened. Tired, ragged, angry. It was the dead of night. Actually, more like two in the morning. 

He knocked on the door of the suite down the hall. 

"What the hay happened?" Rainbow asked, incredulous. 

"Chrysalis found Lyra. Sent them to snatch her." 

"We didn't hear anything!" Applejack said. "I'm sorr—" 

"It's okay," he snapped. "They came in quiet." 

"What happened?" Fluttershy asked. 

"C'mon." 

Adrian pulled open the door to his and Lyra's suite. The door swung open with a creak. The entire room was plunged into darkness. When he flicked the switch, he heard Rarity utter an, 

"Oh my." 

The entire room was destroyed. It was obvious a struggle had taken place there. 

Adrian flicked his wrist. 

"Take off your clothes." 

"W-what?" Pino sputtered. 

"Take off your clothes." 

Pino was no stranger to being naked. It was an odd request, however. She stripped down to her bra and panties. 

"Everything. Take it all off." 

"Is this really the time?" Applejack inquired. 

Adrian was unfazed as she stripped down to nothing. She didn't bother covering her exposed breasts. Adrian put a hand up for her to shut up. He felt along the seams Her bra, her panties. He sliced the clasps of her bra and examined them closely. 

He turned his head and saw Pino's black pea coat hanging on the corner of the bed. 

"What are you doing?" Twilight asked. 

He picked up the wool coat. He had searched her pockets earlier and came up with only her knife, her keys, and phone. He checked them again. Empty. 

Then he checked the buttons. 

He sliced all of them off, one by one. 

"Hey! I like that jacket!" 

There was a small translucent capsule the size of a grain of rice glued to the back of one of the aesthetic buttons. He held it up, squinting, and held it up for everyone else to see. 

"Sonofabitch," he muttered. 

He set the tracker down calmly. 

"Sonmahbitch," he repeated, his word slurring incohrently eyes shut tight. "Sonofa..." 

He stomped down on it, crushing it. 

"BITCH! TRACKING! BITCH!" 

Stomp.

"Shit—" 

Stomp. Stomp.

"—shitshitshit—" 

STOMPSTOMPSTOMPSTOMP—

"—fuckshitshitshitfuck!"

"Adrian, stop it," Gilda said. 

"BITCH!" 

He didn't care if he was scaring them. Adrian pulled out the revolver. He flicked out the cylinder out, checking the load. Five rounds. 

"I thought you said you weren't being tracked," he whispered. It was his cool, calm voice that barely masked his unbridled rage. "Bitch." 

"Adrian, put the gun down," Twilight said. She was reaching for her gun. 

"Bitch, I thought you didn't have a bug on you." Monotone. Emotionless. 

He had a new favorite word. Pino suddenly seemed so very small. 

Adrian lashed out with a vicious slap, knocking her to the ground. He grabbed at her throat, the barrel of the Ruger pressed against her temple. 

He seethed, spit flying from his clenched teeth. "I THOUGHT YOU SAID WE WERE SAFE!" he screamed. 

"Adrian put the gun down—!" Twilight threatened. 

"SHUT! UP!" he spat. He added, "BITCH!" 

"HEY! Leave her alone!" Fluttershy yelled. But she didn't dare approach. 

Adrian's hand was poised in a position to smack a bitch. 

"I didn't know that they had put a tracking device on my jacket!" Pino cried. "How was I supposed to know?" 

She wasn't. A pea coat had several buttons sewn into the lapels that served no purpose other than aesthetics. Even if Pino had been buttoning and unbuttoning her jacket like a normal person, there was no possible, conceivable way she would have bothered to check the other fake buttons. 

He didn't care. 

"You..." he hissed through gritted teeth. 

Adrian's hand was clenched so tightly around Pino's throat his knuckles were white and his hand was shaking. His finger was on the trigger of the gun. He thumbed the hammer. 

Click click. 

"I'm going to kill you." 

"Killing me won't fix this," Pino rasped. 

He wasn't going to. 

"SHUT UP!" he spat. "Just SHUT UP!" 

There was a loud crack. No, more like a zap. It sounded like a taser. Electricity lanced through his body. He gasped, falling limply to the ground. 

"Stop it," Twilight snapped, her hand aglow with a purple aura. 

"This is getting us nowhere," Gilda spoke up for the first time since they'd retreated. Her foot kicked the revolver away.

She had stunned him. Adrian frothed at the mouth, paralyzed. 

Bitch!

"Are you calm?" Twilight asked. 

He thrashed. "Sure," he sneered,straining to work his jaw. He glowered at Pino. "Why didn't you...shoot...me? You could have won. It would have been...over."

"I don't know." She began dressing herself. 

He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean you don't know, you kno—" 

"I don't know, okay?!" 

Adrian fell silent. Then, he said, "When you said I didn't deserve this...Were you lying?"  

"I'm a changeling. Lying's our nature," Pino said. 

"Answer the question." 

"I wasn't lying," she sighed. 

"So you had a change of heart?" 

Pino faced him with a steely gaze. "I figured it was a good time to stop lying and start telling the truth." 

The phone rang. Everyone looked at everyone. No one moved to take the call. Adrian did. He didn't even say a word. 

"Room service," a chilling voice snarled. 

"Chrysalis." He paused. "Bitch." 

"I know where you are. I want her. I want Twilight Sparkle. And you're going to bring her to me." 

Adrian thought of all the things he could say a such a time. He could have played it cool, acted cocky. But he kept his mouth shut. He listened. 

"You have a day." 

"I need more time. Give me a wee—" 

"THIS IS NOT A NEGOTIATION!" Chrysalis bellowed before delivering an ultimatum. "Don't speak! Think very hard. The only reason you and your friends aren't dead yet is because I don't know where Twilight Sparkle is. If I did, I would have raided that very hotel suite and put a bullet in your head. This is my negotiation. You have twenty-four hours. You come alone, unarmed, with Twilight Sparkle in the trunk of the car." 

She didn't care anymore about Lyra, Gilda, even him. She had assumed that he was smart enough to retreat, and even knowing where he was staying, had no way of knowing how to get her claws on Twilight. If anything, he felt as if she had overestimated his intelligence. If he was smart, he would have told said girl standing in front of him to skip town ASAP. But Twilight was standing right there.

Chrysalis didn't know that. 

Adrian's gaze flicked to said girl. He looked away. 

"If you give her to me, all of this...goes away," she said. She paused. "If you don't do as I say, if you run, Lyra dies." 

He clenched his jaw. 

"You'll never be safe, you do know that, don't you?" 

There it was, her arrogance rearing its ugly head again.

"You can run. You can hide. But I'll find you. I'll get you all. I'll hunt you down...and kill you. Your mother. Your wife!" 

His blood ran cold. 

"If you're a second late, she dies. If you so much as breathe a word of this to the police, if you contact anyone, she dies." 

Adrian closed his eyes. 

"Do I make myself clear?" 

He swallowed, licking his dry lips. "Fuck you. Now you listen to me," Adrian growled. "If you touch her...If you hurt her, if there's even a single strand of hair out of place?" 

He paused, his mouth half-open.

"I'll kill you." 

Silence. 

"Bitch." 

"Good luck." 

The call ended. 

"Adrian?" 

He remained silent, facing away from them. 

"Adrian? What did she say?" 

He turned around. 

The gun was still there. 
> The Boy Who Played with Green Fire
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

He eyed the revolver.

"What did she say?" 

Adrian let out a laugh.  "Bunch of empty threats. Typical bug bitch." He took a few steps. 

He saw them shift back slowly. Applejack's hand was already at her hip, reaching for her holster. Rainbow, as well. 

"And?" Twilight pressed. 

He moved slowly. He crouched down, lifting the Ruger .38 from the carpet. 

"What the hay are you doing," Rainbow said lowly. Her hand tensed around the grip of her Beretta Storm. 

"Nothing." 

"Put that down," Applejack commanded. 

"I'm not doing anythin—" 

Gilda pulled her Jericho, cocking the hammer back. "What did she say?" 

Their voices began struggling for volume, overlapping each other as they shouted at him, at each other. 

"Oh, please, put them away!" Fluttershy shrieked. 

"What did she say?!" Twilight screamed at him. 

"Can't we talk about this?" Rarity pleaded, pulling Fluttershy back from the conflict. 

Pinkie, surprisingly, was too stunned for words. 

"We pointing guns at each other now?" he snapped, ignoring her. The revolver was in his hands. 

"Put it down now!" Rainbow screamed, levelling a gun at him as well. 

Applejack held him at gunpoint with her .45, holding it with one hand in an intimidating stance. "Try me." 

Adrian flicked the cylinder out, tilting it. Five rounds clattered to the floor. He dropped the revolver and raised both his hands and finally said, 

"She said if I handed Twilight over, she'd let Lyra go." 

Silence. So tense that if it were a string, it would have snapped by now. He forgot to breathe a little. They were holding him at gunpoint. He could see down the barrel. 

"And what? You were gonna do it?" Rainbow accused. 

His eyes flashed. "I thought about it." 

"Now's not the time for jokes, dude," Gilda said lowly. She holstered her pistol.

Applejack reluctantly lowered her gun, still keeping a hand on her hip. 

Adrian scratched at his face. All that energy, that raging passion, that fire to mount a rescue, or some semblance of one, was sapped from his body. He turned around and the first thing he saw was the desk. He calmly swept off the contents of the desk, sending a lamp and bucket of ice and and a bottle of sparkling cider careening to the floor. He pressed his head against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, breathing slowly. 

No one moved. 

He muttered some things under his breath and grabbed the painting off the wall and broke its frame, holding its splintered remains in his heads. 

He was weary. He stumbled over to the bed, taking short, hobbled steps and sat down slowly, closing his eyes. He pressed his palms to his eyes, rubbing them. 

"What the hell are we gonna do," he muttered. 

Amidst the entire confrontation, Pinocchio had said nothing up until then. 

"I have an idea." 





Adrian turned right onto a winding narrow dirt path past a rusted chain link fence. The pristine white body of the BMW sedan was now splattered with mud. The location of the exchange was located a good ways away outside of Seattle past the outskirts of the city. It looked about as sparse and lifeless as you would expect from skeletons of buildings with exposed rebar and concrete. The Victorian-style warehouse was in a complete state of disrepair, overrun with weeds and foliage. Clearly the place had been abandoned long ago, as much of the warehouse district of Seattle had been back during the turn of the century. It was your typical warehouse, condemned but never taken down. The place was condemned in more ways than one now. Think five stories tall with a run-down brick foundation and large yellow grimy windows and an interior like Costco with towering, rusty steel shelves storing moldy wooden pallets, except much less spacious and more cramped and claustrophobic. A set of steel double-doors served as the only entrance, with any exits being fire escapes. 

Their little motorcade of cars entered the parking structure, at least five or six stories tall. There were only a few cars parked, scattered far and in between. It was three blocks away from the warehouse, and had a perfect view of the entire area. 

They parked their cars and began to unload their gear. Gilda lay on the roof of the BMW, aiming through the scope of her AR-15. Adrian took a look for himself through his camera lens. 

And there was the parking lot where they would meet. 

Twilight, who was spotting for Gilda (seeing as she wasn't much help in a gunfight). 

"They're here," Pino said, peering through her binoculars. "They've been here for a while now."

"Windows?" 

"No sign of movement," Twilight answered. "Adjust for windage, five miles per hour, east."  

"Where did you find the time to learn about spotting?" Adrian inquired. 

"It's science and mathematics!" she chirped. 

"At this distance?" Gilda asked skeptically. 

"We're at least five-hundred meters away. Far enough that it could make a difference," she replied. 

There a long pregnant pause, as if to remind everyone of the gravity of the situation. The tension in the air was thick. Thick enough to cut with a knife. Thick enough to make you lose your life. 

"Some more info could be helpful, egghead," Gilda scowled. 

"Not until you shoot first. I can't tell you anything."  

"Can you even see in there?" Adrian bristled. 

"It's still light out. And this is a night vision scope." 

But they were there. This, he knew. They were hiding, waiting for them to approach.

Rarity had been especially helpful with their wardrobe (yes, really). Adrian's first choice would have been to wear all black to blend in with the night, but Rarity was far more knowledgeable than he about colors. Wearing all black would have been akin to wearing neon, apparently. Not that it mattered for Pino and Rainbow and Pinkie and Applejack and him. They were coming in a Trojan Horse. 

Fluttershy removed herself from the situation, staying in the car as she was told. Fluttershy's medical expertise would have been helpful in such a situation, but Adrian didn't see himself retreating from the battle and getting patched up only to run back in. 

Once he went in, there was no turning back. 

Rarity herself insisted that she join her friends, but they convinced her to stay put to watch Twilight and Gilda's backs. 

He slipped on a Kevlar vest over a white T-shirt. It was the kind meant to wear underneath your clothes. 

"You don't have to do this," Pino suddenly said. 

Adrian didn't even bother looking at her as he buttoned up a dress shirt. "What did you say?" 

"You said it yourself. You've got a future. Just back out now." 

If looks could kill, Pino would have been more dead than roadkill. He stared venomously at her, not liking at all what she was insinuating. 

"And what, watch Lyra die? Chrysalis wants me alone." 

"That's not going to happen." 

"Yeah," Adrian grunted. "Because I'm going in there with you." 

"You're not some hero." 

He tilted his H&K USP45 sideways and racked the slide. "Yeah. I'm not. I'm just some guy who's too dumb to know when to quit. They want me? They'll get me." 

Pino stared. "What are you trying to prove?" 

"I'm not trying to prove anything. I'm going in because Lyra is worth it," he said, a determined look in his eye. 

Pino chambered a round in her Walther PPQ. "If we die here...we die alone," she said cooly. 

"Figure I might as well die in the rain as die in the sunshine." 

"Promise not to shoot me in the back?" Adrian smirked. 

"Promise not to shoot yourself in the foot?" 





The skies were filled with a thick, inpenetrable field of clouds. 

I'm getting sick of the rain.

Adrian pulled up into the parking lot at the exact time Chrysalis asked for. The wipers slashed through the rain, providing clarity. The changelings covered their eyes from the headlights of his BMW. He gulped, switching the engine off. His chest felt stiff, but that was just the vest.  He took one breath and stepped outside the car. 

Chrysalis and her changeling goons were all smartly dressed for the occassion in all black suits. He himself looked like shit and felt like shit with a half-assed attempt at a suit with a ruined, untucked dress shirt and slacks and some sneakers. 

"Where is Twilight?" Chrysalis hissed. 

Adrian's throat clenched. He licked his lips. As steadily as he could he answered,

"She's in the trunk." 

On cue, there were several cries and thumps. 

"You managed to separate Sparkle from her friends?" Chrysalis asked. 

"It wasn't easy," Adrian said. 

She took the bait. But instead of approaching the car herself, she ordered one of her Praetorians to do it. Never before had his heart raced so fast that he almost thought it was going to burst out of his chest. He breathed slowly, feeling the sides of his face grow cold, then numb. His hands and fingers felt numb and he thought his legs would collapse. It was fear. Fear about what was about to come. 

"The trunk?" Chrysalis deadpanned. "Open it, boy." 

With a press of a button, all chaos would be unleashed. Adrian reached into his pocket with a shaky hand, another hand slowly inching its way toward where his gun was tucked. 

The BMW alarm chirped. The trunk popped open. 

The first thing the changeling guard saw was Twilight Sparkle, bound and gagged. He looked to his Queen and gave an affimative nod. 

"It's her." 

He looked back down. 

The last thing the changeling guard saw was the barrel of a gun being shoved in its face, the owner being Pino, the sister who betrayed them. 

Bang. 

Dead. 

There was no last final speech for the poor changeling. Bang, dead. The suited Praetorian dropped instantly. 

And in that moment, time seemed to freeze. As if everyone was struggling to comprehend what had just taken place. And for a full second, nobody moved. Then, muscles tensed. Hands shot to weapons. Pino jumped out of the car, swinging her legs out with her HK416 ready, a tactical vest strapped around her torso. 

Adrian almost forgot to draw his gun. But he did. 

His gun came out in his right hand and he emptied half his magazine into the closest Praetorian who was reaching for its rifle, a textbook example of what it looked like when an amateur civilian with no weapons training literally sprayed and prayed with his eyes half-shut. Adrian didn't see the aftermath. What he saw wasn't what he expected. He expected more of...anything. But there was nothing. No blood, nothing. He thought he saw a spray of green mist, but he was already taking cover behind the car. 

Two down. 

I think.

There was the angry roar of a muscle car approaching. The cavalry was coming. 

The stolen black Ford Mustang, in the skilled hands of Dash, spun around in a sloppily-executed J-turn that turned the car around so that the trunk was facing the conflict. Keeping their heads low, bullets slammed into the back of the car. The rear windshield was taken out. Applejack was firing out the window like some gangster. 

The car turned sideways with a screech. Applejack and Rainbow Dash popped the door open, opening fire. Applejack seemed to do a squat as she fired her Remington 870 shotgun, ejecting a smoking shell. Rainbow blazed away with an H&K MP7A1. 

Applejack popped a flashbang, pulling the pin and hurling it towards the changelings. 

Do you know how hard it is to hit a moving target? A stationary target? How heavy the gun recoils when you shoot quickly? There was no time to take aim; there was no time at all. Spray and pray. They aimed in the general direction of one changeling and fired off plenty. 

Three down. 

War. Is this war? 

And then the Praetorians fired back. 

This is war.

He heard an enraged scream. 

"YOU MORON!" 

Then he ducked, hiding behind the BMW, using it as cover. Chrysalis held an H&K G36C carbine with the stock folded with one hand, haphazardly emptying her entire magazine with wanton disregard. Bullets whizzed overhead. Adrian heard the sound of loud metal thunkthunkthunks as rounds slammed into the side of the car. A round ripped through the windows, cracks spreading across the glass like spiderwebs before it completely shattered, raining glass on him. The airbags deployed with a loud pop. One of the wheels was shot, the car's suspension quaking. 

Adrian reached out and shoved the car door shut with a thunk, sliding closer to the trunk. 

"Your fate was sealed the day you laid eyes upon us, boy!" 

Her guard grabbed at his charge and pulled Chrysalis away. 

It wasn't on a large enough scale to be a war. But in a way, wasn't it? He was fighting against insurmountable odds against a force that outnumbered him and his friends. 

Their reports sounded like the angry chatter of a hornet, loud and relentless. Like loud, piercing cracks. Chrysalis wasn't dumb. At least he hoped she was a little dumb, but she was smart enough to have her changelings carry suppressed rifles. He had been hoping the police were going to show up, but there wasn't any chance of that. Not if he wanted Lyra alive in one piece. 

It was horrendous idea taking cover behind a car, especially knowing that a stray bullet could slip through the underside and hit him in the leg. Adrian crouched, hiding. 

It was then that he heard the true sound of a rifle being fired from long distance. Bullets traveled faster than sound. He first heard the sound of a .308 round slamming into the hood of the Mercedes-Benz. Next came the thunderous echoing sound, and then a screech straight out of an old Western flick. 

"They're going in the warehouse!" 

Pino fired in bursts, dropping back down to a knee and cringing as another one of the wheels exploded with a hiss. They were retreating inside the warehouse. 

"Adrian!" Pino shouted. 

He nodded, slinking over to the trunk and retrieving a Heckler & Koch HK416 carbine meant for close quarters combat modified with an EOTech holographic sight, SureFire tactical flashlight, and silencer.

Adrian shouldered the rifle and aimed down the holographic sight. It wasn't steady like Call of Duty. The gun weighed a ton. It quivered and shook. He felt like a goddamn Navy SEAL rushing in to put one between Osama's eyes. He thumbed the safety off and put it in SINGLE mode. After all, thirty rounds was nothing. He had to conserve what little ammo he had. 

"They're not making this easy for us, are they?" Adrian panted. 

"Not a chance." 

Oh my God, I just survived a firefight.

Pino reloaded her HK416, dropping a magazine and inserting a new one, slapping the bolt catch. She nodded and led the way. Applejack brought up the rear, shouldering her Remington. Rainbow was on her six. 

Pretend it's paintball, pretend it's paintball.

He had a fast trigger finger from snapping photos and playing paintball, and it translated well. The butt of the rifle was pressed firmly against his shoulder, pointed at the ground as he moved forward in tandem with Pinocchio, Rainbow and Applejack bringing up the rear. 

"This way," Pino said.

All four of them sidled up against the door. The changeling silently tested it, shaking her head. Dash readied a flashbang, while Applejack readied her shotgun. 

Adrian was tense. He waited. 

The blonde fired into one of the hinges. She cycled a shell and jammed her barrel into where the second hinge would be. Applejack's leg lashed out with enough brute force to tear down the door and send it flying off its hinges. 

Rainbow hollered and tossed the flashbang in with an underhanded toss into the darkness. Three seconds later, there was a loud explosion and a flash, and all four swarmed inside. 

Adrian stumbled as he fired two shots from his rifle down the hallway of steel shelves, falling forward onto his stomach. Pino grabbed onto his collar, dragging him behind the safety of the numerous wooden pallets. There was a set of stairs in the far end that led to the next floor. 

"I'll cover you, go!" 

This was a real gunfight.  Nothing felt orchestrated. There was no music, save for maybe the gunfire. The world wasn't moving in slow-motion. In fact, it felt like everything was happening in fast-forward. How many times had Adrian fantasized of being some sort of commando, taking down scores of terrorists like in a game? Now they were struggling to take down a squad of changelings. The funniest thing was the way everybody moved. They were like toddlers, practically crawling on their bellies, ducking and weaving and diving through the air just to get behind a piece of cover and catch their breath. There were no triumphant poses. His back hurt. His legs were on fire. He was wearing the wrong kind of shoes. 

The changelings fired back. 

Rainbow popped a smoke and tossed it into the fray. She tossed another flashbang. 

BANG!

In the cramped building, his ears rang. Smoke hissed from the cylinder in the darkness, giving them brief respite. There were the sounds of footfalls rising. 

"They're going up," Adrian breathed. 

Pino pointed at another piece of cover just up ahead. "AJ, help me push forward." 

"I'll cover you," Adrian said. 

Rainbow nodded, reloading her MP7. 

"Shoot on two, move on three?" 

"Got it," Rainbow said. 

Pino held up her fingers, counting off, mouthing the numbers. Adrian popped out, dropping to a knee and unloading ten rounds into the wall across the warehouse. Applejack took the front. She fired twice, racking her shotgun, ejecting two shells. AJ and Pino slid into cover. They gestured for them to approach. 

Pino glanced around the shelf. "Clear?" 

AJ paused. "Clear." 

Adrian and Rainbow sprinted, joining them. 

Pino pointed again. "There are two flights of stairs up to the next floor. Split up in teams of two." 

They split. Pino went up the right set of stairs with Adrian. They shuffled up to the door and peeked out from the doorway. 

"Brothers!" Pino screamed. 

"What the hell are you doing, Pino," Adrian hissed. 

"Sisters! Don't waste the life you have!" Pino shouted desperately. 

"Shut the fuck up, Pino!" he hissed. 

Darkness answered her. 

"Please! I don't want to kill you! You can still win this!" she sniffed. 

Adrian clenched his jaw. 

"Just walk away. You can start over." 

His finger was set against the side of the gun, but with the way things were going, he was ready to shoot his own shadow. 

"We can start over," Pino whispered. 

It wasn't happening. Not on their lives. If any one of them dared to abandon their duty they'd be shot by the others. 

Adrian stumbled forward. He saw a flash of black and instinctively squeezed the trigger. A burst erupted from the gun, and in his poorly trained hands, hosed down the area in a line. They fired back and he felt into cover again behind another line of shelves. His head felt hot. He touched it. 

Blood. 

They had grazed the side of his head. He was in shock from seeing crimson stain his hands. It ran down his face. His right eye was blinded by blood. He hissed, blinking it away. 

"You okay?" a voice came through in his earpiece. 

Adrian closed his eyes, breathing hard. Each exhale was drawn out slowly. 

"Adrian," Pino barked from a location he was unable to determine. She was up ahead, somewhere.  

He slid lower until he was sitting behind the pillar. "I'm o-okay," he murmured. 

His words were inaudible. Pino's voice broke the silence. He wanted to scream at her to shut up. 

"Ross? You still there?" 

The sound of his magazine dropping to the floor was his answer. He reached into his pockets and found his last rifle magazine. He inserted it and thumbed the bolt catch. His USP45 was still loaded. 

He snarled through gritted teeth, his eyes still screwed shut, "I-I'm still h-here..." 

"ROSS!" 

He licked his lips. "I'M STILL HERE!" 

Gunfire erupted. Dust blinded up as rounds stripped away at his cover. 

"You guys okay?" Gilda's voice came over the earpiece. 

"Alive," Adrian said dryly. He swallowed. His throat was dry. "Y-you see anything?" 

"No movement from any of the windows. Watching for any cars leaving." 

He was talking too loudly. He wasn't paying attention. He thought Pino had cleared the area, but she missed one. 

The changeling kicked him in the chest and was ready to blow his brains out until Applejack charged forward from out of nowhere, catching the changeling by surprise. She grabbed it by the lapels of its suit and—

Slam!

—its skull connected against the wall with a sickening crunch. She slammed its head against the metal wall twice more and hurled it to the catwalk. She kicked it while it was down. She grabbed onto the railing, starting to curb stomp it in the head. She unleashed all of her fury in her, holding onto the railing even harder as she stomped its head in.  

Stomp.

"Go ta—" 

Stompstompstomp. Her boot was stained with green blood. 

"—Tartarus you—" 

STOMPSTOMPSTOMPSTOMPSTOMP—

Bang. 

Applejack's leg suddenly collapsed. She let out a cry as a bullet tore through her upper thigh, another catching her right in the vest. 

"APPLEJACK!" Rainbow screamed in desperation up ahead. 

Pino and Rainbow were keeping them at bay. 

"L-looks like I'm out for the rest of the rodeo," Applejack shakily lamented. She wheezed. 

"Hey, hey, stay with me AJ." 

She rasped. "Get this stupid vest off. Ah can't breathe." 

He reached up from under her shirt and pulled the white Kevlar out. Her face was pale. 

Applejack reached into her waistband and held out her 1911. "You're almost out, aren't ya?" 

He nodded, taking the pistol. 

She pulled him close. "You make every shot count, you hear?" 

Rainbow had retreated back. "Ohmygod, AJ!" she cried. 

"Ah'm fine." 

She wasn't. Rainbow pressed down on the gaping wound on her thigh, tears in her eyes. 

"Get up there and back Pino up," AJ told him weakly. 

Rainbow had to stay with her. Of course he understood. They were best friends. And maybe they could have used the extra gun, but it would have been all for naught to rescue Lyra and have one of them die. 

They were retreating from the rodeo. After all, there wasn't really much point, was there?

There wasn't really much a point to anything, unless you wanted there to be. 





Third floor. Two more to go. Pino was cutting down the changelings left and right. He had forgotten how many bodies he'd passed, but Pino was determined to keep pushing on. 

He fired off the last of his rifle magazine at the downed changeling. He unslung the HK416 and tossed it aside. 

He wondered how she felt. There had to be some kind of aversion to killing your own kind, wasn't there? 

They sprinted to the next flight of stairs to the fourth floor. 

Stupidly, blindly, he jumped right in, arm outstretched with only his H&K .45. The pallets and boxes surrounding him seemed to explode and splinter with dust and wood. He blew off an entire magazine moving deeper into cover. He dropped the empty one and slipped a new mag in, racking the slide. 

"On your left!" 

Adrian swung out and shot the changeling that was exposed in its cover. It collapsed, laying prone on its back, twitching. The last one had come out, but he made sure to spray it down. 

His pistol locked back. 

Just like an operator he kept the empty gun pointed downrange towards his target with his right hand, while his left hand furiously reached for his pockets. He patted himself down, finding nothing. 

Adrian crouched down behind a piece of metal railing. 

"You got any clips?" he whispered harshly. He waved his empty gun. 

Pino glared at him, holding up her Walther. "They are not interchangeable!" 

With a growl he tossed the gun aside. He pulled out Applejack's .45. With these changelings a .45 wouldn't be enough to punch through their body armor and chitin exoskeleton. Perhaps an FN Five-seveN loaded with armor-piercing rounds would have been more appropriate in this situation. 

He gulped, afraid to touch the bug corpse. He realized that it wasn't the time to be picky. 

As he searched the body for more magazines he wondered where it all had gone wrong. How he had gone from shooting pictures to shooting changelings and looting corpses. 

He checked one of their SIG rifles. He tested the trigger and got a click in response. He picked up another rifle and ejected the magazine. There was one bullet left. He angrily set aside their guns. He didn't have time to dawdle around. They weren't wearing vests or any sort of thing like that and it seemed like they'd all but used up all their ammunition. He wondered if he could unscrew the silencer on their rifle and use it for himself. 

As it turned out, there were more pests. 

The wall behind him exploded with dust as rounds slammed into it. 

"GO! JUST GO!" 

He growled and dodged the ricocheting rounds on the metal stars and kicked the door open. 

Fifth floor. Last one. 

"CHRYSALIS!" he roared. "COME OUT!" 

"YOU THINK YOU CAN KILL ME?!" Chrysalis roared. Her voice echoed. "You're going to have to do a lot better than that, you little shit!" 

Adrian swallowed, taking a step forward, his .45 raised. 

"I DO THIS FOR A LIVING, BOY!" 

He squeezed off one shot, missing her and hitting a wooden pallet as Chrysalis slunk off into the shadows. 

"You make every shot count, you hear?"

"Bitch!" 

He checked his corners. He took slow, shuffling steps, readjusting his grip. Beads of sweat slid down his face. The blood had stopped running after a while. His sleeve was bloody from where he'd been wiping his face. 

Adrian threw himself up the last set of stairs, throwing his shoulder into the rooftop door. It was filled with places to hide, not at all what he had been expecting. Although he wasn't sure what he had been expecting. There were exposed rusty pipes and at least a dozen concrete air conditioning units scattered across the entire rooftop. There was a small jump across to another part of the rooftop to a much less stable sheet metal roof. 

A figure stood in front of him. 

"Chrysalis!" 

He lined up his sights, his finger on the trigger. 

A flash of lightning. 

He fired. 

Gone. Was he just seeing things?

He froze. He heard several shuffling steps and wheeled around. A piece of plywood connected with the slide of his head, breaking and splintering into pieces. 

Chrysalis towered over him. He raised his gun, jamming it into her throat. She slapped the gun aside, firing off his third shot. With one hand she clawed at his throat, the other redirecting the barrel away from her face. Adrian gurgled, emptying his magazine into the air, his trigger finger squeezing again and again to no avail, the slide locking back as he felt his face go numb and his vision began to black out. 

"You insolent...brat!" Chrysalis snarled, her face close to his. 

She wrenched the empty gun from his grip and smacked him with the butt. His nose was broken. She hurled it over the edge. Adrian's hands grasped at anything, trying to breathe with blood in his throat. His hands closed around a brick. 

"Get up!" she screamed. 

Adrian was lifted by his collar, his feet off the ground. There was a crack in the distance, distracting Chrysalis for a second long enough for him to try and smack her with the brick. He stumbled back, weakly putting his fists up. The changeling queen did not even humor him, lunging in and knocking the wind out of him with a fist to the gut. 

"GILDA!" he rasped. 

"I can't get a clean shot!"

"JUST SHOOT HER!" 

"I can't!"

She ripped his earpiece from his ear and crushed it underfoot. 

So this is what James Bond felt like in Skyfall. 

Another shot. 

Chrysalis ducked, dropping to the ground so that Gilda couldn't see. Adrian tried to escape only for her to grab him by his ankles. He reached out in desperation and grabbed a sizeable piece of glass, blood staining his hand as he tried to stab her with it. Chrysalis disarmed him, pulling him to the ground with her beneath him, his back facing her, and her arms wrapped around his throat in a chokehold. He could feel her icy breath on his neck as she used his body as cover. 

"I'm going to kill you..." 

Her voice had become less of a purr and more unstable, more uneasy. Her breaths were labored. 

"You...and the Elements are dead," Chrysalis hissed. "Stop...resisting!" 

He gasped. 

"Just take it!" she hissed. "Shhh. Yessss." 

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Adrian struggled against his captor. There was only one way out of this. He didn't dare try anything. He let himself pass out, and he hoped that he would wake up from this coma. 





In reality, if you were in a coma for as long as anyone was in Hollywood, you would be brain dead. His coma hadn't lasted long at all. He faded in and out of consciousness, quite aware that he was being dragged by his shirt collar. His vision went black, then refocused into clarity. 

They were in the courtyard. He tried to swallow and felt Chrysalis' arm crushing his throat. He rasped. 

"Put your guns down! Do you hear me?!" Chrysalis roared into his ear.

They were giving their guns up. 

"Throw them over there! To me!" 

They were tossing guns toward Chrysalis. She kicked them as far away as she could behind her, burying some of them with the heel of her foot in the mud. 

Adrian's hand trailed down and slid into his pocket. This was his chance. She was distracted. 

He slipped a hand into his pocket. His fingers curled around cold metal: the hilt of Pino's switchblade. He drew it quickly, the blade flicking open with a solid clack. He slammed his fist backwards and felt the blade sink into Chrysalis' chitin.  

"AAAAAAUGH!" 

She dropped like a fly, clutching at her leg. He whirled round and backhanded her with the back of his fist, connecting solidly with the side of her head. 

He nearly strangled her by her collar as he clambered on top of her, striking her in the face. He reeled her in like a fish by her blazer and punched her again, hoping to break one of her fangs to ruin her smug smile. 

"Where is she?" he roared. 

He didn't really give her much of a chance to answer when he introduced his fist to her jaw again. 

"Where is she?" he gasped. 

She cackled, wheezing slowly. Her mouth was filled with blood. "Lyra...was never here, boy," Chrysalis spat, green slime trailing from the corner of her mouth. "I-if y-you kill me, you'll never find her!" 

Adrian clenched his teeth, his body quaking. "You freak." 

"Never! You never see your love again!" she cackled. "Unless..." 

"Unless?" he began. "Unless what?" He shook her by her collar. "WHAT!" 

She gestured for him to come in closer. He did so. Her lips moved and only he heard her words.  

He let her fall onto the ground, his eyes wide with fury. "Fuck you. This is over," Adrian hissed, raising a fist. "I won't." 

There was a click. He felt the cold barrel of Pino's gun on the back of his neck. 

"Back off, Adrian." 

He didn't turn around. He murmured, "What the hell are you doing, Pinocchio."   

"I said, back off." 

He turned around, fixing her with a look filled with hate. She kept the Walther PPQ trained on him. 

"That's enough." 

Suddenly, Pino offered to him, holding it by the barrel. 

She knew! She knew what Chrysalis asked of him! 

Adrian reluctantly took the gun. 

Chrysalis' eyes lit up with glee. She smiled a toothy smile like a shark. Her body began to shiver, and for a second Adrian thought she was sobbing.  Her claws scraped against wet mud as she pulled, dragging herself away from the scene, unable to stand with the blade hilted in her flesh. 

"Perfect! Absolutely perfect!" She squealed with delight. "If you ever want to see Lyra again...do as I say. Now."

Pino gave him a nod. "You know what you have to do." 

"Adrian, what the hay is she talking about?" Rainbow asked. 

He whirled around and aimed Pino's Walther right at Twilight. Even from there, he could hear Fluttershy let out a squeak. Rarity and Fluttershy hid as far as they could behind a crate. Applejack was probably with them. 

Twilight was slow to grasp the situation. "What?" It was a breathless gasp. 

"What the hay!" Rainbow screamed at him. 

"Red light, Sparkle," Adrian commanded. 

"What are you doing?!" Gilda roared. 

"Don't even move." 

Twilight sputtered, "Adrian, what are you doing?!" 

"If I let her live," Adrian stammered, "i-if I let her go, I can find Lyra. It's the only way—" 

"There is always a choice, Adrian!" Twilight screamed. 

He shot her in the chest. She fell. There was a scream of anguish. 

"No. Sometimes there's really not." 
> Betrayal
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was hard to describe how they reacted. 

Applejack didn't really react much, considering she was nursing a bullet in her leg, fading in and out of consciousness with Fluttershy and Rarity and Pinkie tending to her a good ways away from the thick of it all behind a crate. He could hear Fluttershy scream and sob. Rarity, for all of her vocabulary, didn't say a word. Pinkie was tearing up. Rainbow was frothing at the mouth and speaking what seemed to be another language, barely holding herself back because he was the one holding the gun. Gilda gaped, a look of confusion and almost disdain on her face. 

Pino was stony as ever. And Chrysalis was smiling like a shark. 

He tossed the smoking Walther PPQ back to Pino. 

"Give me the address, Chrysalis," Adrian snarled. "The Elements of Harmony won't touch you now." 

"You moron! You jackass!" Dash screamed, her face red. "You hayseed! You're going to trust her?!" 

"The address, now. I want a zipcode," Adrian demanded. 

She giggled like a little schoolgirl. "Alri-ight. I'll hold up my end of the bargain." She giggled again. 

Chrysalis didn't seem like much of a giggler.  

"Port of Seattle," she said, very slowly and matter-of-fact, drawing it out. "Look for a cargo ship named The Chameleon. Your precious Lyra will be in a green shipping container marked: P-O-N-U." She smiled the toothiest grin in the world. 

Was that it? Twilight dead? Was that all she wanted? Not anyone else? Just Twilight? Then again, he supposed killing one was enough to ruin them all. Anyone could see the devastation in their eyes. 

And then she would lure him to Lyra, of course. A trap was set, of course. Because he was going to try and save Lyra, of course. He wasn't getting information from Chrysalis. She was giving it to him. 

Of course. 

"You best hurry up. I think we forgot to poke holes for her to breathe." 

Of course, even the best laid plans can't account for everything. Things like spontaneity, and the human spirit. Depending on how you looked at things, things like, sheer luck and stupidity, or ingenuity. 

Adrian kicked her in the side. "The keys." 

Much to her chagrin, Chrysalis tossed him the keys to the Audi R8. 

"Thanks," he grinned. "Twilight, you okay?" 

"What?" 

The corpse moaned. "Owwwww..." 

Even from all the way over there, he could hear Pinkie scream. "Zombie Twilight! Eeeee!" In the blink of an eye she was next to Twilight. 

Twilight stood up slowly, rubbing her sore chest. "That hurt a lot." 

"I winked at you. I winked at you," he insisted. 

"No..."

"I know you winked at me, but it still hurts," she snapped.

"No, no." 

He had expected to say things like, "That's impossible", or, "You're dead", but it seemed like the only thing coming from Chrysalis was the word, "No." 

Time was a luxury they couldn't afford. Not that Adrian wasn't above strongarming Chrysalis, but by the time he'd wrestled the answer from her, Lyra would be dead. So he played along. Unfortunately, Twilight had to too. 

But this wasn't fiction. Bullet resistant vests weren't bulletproof, meaning that even if he was a good shot (which he was) at that distance, there was a seriously high likelihood of Twilight's ribs being shattered, organs ruptured, or even the bullet penetrating. There was no time to remember what rating the vests were. 

Twilight snapped her fingers a few time. Nothing sparked. 

"I think my magic got shorted out!" 

Twilight had seen his little wink. The only gesture he could do that wouldn't give them away. And she'd stalled him with words, a very dramatic performance indeed. Her dialogue was a bit corny ("there is always a choice"?). She'd formed her glass-like magic shield at the very last moment. She'd sucked in deeply prior to getting shot and held her breath. The vest took most of the blow, but her little magic plate had shattered like glass. Twilight had won a nasty bruise on her chest that almost resembled the color of her pony coat. 

He heard them all sigh. Rainbow looked ecstatic. Pinkie nearly strangled Twilight with her hug, snuggling her. 

"Pinkie, ow. Ow." 

"What?" Chrysalis uttered. Was she having a hard time coming to terms with it all?  

Pino locked eyes with him and gave him a curt nod. 

Twilight stormed up to him and shoved him. "We are never doing that again! Ever!" 

He nodded bashfully. 

"Ever!" she screeched. "You big dummy! Next time you tell me the plan!" 

"Yeah. At least tell us if you're going to be stupid!" Rainbow snapped. "Jeez!" 

"Looks like you should have been more specific. Shoot Twilight in the face? The leg?" 

Adrian took one step before turning around and descending upon the changeling queen. He grabbed at her collar, fixing her with the coldest gaze he could muster. 

"This is over!" he screamed in her face. "Do you hear me?" 

Her head was twitching like mad. Like an insect with its antennae ripped off. "No no no no no..." 

"I don't care what you do." He looked at Pino, fixing her with a stare. "But you stay the fuck away from me. And if I ever see you or any of your mooks ever again..." 

He paused. 

"I'll kill everyone." 

The entire time, he never saw. He never saw her hand slowly sliding down her thigh. He never saw it trace down and slowly brush the leg of her pant up. He never saw the black sheath strapped around her ankle. He never saw her fingers close around the grip of the knife, slowly pulling it free. 

Only Fluttershy saw. 

"LOOK OUT!" she screamed. 

Chrysalis screamed, pulling a knife on him. She snagged his collar, jamming the blade right into his vest, piercing through. It was a bulletproof vest, not knife proof. He screamed, clutching his bleeding shoulder, rolling away. She was on top of him. The blade poised over his head, with her, ready to plunge it into his throat. It happened so fast. Too fast for anyone to react, too fast for anyone to pick up their guns buried in the mud. 

There was a bang. 

That final exclamation point to end everything that had led to this point. 

The cause of it all. 

Chrysalis sat, the knife poised over Adrian. She swayed back and forth. Her head nodded.

She slumped over and fell to the side, blood blossoming from her chest. 

She faced the sky, dead. 

Everyone turned to see the one who had fired that shot. 

Pino held the Walther with both hands in a clumsy grip, the barrel smoking, a spent shell at her feet. She was on her knees, jaw agape, eyes blank, on her knees, unable to comprehend that she had pulled the trigger. Everyone else gaped as well. No one moved. She let out a whimper. Then a sob. 

"I killed her," she whispered. 

Her own mother. 

"Pinocchio," Adrian rasped. 

"I killed her," she said, her voice gasping. 

He moved closer, crouching down. "I'm going to take the gun away." 

Her eyes filled with tears. They mixed with the rain. 

"I'm taking it away now, okay? Pinocchio?" he whispered. 

Her body shook. 

His hands closed around the barrel. She relinquished the handgun, let out a wail. Rarity and Pinkie were right there, ready to comfort her. She looked down upon Chrysalis' body. 

Adrian held the confiscated pistol on her. She didn't move. 

"Pino," he said. "Pino, I'm sorry." 

And then, a green flash.

It came from Chrysalis' corpse. 

Or what was supposed to be her corpse. 

Adrian blinked. "Son of a gun." 

Pino gasped. "No..." 

They all looked down upon the dead changeling that had disguised itself as Queen Chrysalis. They stared. There was a lurch in his gut. He shivered. They were wet and cold and dirty. The rain amplified the invisible wounds on them all, the cuts and bruises you couldn't see caked behind dust and dirt and grimy water. 

He felt sick. 

"We need to go." 

Gilda said it first. She said it loud. 

"We need to go," she repeated. "Let's go." 

They all stared at the corpse. 

"HEY! LET'S GO! C'MON!" 

They weren't in any condition to fight again. No choice. 

"You take care of AJ and Twilight," Rainbow commanded. 

"I'm coming with you," Rarity shot back. 

"Forget it!" 

"I can help!" 

"This is not the time!" Rainbow snapped. "Me, Adrian, Gilda, and..." She glanced at the last changeling standing. "Pino. We're going to get Lyra." 

Adrian sprinted to the pearl white Audi R8 V10, disarming the alarm and popping open the door. In any other circumstance he most likely would have spent hours drooling over the sports car. It oozed luxury and class, but at the moment, all that he needed was its horsepower. He settled into the leather seat, heaving a sigh. The engine roared to life. He popped the clutch and smoothly shifted into first gear and sped off into the night. 

Pino popped the passenger door open and slid in. 

"Hold on, Lyra," he muttered. "I'm coming."