CHAPTER 39

[January 1st, 1986]

Fluttering. Rain. Cold wind. The cold crunching of snow. All of the sensations come at once, rushing into Alex's body. She takes in a deep breath as the tears fall off of her cheeks. Tears mixed with blood. She's wearing nothing more than her light petticoat and the skirt she'd been given to wear by Noah. Certainly not winter attire.

Stupid stupid stupid stupid. God you're so stupid! She thinks. Why did I have to say that? Why did I have to be so stupid? Now I'm out on New Years Day without anyone to give a single fuck.

"NO!!" She screams out as loud as she can, beginning to shiver. She falls to her knees and cries into the snow. She's cradling something in her closed palms.

Behind her sits the illustrious Marshall Manor. This had been the last time that Devon had seen Alex until their meeting on Sayar five thousand years later. She didn't know it then, but he was staring out at her from the window of the very first floor—exactly where their last fight had taken place:

"This isn't right, Devon! It hasn't ever been right but we were so fucked up we couldn't know it!" Alex screamed, having enough of what Noah Marshall had to offer.

"Alex, please keep your voice down. We have a home here. Okay? No matter what happens we have a place here, we belong here."

"No! No we don't. This place is fucking insane and I can't stay quiet anymore, Devon. I've stayed quiet for too long. For way too long."

Devon looks away from her, "I'm done," he says quietly.

"What?" She says, a hurt look crossing her face.

"I said I'm done. I'm done trying. I've tried this whole. Damn. Time to be your person. I've given up my whole life to grow with you. I helped you when you were at your worst, but it seems like that isn't worth anything, huh? Go."

Alex looks at him with a hurt, confused look.

"I said go! Get the hell out of this house! I don't want you! I don't want you here anymore! Leave like you said you never would!"

"Devon...I couldn't mean what I said. I've been afraid for my life for the past five years. You can not play the guilt card on me," she says, hurt being replaced by newfound courage.

Devon turns around, nearly stumbling over, "Listen. Go. Just...get the hell out of here. I don't...need you."

"Devon."

"Go...please. Just go," he says, not turning.

She turns to walk toward the door, but a slight hesitation stops her. She turns around, "So, this is it. You're really done...you're going to just let everything end like this? No matter how much better you think you've gotten since you've come here—you'll always be Noah's bitch, stuffing you like his pig until you finally learn that all of this is a scam."

He's breathing heavy now, shaking, even. He reaches up and grabs for the cord around his neck, yanking on it until it snaps. The crystal necklace dangles at his side—the shining blue alluringly calling for attention.

"You're nothing but a cunt," he says before his face grows grotesque and he lobs the necklace right at her.

She sits in the snow with a bloody nose, broken from the impact. Crying her heart out as she clasps the necklace in between her fingers, memories of the past flashing through her mind as she wonders where it all went wrong.

She stands back to her feet, running further into the cold winter morning. Running and running without end, passing not a single soul. She had no journey—no goal—no life to return to. Her mother and father were both dead. No siblings to speak of, and no goals in life to pursue. She was no longer a person, she hadn't been since she stepped foot in Noah Marshall's mansion. She just kept on running. She ran until her feet would allow her to run no longer. She collapsed on the side of the highway as she was slowing near the corner, falling finally into a ditch.

She could cry no longer, run no longer, feel no longer. Her whole body ached and she only wanted it to stop.

A L E X

She woke to her name being called, moments before death most likely. She knew she was going to die and now she was hallucinating. There was nobody awake at this time of morning. Not even on the highway, the whole world had become silent to her pain.

I T I S U N F A I R

It was unfair? What had been it, specifically? Life? Alex could testify to that, she slowly did what motion she could in her ditch. She nodded.

I T I S U N F A I R

The voice in her mind was more reassuring this time. It was almost like a soft pillow she were resting on. "Yes..." she strained. "It was unfair."

Y O U D E S E R V E J U S T I C E

"Justice?" Alex asks, "Yeah..."

She feels a warming sensation in her hands, she looks into the crystal, a smile forming on her face. Inside the crystal looks like a man made out of metal, he offers her warmth and she decides to take it. She feels her body glow with a magical warmth she had been missing for a long time. It is a nice transition before her body grows cold for a final time.

The crystal—The Queoquartzite would glow for a final time, as a sort of light draws from Alex's body, her skin grows white and she lies silent, for good. A body enters the frame, a slender Noah Marshall walks the side of the highway, getting closer and closer towards Alex. He strolls right up toward her body and bends down, picking up the necklace in his own hands. Noah Marshall at this point of course was not Noah Marshall, but Jesse Anderson. The real Jesse Anderson. He pockets the necklace and turns around, promptly. He walks back toward the mansion, beginning to whistle a tune with a spring in his step.

MONTH 14 YEAR 7,420

Nastor. A terrible planet full of terrible miscreations. The birthplace of the Dromedan race in the ancient past. Only a single Dromedan remains alive, the Mark VI unit, dubbed Cross. The unit had spent a copious amount of time semi-conscious. Aware of his own existence yet unable to do anything in regards to it. His Queoquartzite reserves were empty-starved by the Sayarians in the Great Sayarian War.

Suddenly, a flow of energy returns to his systems. A spirit from five thousand years in the past has suddenly filled his circuitry. Dreams of a Devon Campton fill his mind—overload his systems. Nothing else matters than this Devon. The force is extremely overbearing—emotionally unstable. This won't do, if he is going to regain his strength, he cannot have a child making war with his own consciousness at every step of the way.

Eventually, the child's emotions regress towards the passive part of his systems, but the spirit of the Queoquartzite recharges his systems just enough to move his body. He wastes no time in leaving Nastor—a ruined wasteland thanks to the Sayarian War. It had previously been a lush planet filled to the brim with life and plenty of Queoquartzite reserves.

Cross' exploits in search for more Queoquartzite allowed rumors to spread—Dromedans were rebuilding themselves, and rebuilding themselves they were, but nobody thought much of any truth to the rumors. They had lost the war and been eliminated completely, after all.