WARNING: since fallon is a nurse, she helps abby with ontari's open heart surgery. the visuals are a little graphic and my own chest is actually hurting while writing it, so you can skip it if it gets to be too much.

❝the battle was a sore one, and the victory anything but secure.❞

-nathaniel hawthorne, author

♛

RAVEN HAD TOLD US that the EMP will only work once. Originally, we were going to use it on Ontari, but since the only thing that's alive is her body and not her mind, we decide to help the next best person: Abby.

Clarke cradles her mother's head in her lap, gently brushing a strand of brunette hair away from her face as I carefully connect the last of the wires to her body. I give her a nod before flicking the switch that turns the battery on. Immediately, Abby begins to seize, pained cries bursting out of her mouth and causing me to wince. Clarke carefully draws the remnants of the chip out of her system with a device Raven and Caleb had created.

Abby falls silent and still. Clarke hesitantly whispers, "Mom? Can you hear me? I know you're in there. Come back to me. I need you."

My heart aches at the desperation in her voice as she sniffles and blinks tears from her eyes. I reach over, grasping onto Clarke's free hand and squeezing in support while we both wait for a response. The seconds tick by unbearably slowly.

A relieved gasp bursts out of me when Abby's eyelids flutter open and she struggles to comprehend her surroundings. Relief spreads through me like a tidal wave. Thank God that Clarke and I didn't lose our mother— even though things still seem hopeless, at least we have her back.

"Hi," Clarke greets with a small laugh, the smile on her face bringing me hope despite our circumstances.

"Clarke?" Abby whispers in a hoarse croak. Her eyes flicker between the two of us rapidly. "Fallon?"

"You're okay," I say in a soft voice, helping Clarke ease her into a sitting position. The bruises on her throat are dark and ugly. They form a purple and blue ring around her neck, appearing grotesque and making my gut twist that she even tried to hang herself. I don't know how long she was hanging, but it's a miracle she can speak at all.

Clarke's sobs are happy ones, tears streaming down her face as a sign of her relief. I feel my own eyes sting as well. The grin hasn't left my face, my lips starting to ache.

But as Abby looks at her daughter's face, her own twists in agony as she recalls what she'd done. "I'm sorry."

"No," the blonde protests firmly.

"I'm so sorry." Abby reaches out to touch her face, then ultimately decides against it and instead buries her face into her hands in shame. Her shoulders rack with sobs that break my heart

"Hey, stop," Clarke teases lightheartedly. She lifts her mother's head and looks her in the eye, asserting, "It wasn't you."

Abby's tear-filled eyes meet mine once again and only seem to make her guilt worse. Her lips tremble as she looks at me, her brown eyes filled with both emotional and physical pain. "Oh, Fallon. I—"

"Shh, Abby," I coax her, reaching out and touching her arm supportively. My other hand is still entwined with Clarke's. We're a family— the three of us, so incredibly different from one another and with so many rifts between us, but a family all the same.

"I was going to hurt you," she chokes out. Her voice is still rough from the hanging, her words tuning in and out at random. "Oh, God."

So that's why Newman had said ALIE wanted me in the throne room— they were going to torture me to get to Clarke. I don't know how to feel about it. The situation would have been awful, but the fact that Abby thought that the only way to make Clarke crack was through hurting me...

Suddenly, the door bursts open and Bellamy rushes inside, instantly raising his gun at the sight of Abby near the two of us.

Clarke shields her mother with both arms. "No! It's okay. We used the EMP— she's back."

"W-Well, what about Ontari?" Murphy questions, pointing to the girl who's still lying motionless on the floor. I'd done my best job with patching her head. Even so, blood still seeps through the bandage in a black splotch and stains the floor around her. "I thought you said we had one shot with that thing."

"I told you," Clarke says as she pushes herself to her feet, no longer the daughter who was crying over her mother's survival only moments ago. "Ontari's no longer an option for the Flame— she's brain dead. Is the floor secure?"

"For now," Bellamy replies. "Jaha and the guards are tied up in a bedroom."

"We took out the elevator and the ladder as we climbed," Pike adds. "The stairs are collapsed. No one's following us."

"Good," Clarke says with a nod. "We have time."

"What we don't have is a way down," Murphy points out sourly.

"Time for what?" Bellamy questions Clarke, his voice slow and hesitant as if he fears the answer. He glances at me in a silent question if I know what's going on. However, Clarke's plan is a complete mystery to me and I merely shrug.

"An Ascension ceremony," she answers.

"Ascension?" Murphy repeats, gesturing vaguely toward the unconscious girl still on the floor again. "You just said Ontari wasn't an option. Besides, she's still chipped and we no longer have an EMP."

I glance heavily at Clarke's figure in front of me, then at Abby on the stairs, and back at Clarke. My eyes widen in realization as I rise to my feet and firmly point at my best friend. "No."

"What are you talking about?" Bellamy asks me.

"We're not putting the Flame in Ontari's head," Clarke explains calmly. "We're putting it in mine."

"Clarke," Bellamy says, walking toward her with his 'Time-to-talk-some-sense-into-Clarke' face on. "That thing killed Emerson in seconds, liquified his brain."

"Emerson wasn't connected to a Nightblood," Clarke argues.

I spare another weighted glance toward Ontari and sigh, wishing that she was fully alive so things would be much easier. So we wouldn't have to risk Clarke's life by doing this. So we couldn't try to beat the impossible once again.

"Transfusion?" Pike asks.

Clarke shakes her head. "Not exactly."

"Connected like Mount Weather," Abby realizes aloud, looking up at her daughter as if she regrets saying the words.

"Yes," she confirms. "And everything we need is in your med kit."

"No, it's too dangerous, and there are too many variables." Abby pushes herself to her feet and shakes her head, her mouth pulled into a frown.

Clarke holds her gaze. "And no options."

I turn around at the sound of someone panting from behind us. Octavia bolts into the throne room, followed loosely by Miller and an extremely injured Bryan who's leaning heavily on him. My eyes widen at the blood pouring from a bullet wound in his abdomen— his guard uniform is stained red from it.

"Whatever you're doing, you better do it fast," Octavia says breathlessly to Clarke.

"Why?" Bellamy asks. "What happened?"

His sister sends him a grave look. "They're climbing."

Immediately, I turn toward the balcony doors behind the throne and push the half-broken glass open. The distance between us and the ground is monumental. I stumble backward and clutch my chest as my head spins, reminding me of my old fear of heights. It hasn't bothered me since the cliff with Charlotte— mostly because I haven't been to many high places between then and now.

I rest against the space between two of the doors, fighting to right my vision as it continues to turn. My eyes glance up at the overcast sky above in an attempt to forget what's below.

We can't get down.

"Hey." Bellamy hand is on my elbow, my eyes automatically switching to the concerned expression on his face. "Are you okay?"

"We —" I swallow, fighting down the terror I feel when Murphy replaces Clarke and actually bends over the banister to examine the people below. "We are very high up."

Understanding immediately, Bellamy guides me back into the throne room and situates me as far away from the balcony as I can possibly get. He glances around for something tangible I can hold with my hands.

"Hey, help Abby, okay?" he suggests, steering me in the direction of where the doctor is setting up the supplies needed for the transfusion near the throne. "That sounds fun."

"Not really," I grumble. Helping my friend ascend to trick a mind-altering device into thinking she's a Commander is not at the top of my to-do list. But I allow Bellamy to direct me closer anyway, giving Abby a strained smile when she turns around in confusion.

"Hi," I greet the Griffins stiffly. "I am scared."

"Heights," Bellamy explains when Clarke's questioning gaze flickers to him from where she sits on the throne.

"Okay, well, you can start setting this up," Abby says calmly, motioning toward the IV stand she'd been building.

Bellamy pats my shoulder supportively as I shakily walk up to the metal contraption. There isn't much to do except extend it and attach the tubing to the bag, so the job is fairly easy. I complete it in a surprisingly short amount of time.

Murphy's job had been to bring Ontari's body closer to the throne. He doesn't look happy about it, glancing at the girl spread out on the table with distaste. It makes me wonder why he was here, how he apparently knows Ontari, and why Clarke wasn't surprised to see him.

"Good," Abby praises once she notices that I'm done. "Thank you, Fallon."

"Balcony's greased," Pike announces as he enters through the white-and-red strips of curtain that lead outside, setting the half-empty container of oil on the ground. "No one's getting in through here."

"There's enough lamp oil to cover every window on the floor except the Commander's chambers," Bellamy informs him.

"Then that's where the fighting starts." Pike nods to Octavia and Bryan. "We'll dig in there."

I sympathize with Bryan, who has a literal bullet wound in his abdomen and is still attempting to help. I just hope that he won't try to fight and will stay out of the impending battle— he could mortally wound himself.

"We're all set," Abby informs Bellamy, who turns around at the announcement. She glances down at Clarke. "You ready?"

I watch as Abby turns the switch that opens up the tube connected to the IV in Clarke's arm, sending crimson blood up to the bag I'd set up and back into a similar IV in Ontari. Just as it hits her body, I turn the switch on her arm to send Nightblood into Clarke. Her eyes anxiously follow its course as it comes closer and closer to her veins. However, once it reaches her, she doesn't appear to have a negative reaction and slightly relaxes.

"Hey," Bellamy says with a small smile. "Try doing that hanging upside down."

"And half-naked," I add jokingly, noticing with relief that Clarke sends us a small grin in thanks for our lighthearted comments. Even though Mount Weather had been absolute hell, I'm glad shared experience can lessen the weight on Clarke's shoulders.

The blonde glances at her mother. "This will work."

"And if it doesn't?" Abby whispers sadly.

"If it doesn't work, then she dies, and if she doesn't try, then she dies with the rest of us when the climbers get here," Murphy says bluntly, storming toward the throne and glaring at Abby with his hand outstretched expectantly. "If we're gonna do this, I need the Flame."

"Mom, please, he knows what he's doing," Clarke assures her. "You have to let me go."

I furrow my eyebrows. Murphy: gone for four months, separated from Jaha, has new clothes and a new crew, and is apparently an expert on the Flame? I need him to tell me the entire story of his survival at some point in time. It could later be used as a children's fable or something with how outlandish it is.

Abby concedes. Clarke opens her hand, allowing Murphy to take the Flame from it. He circles around the throne with the tiny device carefully placed between his thumb and forefinger.

"Lean forward," he instructs.

Clarke exhales shakily and reaches a trembling hand toward me. I grasp it, squeezing just as tightly as she is. That's all it takes for me to realize how truly terrified I am about this plan.

"You ready?" Murphy questions.

"Yeah," Clarke answers with a sharp intake of breath. "Just do it."

The boy carefully mutters, "Ascende Superius."

I watch as tiny, glowing spindles erupt from the chip, floating like the tentacles of a jellyfish in mid-air. Murphy slowly lowers it toward the nape of Clarke's neck. The device buries itself inside her skin, and her reaction is less positive than I would have liked.

Clarke screams. Her eyes fill with unrelenting terror, her head snapping up and hand squeezing mine so hard that my bones become visible through my skin. Within seconds, she flops back into the seat lifelessly and goes entirely still.

"No," Abby mutters as she reaches forward to check her pulse. "No, no, no, no."

"Clarke?" I ask, finding my voice cracking in desperation. My eyes begin to sting at the memory of how Emerson's body had looked from the aftermath of the Flame. I can't let that be her.

"Her heart's racing," Abby observes, then directs her gaze at Murphy. "Get that thing out of her head." When he stands eerily still, she repeats more angrily, "I said, get that thing out of her head!"

Murphy sighs and moves as if to call it out of her neck or something. But before he can, Clarke jolts awake.

"No," she protests, her eyebrows creased as if she's trying to discern something. "No. Not yet."

Abby places both hands on her daughter's face. "Are you in any pain?"

"No," Clarke answers in an almost whisper. "I'm okay. I know how to stop ALIE— I have to take the chip."

Bellamy blinks as if he didn't hear her right. "What?"

"I have to go into the City of Light and find the kill switch," Clarke elaborates.

Murphy pulls his lips into a frown, pushing himself so he stands straight instead of leaning on the throne. "Yeah. That sounds like a great idea."

"Clarke, listen to me," Abby says calmly in a very motherly tone. "ALIE wants the Flame. If you take the chip, you're giving it to her. The second someone sees you, ALIE is gonna know that you're there. She'll kill you. If your mind dies, you die."

Clarke looks her mother in the eyes. "The Flame will protect me. I don't know how I know. I just... know."

Bellamy disappears from my side and takes one of the spare chips from a dish. He holds it carefully, and for once, he doesn't look like he's going to try and give Clarke a pep talk to change her mind.

"I believe you," he says.

"Do you even know what you're looking for?" Abby questions.

Just by looking at Clarke's face, I know she wholeheartedly believes every word she's saying. "I'll know when I find it."

I pull my lips into a line as Abby presses a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "May we meet again."

Clarke nods. "We will."

"We'll keep you safe," Bellamy adds, for which Clarke gives him a small smile.

She then looks at me as if waiting for my words of encouragement. I look directly into her eyes and squeeze her hand, saying, "You've got this."

Bellamy holds the chip out toward Clarke. She opens her mouth, allowing him to place it lightly on her tongue before she swallows it and closes her eyes.

—

After half an hour, Bellamy leaves to check on the others in the Commander's quarters. Murphy sits boredly on the steps leading up to the throne. His hand is pressed into his cheek, eyes closed like he's dozing off. I sit more rigidly on the floor beside where Clarke sits on the throne. My eyes stay open, hands clasped around my knees. I wish I could relax as much as Murphy is, but my nerves are still on high alert and won't allow me to sit completely still.

Murphy straightens upon hearing a garbled choking sound. I immediately shoot to my feet and wince as darkness clouds my vision from standing up too fast. My hand flies to my head as I stumble down the steps, moving sluggishly toward the source of the noise: Ontari.

"Guys. Guys!" Murphy calls frantically. "We've got a problem."

My vision clears, my eyes automatically widening at the sight of Ontari seizing on the table. Her body jerks so harshly that I would've been concerned about it causing brain damage if she hadn't already been technically dead.

I rush to stand beside Murphy, my gaze rapidly assessing the situation until I see the Nightblood traveling in reverse through the tubes— instead of it going into Clarke, the blood is going back into Ontari.

"She's dying," I realize, wishing we had a heart monitor so we could have been notified sooner. "Her heart's giving out."

"What does that mean?" Murphy questions.

"It means she's dying, Murphy!" I repeat more harshly than I intend to, brushing past him and hurriedly bringing my hands together to begin chest compressions. I immediately regret my words. However, he doesn't seem too offended by my outburst and instead anxiously watches my actions.

"Clarke's not getting enough Nightblood," Abby observes as she appears beside me. Our gazes all follow the tube of black blood as it begins its usual upward ascent into the blonde. "Her body's already rejecting the Flame. Fallon, keep doing the compressions. If the blood stops flowing through this tube, Clarke's brain will liquify."

My heart thumps rapidly as I continue manually pumping Ontari's heart, my own blood a rapid rushing in my ears. It only gets worse when I glance at Clarke's immobile body and watch as Nightblood steadily drips from her nose and mouth. Unable to watch my best friend dying, I turn back to my current task and grit my teeth in desperation.

"Hey, hey," Murphy coaxes once he notices my compressions getting harder. I realize what damage I could cause and ease my pressure, releasing a slow breath through my mouth.

Despite our rough history, I'm actually grateful for Murphy's presence. I would have laughed at that four months ago. He tried to kill me more times than I could count. But he's changed— something is different about him, though I'm not exactly sure what it is yet.

"It's not working," Abby announces. I refuse to look but notice the obvious sounds of Clarke seizing as well, my panic rising as I realize that Abby's right and that this is accomplishing nothing. "Open her shirt."

When I have no immediate reaction, Murphy pushes my hands aside and rapidly unbuckles the belts holding Ontari's shirt closed. I realize my fingers are shaking and close them into tight fists. As my nails dig into my skin, I focus on the pain instead of the voice in my head saying that this is a lost cause.

"She's still not getting enough blood," Abby says as she spreads her med kit out on the table. "We have to increase Ontari's heart rate."

She produces a scalpel. My heart drops. "Abby—"

"I'm not gonna like this, am I?" Murphy questions dryly.

Abby ignores him and squeezes past the two of us. She digs the point of the sharp tool just below Ontari's collarbone, cutting a perfect line down the center of her chest. Murphy looks away from the gruesome sight.

"Abby, you need to move faster, okay?" he shouts as Clarke's body jerks more violently against the seat of the throne, his voice edged with fear. I've been in enough stressful situations with him to know that his anger is only a result of his terror. It's the only thing that keeps me from biting back at him. Of course Abby is doing all that she can— it's her daughter she's trying to save.

"Fallon, grab—" Abby starts to say, but I move before she can finish. I dig through her bag and pull out a metal contraption used to hold patient's chests open during surgeries. I know where she's going with this. Murphy was right— he isn't going to like it.

I return and notice that she's spread apart the cut halves of Ontari's sternum with her retractor. Together, we lock the instrument on her chest. My stomach churns as Abby gently takes the heart in her hand and gives it a light squeeze.

Luckily, it works and the Nightblood continues its course into Clarke's veins. Unluckily, it means we'll have to keep pumping it.

"Fallon," Abby begins, but I know what she's going to say before she even gets the chance to say it. I stand beside her and inhale stiffly before reaching inside and taking her place.

"Oh my God," I mumble, my mouth dropping open in disgust as I grab the heart. "Oh my God, I hate this—"

"It's okay," Abby coaxes. "You're doing great."

"I'm not feeling great," I hiss in reply, my lips turning into a frown. "This sucks. I'm never becoming an open-heart surgeon."

"Yeah, well, it's a good thing you took that course anyway, huh?" Abby replies as she pats my back with her clean hand. Then, she returns to Clarke's side, muttering encouragements to her daughter.

Murphy returns to the table and crinkles his nose at the sight of the beating heart in my hand. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but... do you need help?"

"Therapy, probably," I reply shortly. "And a bucket to be sick into after this."

Murphy rolls his eyes.

"She's stabilizing," Abby informs us, relief filling her voice. "Don't stop what you're doing."

I continue the gentle pumping of Ontari's heart, struggling to force my shaking hands into moving at a steady rhythm. Murphy notices the trembling and places both hands on my wrists to hold them still. It reduces the involuntary movement by a tenfold, stabilizing me enough that I no longer feel like I'm going to cause damage. I turn my head toward him and nod in thanks.

As Abby continues checking Clarke's vitals and I keep pumping, the door suddenly busts open. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to jump and potentially squeeze the heart too hard or rip it from the arteries. My jaw aches from how hard I've been clenching my jaw.

"What the holy hell..." Miller trails off as he assesses the bedlam in the room.

"They're in," Bellamy announces grimly. "This is the last room standing."

"How?" Murphy questions. "I thought—"

"Doesn't matter," Bellamy dismisses too quickly to be normal. "Grab whatever furniture you can find and push it against the door. It won't be long until they wake up and come after us."

My eyebrows crease. He clearly knows how the chipped people got inside the floor, but is withholding the information for unknown reasons.

I try to block out the loud sounds of the others shoving furniture against the door. Empty oil canisters scrape the floor, wood clatters against wood, and everything is too chaotic for me to focus well enough. Everything will fall apart if I mess up. Clarke will die if I mess up. ALIE will win if I mess up.

"This is it!" Bellamy shouts as he and Octavia throw the last bits of furniture against the oak double doors. "We need to keep Clarke safe, give her time. They're unarmed, they won't feel pain, and they won't stop until they're out cold."

"Copy that," Miller affirms as he tosses him a baton. "Go for the knockout."

Abby loads a pistol, which makes Bellamy turn his head questioningly at the sound. She quickly promises, "Only if they get past you."

Bellamy nods in understanding. The chipped people slam on the door, causing a basket to topple off of the top of the haphazard barrier they'd created. His eyes meet mine. He repeats his action of nodding, though this time it carries a different weight. I manage to nod back before another slam takes his attention off of me.

I turn my back to the doors. The pounding increases until they burst open, sending every bit of furniture cascading to the ground in a tidal wave. Enraged shouts fill the air. I force myself to lock my eyes on the heart, keeping my breathing steady by inhaling through my nose and exhaling slowly through my mouth.

Murphy's grip tightens on my wrists as the mayhem grows louder. Then, suddenly, his grip tears away as he swings his fist into the temple of an oncoming attacker. My hands resume their shaking as soon as he releases me. I lock my arms, stiffening them in an attempt to make the trembling stop.

"Come on," I whisper to myself. "Come on, come on!"

I realize that Murphy is single-handedly fighting off anyone who tries to come near us. I'm not sure if he has a weapon, but the thought is troubling and I feel bad that I can't help him. But maybe I am helping him in a way. I'm helping all of us.

"Clarke, come on!" he breathlessly shouts from behind me. "We can't hold them off."

I turn around to survey the room. Abby raises the pistol and shoots a rogue Grounder in the chest as he rushes toward her, killing him instantly. Bellamy is being held in a chokehold by Kane. Miller gets shoved to the ground by an Arkadian guard, successfully knocking the wind out of him and causing him to gasp for air. Murphy's right— we can't hold them off.

"Hurry, Clarke," I mutter, my voice cracking in desperation.

And then everything changes.

A man's wail fills the room. It takes me a moment to process the voice as Jaha's, likely a cry because of his gunshot wound. A woman's voice joins his. Soon, I hear the sounds of people crying. They're all housing one emotion: pain.

I breathe a sigh of relief, my lips turning into a grin of disbelief. Nothing could have prepared me to feel happy about such a negative emotion. It means that, despite seemingly every odd being against us, the City of Light is gone.

Clarke blinks awake. I watch as they begin the process of removing the Flame, and the instant Abby pulls it out of Clarke's neck, I release my grip on Ontari's heart. My fingers are dripping with Nightblood. I examine my hands, noticing that they're not shaking anymore now that the threat is gone.

Murphy rejoins my side to observe. It begins to sink in — what we've just done — and how we'd worked together without even thinking twice about it. We mutely nod at each other. I'm certain now that whatever rift had existed between us has fully vanished: helping each other pump a girl's heart is a bonding experience like no other.

My eyes drift to Clarke. Her gaze is filled with such sincerity that it causes my own heart to constrict, making me even more breathless than I already am.

"Thank you," she whispers to both of us.

While I nod and give her a gentle half-grin, Murphy shrugs nonchalantly. "Just another day on the Ground, right?"

"John?" a female's voice gasps. I'm faintly surprised to see him rush toward a Grounder woman and pull her into an embrace, but then remember his words from hours earlier— this is the person he cares about that he came to save. Maybe he really has changed in ways that I will never fully understand.

I face Clarke once again. She's still attached to the transfusion tubes, watching as Abby moves to comfort an overwhelmed Kane. Seeing her on the outside troubles me. I walk toward her and bend down near the throne, sending her another supportive grin.

"You did it," I breathe. But her reaction isn't as positive as I'd expect it to be, though I merely assume it's because she's still in pain. "Here."

I carefully remove the tubes from her arms and patch them up to stop the bleeding. As I clasp her hand to help her stand, another person appears on her other side. It's Bellamy — battered and bruised, but alive. He takes Clarke's other hand and together we pull her to her feet.

She's silent for a moment before saying, "ALIE's gone."

"Yeah," Bellamy says with a small chuckle. "I figured." But when Clarke doesn't laugh along and instead returns her saddened gaze toward the crowd, it clicks that something isn't quite right. All signs of laughter melt from his face. "Clarke, you're not acting like someone who just saved the world."

"Because we didn't." Clarke shakes her head, eyes suddenly brimming with tears. "Not yet."

Her words set a stone in my chest. It means that something is coming, something so big that she's unable to enjoy this triumph we've been through hell and back for.

But before I can ask her what it is, the sickening sound of a sword stabbing someone pierces the air, and I turn to see Octavia's blade sticking out of Charles Pike's gut.

My jaw drops. She twists the sword further until the blood-soaked end of it is visible through the other side of him. Her eyes are unfeeling, completely devoid of emotion as she rips it out. The man collapses to the floor in an unmoving heap. Moments later, his chest stills.

Octavia turns and walks out of the throne room without a word or a hint of remorse. I turn my gaze toward Bellamy to discover him watching as well, so many emotions swirling through his eyes that I can't discern them.

In the blink of an eye, everything has changed.

END OF PART THREE.

_____

you guys don't know the amount of relief i felt upon typing that last sentence. thank god that season 3 is over and now i can move on to the fourth one!

i'm sorry that there wasn't a major fallamy moment, but it didn't feel appropriate to fit one in. to me, it's important that bellamy, clarke, and fallon never really had a moment to rejoice. i did it for a specific reason!

thank you for sticking around through the almost two-year ride. this season was much more difficult to write than the first two because of how everyone is split up. and, to be honest, this is my least favorite season so i wasn't very highly motivated.

nevertheless, we made it! now it's time for praimfaya 2.0 and even more suffering (:

-kristyn