Week seven.

Erik noticed the bird cranium hanging by the chain around Cathy's neck. It was the first time he was seeing it.

"Is that the latest fashion?" he asked.

Cathy scoffed. "Barely," she said. She blushed a bit. "It's a...memento."

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Of what, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Something that happened a long time ago," she said quietly. "I used to call him Milo. He was this cute little blue breasted weaver my mom bought me from a pet shop when I was three years old. He died when I was seven. Dad and I buried him in our backyard." She gently touched the skull pendant as they kept jogging. "I found the skull in my backpack and I didn't even know I had it. For some reason out of all my memories, Milo's funeral is the only one I remember so clearly."

Erik listened carefully and patiently before asking, "Cathy, does Milo talk to you?"

Cathy perked up. "How do you know? D-Do you have a memento too?"

Erik sighed. "Not exactly. But, the recurring hallucinations are a side effect of the EpiFreeze." He said. "It can be dreams, nightmares, voices or brief visions of something."

"Is the EpiFreeze turning me crazy?" She said with a worried frown.

"I know it may seem like it, but no." He said. "It's just protecting you. The virus is a neuro-parasite. Which means it gets into your nervous system to attack your brain. To battle it, the EpiFreeze also has to affect the brain. From what I know, certain parts of your brain get sensitive when the vaccine is fighting off the epicytes."

"That causes hallucinations?"

"Pretty much." He shrugged. "Since you are hearing a voice, there's a chance that your auditory cortex was affected by the vaccine in some way that is causing you to hear Milo talk."

"But why Milo specifically?" she said.

Erik shrugged. "Unfortunately, there's no way for me to tell," she said.

Cathy went quiet.

Erik frowned in concern. "You're not going crazy, Cathy." He gently nudged her shoulder. "I know that's what it feels like. But think of what you've been through. You are bound to come away with a few scars, don't you think?"

She nodded.

They arrived in the industrial zone after another twenty minutes of jog. Cathy hadn't spoken the entire way after their conversation. There was a distant look in her eyes. And her jaw was clenched.

When the two of them came to a halt in their usual warehouse. Cathy said, "We're done today aren't we?" she said.

"Huh? What do you mean?" he said.

"You were gonna teach me hand-to-hand combat from week seven." she said.

He nodded. "Right."

Cathy unzipped her jacket, revealing an oversized t-shirt that she wore underneath. She looked like a middle grader. Then she knotted the hem of her shirt tightly around her waist. That's when Erik noticed the muscles that were popping out from under her clothes. The lean, wiry strength in her biceps. The veins on her forearms. And the cuts on her lower waist.

Erik was amused. "It's day one of your combat training, you know?" he said. "You wanna spar on your day one?"

She shrugged. "I wanna see how strong I've gotten."

"So you don't even want me to teach you any basics?" he asked.

"I just wanna see how well I perform with what I know so far."

"If you insist then fine." He shrugged and took off his own jacket. He was a good three feet taller and twice her size. Cathy raised her fists in a boxing stance. That was probably the only stance she knew. Erik held back a grin. "Is that the same style you used back at the Sector 22 airport?" he said and took his own stance. However his body was much more relaxed than hers.

"Nope," she said. "Lisa and I pretty much shot our way out. Can we stop talking and fight now?" she said and started to move closer.

He sensed a sort of pent up aggression in her stance. She didn't seem like she wanted to test her strength. It felt like she just wanted to punch something really bad. Erik was even more amused. He let her get close to him as he just shuffled around on the bare concrete floor, pretending to act like he was in a defensive stance. But he was actually just messing around with her.

Cathy threw a punch at his face. He dodged it by simply leaning back. Cathy was quick to follow up. She tried to punch him in the gut this time which he dodged again. He saw her grit her teeth. Just two punches and she was acting frustrated?

Annoying her could've been fun but he wasn't interested in entertaining her passive aggressiveness. So he decided to end it quickly by pretending to close in on her while letting his guard down. Cathy took the bait and tried to drive a fist into his stomach gain. Erik stepped back at the very last moment just before the blow could connect, making her stumble forward. And grabbed her face in his palm like a walnut, pushing her back and making her trip over his ankle.

Cathy went flat on the ground like a wet towel. He flicked her forehead. "What the hell is up with that attitude huh?" he said. "It looked like you were actually trying to beat me up. Did Milo tell you to do that?"

Cathy looked away, flustered.

"I was right! I knew it!" Erik said, before he sighed. He sat down next to her, shaking his head.

"N-No it wasn't because he told me to." Cathy sat up, pulling legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her knees. "It's just that...there are things Milo says that I don't wanna hear."

"So you were trying to tune them out by what, trying to beat me up?" he said.

She nodded, still very embarrassed at what she had admitted.

Erik frowned again and folded his legs. The two of them sat and gazed out of the big blasted doorway of the warehouse. The sun was starting to rise in the sky.

"You are weak, Cathy," he said.

Cathy looked at him, frowning. "Pardon?"

"You think beating up random people is the solution. You use your anger as a distraction," he said. "You need to channel it, use it against the ones who are responsible for creating this mess. Rage is like a double-edged sword. It cuts both ways. You need to swing it in a way that only hurts the enemy." He shook his head. "You are not ready for a fight yet. Get back to doing a hundred push-ups."

###

Week eight.

Erik and Gemma had taken the peacebringer truck up to the vacant industrial zone outside Mathesdale. And Lisa was the one driving.

"Remember, we'll have to conserve the ammo for now," Erik said as they got closer to their destination. "I don't mind doing another raid into some government facility for ammos. But Gemmy won't let me."

Germaine smacked him over the head. "Your wounds haven't fully healed yet, idiot!" she said.

"Ow." Erik winced playfully. "Then maybe don't hit me right now."

Gemma rolled her eyes.

Lisa stayed focused on the road. "We're here now."

The truck came to a halt in the front yard of what might've been a food processing plant. The vacant unloading dock was as big as a school playground. A place where big trucks might've brought produce from farms. Back when the death breath and bombings hadn't turned the fertile land to black salt.

Gemma and Erik hopped out of the truck. "We'll go and check around the place and see if there are no people or anything dangerous here," Gemma said. "As much as Erik confirms that the place is completely empty, I don't want our little demonstration to backfire on us."

Erik rolled his eyes this time and the two of them went up to survey the place. Slowly Lisa climbed out of the truck herself and stood in the big, docking zone. A line of empty warehouses sat somberly in the scorching heat. Lisa shielded her eyes as she looked up at the fiberglass logo of a cartoonish tomato smiling and flashing a thumbs-up, pasted to the top of a building behind the warehouses. The color of the sign had faded to an ashen gray and someone had spray painted a bunch of curse words on its face.

The road between the line of warehouses was riddled with cracks and pores from the harsh weather. A strong gust of wind blew her hair and the lapels of her oversized button down shirt. She felt a stir in her stomach. She caressed her belly, as if comforting the baby within.

Just five more weeks, she thought. The baby would be here in only five weeks.

She thought back on her conversation with Erik. What if the world becomes a better place? What if you were one of the people who made it that way?

The words gave her hope. Her child would see what she had seen as a child herself. Clear skies, sunny days, cool winds and soft rains.

Then she looked back at the armored truck. She frowned. People will have to die, she thought, some of them who don't deserve death. A bright future would cost more than a few lives.

"It's worth it." She mumbled to herself. "As long as my child gets to see that bright, sunny day, it's all worth it."

"Nope, nothing dangerous here." Erik called out as he and his sister returned from their survey of the factory premises.

Lisa gave them a nod and smiled. "Let's do it then."

###

Week Eight.

Cathy's midriff was starting to ache, yet she didn't stop doing her inclined sit ups. Her feet were stuck in the bannister rail of the second floor balcony. Each time she decompressed her torso, she could see the blackened grass of the manor courtyard and the porcelain fountain below. It was all upside down. Until she pulled herself back up and the world was all straight again.

(You're working out harder today, huh?)

Milo's voice echoed out of his tiny bird cranium she wore by her chain like a pendant.

"I wanna get strong." She said, between heavy breaths as she kept doing her sit ups.

(You aren't strong right now?)

"I'm not," she said. "I'm still not able to channel my anger into my strength."

(Should anger really be what strengthens you?)

She ignored him and carried on with her workout.

Milo actually zipped it for once and she finished the rest of her set in peace. She climbed back into the balcony, exhausted, yet her mind felt clear. Sweat dripped down her body under her clothes as she walked in. She took off her shirt and took a look at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her shoulders were starting to bulge, so were her biceps. Even her torso was creased with abs that looked so hard they might've been carved out of wood.

(Is that strong enough?)

Cathy sighed. She splashed her face with cold water and then she let her hair down. She grabbed a pair of scissors from the medicine cabinet. And then she started to cut off her hair, snipping away the long strands. Soon enough, the bathroom floor was littered with Cathy's hair.

(Isn't it too short?)

"No one will be able to grab my hair in a fight." She ran her fingers through her short hair.

(Is that what you are always thinking about? Fights? War? Getting stronger?)

"I'm thinking about what's important, Milo," she said as she broomed the fallen hair off the floor and tossed them into the trash.

(You don't even look like yourself anymore)

"No, I'm not a dainty little high school gymnast anymore." She chuckled as she took off the rest of her clothes but kept the pendant on. She walked into the shower

(You want to change yourself, yet you can't let go of me)

The water ran down her face, her shoulders, her torso, tracing her muscles and veins. She didn't answer Milo.

(You're so desperate to be someone new yet you let the past influence you)

Cathy kept washing herself.

(Would you be fine if you woke up tomorrow and you were someone else?)

She turned off the shower and walked out of the bathroom. She was taking in all of his words yet not letting them affect her. This was what it meant to be strong for her. To be followed by the past yet not letting it slow you down.

(So you are fine with abandoning yourself?)

"Sticks and stone may break my bones but words will never hurt me, Milo," she said as, wiping herself dry.

(No, it's only you who is hurting yourself.)

She put on a fresh T-shirt and a pair of cargo pants that Gemma had found her on a supply run and then she took Milo's skull off the chain and stowed him under the pillow. Where she couldn't hear him anymore. She was ready to start her day now.

This had been her routine for the past two weeks. Waking up, working out, listening to Milo ramble about something or the other and putting him away for the rest of the day.

The one thing that hurt her the most were the memories of who she used to be. What she had forgotten and those were all the things that Milo kept blaming her for. That is what made her angry. And she planned to use that anger to strengthen herself.

###

Week Nine.

Lisa was alone in the garage with the truck as always. She was behind the wheel and practicing her speed of entering sequences into the panel. Her top speed was 1.5 seconds per sequence.

That was not a bad speed in theory. But they had to take the truck to a high security prison which would have all sorts of defense and countermeasures in case they were attacked. She didn't just need to be quick. She had to be the quickest. In such a situation, a second's delay meant life or death. And so she kept practicing.

Or at least tried to. Because the next moment the garage door opened. And Gemma, Erik and Brendan walked in. They were carrying what looked like barrels of paint and several kinds of cardboard cutouts and brushes.

"We'll have to ask you to leave, Lisa," Gemma said. "We're about to give the truck a makeover."

"Makeover?" She frowned.

"We are gonna attack the high security prison as The Last Hand," Erik said as he laid down canisters of paint on the floor. "Our ride should look like it, you know."

Gemma was done mixing the paint in a container and attached the container to a spray gun with a big muzzle. She was grinning in excitement under her mask. "Shall we begin?"