"It's deciding where to die, and it's deciding where to fight."

- Twenty One Pilots

                                                                            ***

The crowds were getting thinner, which was the opposite of what she wanted. But that was the direction she needed.

Galloway's breath burned the back of her throat as she ran, the only thought in her head getting to Sirius. Howls chased after her, and she knew it was crazy, but she was certain she could hear the click of jagged claws on the concrete right behind her.

She didn't look back; that would only slow her down. Her leg was aching, the barely scarred scratch feeling like it was being pulled apart. Her hair flew behind her, the impact of each step reverberating up her spine and into the base of her skull.

Shadows flickered around her, only randomly broken by streetlights.

Another howl sounded in an alley as she passed it, and she tried to pick up her pace again. A stitch was beginning to form in her side. Her mouth was sticky. The piece of paper with the address Sirius had given her was crumpled in her hand.

She knew the area he had gone towards. It wasn't too far away. The inside of her nose burned.

A scream sounded behind her, and her heart thudded once before picking up its rapid tempo again. Now she could hear the snapping and snarling sound of hunting dogs. 

Galloway hadn't expected another Collector to join the hunt. She didn't know why; obviously Theron was sparing no expense. Rundown warehouses started to rise up around her. 

Something snapped at her hand, the click of teeth sinister, making her reckless.

She turned sharply, hurtling down an abandoned, crooked alley.

Something hooked into her calf, tripping her, and she curled into a ball, rolling harmlessly over the asphalt. Quickly regaining her feet, she tried to run, but a massive wolf swiped a paw at her, razor claws missing her stomach by inches.

She reeled backwards, just to fetch up against the brick wall of a building.

Looking around, the blood drained from her face as she found not one, but four Hellhounds surrounding her. Her breath was explosive in her ears as her chest heaved. A mangy, overgrown pitbull snarled at her, and she pulled the knife she was carrying out of her boot.

She flicked it open, the snicking sound making the Hounds snarl again. It was no where near enough, even if the blade had been coated with silver.

Galloway's chest was still heaving when the Collector wove his way between two of the Hounds, giving her an aggravated stare. Shaking his head, he said, "You should know better. Running doesn't help. Not once they have your scent."

Her breath burst out, giving away her terror. She knew her eyes were too wide. The knife blade in her hand trembled as she shook with adrenaline and exhaustion.

Rollins grinned, shaking his head. "I couldn't believe it when Theron told me. But..." He let out an ecstatic laugh. "Here we all are."

She didn't speak. There was no point.

The man looked at the knife, then around at the Hounds. Snickering, he said, "I really want to see how long you last."

"You need me alive," she finally gasped. It was the only thing she could think of that would give her time. Even now, even when it was useless, she wanted to keep living. She wanted to fight.

Rollins laughed, the sound echoing through the night. His smile dropped as a distant howl echoed over the quiet warehouse district turned shabby neighborhood. Her heart leapt up. 

Making a small sound in the back of his throat, the other Collector shook his head. Sighing, he snapped his fingers at the wolf, and she watched in horror as the Hound melted into shadow before reemerging as a familiar figure.

An imperfect Sirius smiled at her. She pulled in a breath, making a horrible little sound. Then she snarled, "I know you aren't him."

The Hound looked down at his hands, then Theron's voice asked, "How? I rather pride myself on my illusion magic."

Another of those horrible little sounds of terror escaped her on a rasped out breath as the demon stepped from the shadows, standing next to Rollins. The Collector ducked his head respectfully. Theron's eyes turned black, the liquid color malevolent in the ambient light.

Swallowing, she croaked, "You got the eyes wrong." Then she gestured around as another howl was carried toward them on the wind. "And he's coming for me."

Theron raised a thin eyebrow. Then, he sighed as another howl, closer this time, drifted on the desert air. Waving a hand at her when she looked away from him, he said, "It won't matter. He won't be fast enough."

Her grip on the knife tightened. 

"He might be," she said, but as the doppelganger inched nearer, she knew it was a lie. Mouth thinning, she asked, "Why bother with the illusion?"

It felt like an admittance of some sort on her part. Like she was surrendering.

Theron chuckled. "Hell has a way of warping memories. By the time we're through, all you'll remember is the face that killed you: His. Then, you'll remember that you let him fuck you. Beautiful recipe for a destroyed Soul. Really I should be thanking him."

By the time we're through. Those words snagged her attention.

Theron — like she had asked the question — said, "We do need you compliant, Miss O'Malley. I find flayed Souls tend to be a little less... defiant."

She shuddered. Sounding like she'd swallowed shattered glass, she said, "You need me alive. You need my blood."

"We need your Soul, then we need your body," Theron corrected. Then he smiled, the expression twisted. "No one said they needed to be delivered to Hell at the same time."

Her eyes went from Theron to the fake Sirius, her fingers loosening slightly around the hilt of the knife. 

"What?" she breathed. This couldn't be real. But it was.

Theron laughed again, Rollins joining in. The Hounds paced around her, circling their prey. Her fingers tightened again, and she slashed out at the mastiff when he got too close. He yelped and leapt back, an angry burning line opened up across his snout, blood pattering to the asphalt.

Finally, Theron held up a hand, making the Hounds grow still. She swallowed, very aware of every beat of her heart. There was a buzzing in her ears.

The demon tugged at the cuffs of his suit jacket, then adjusted the collar of his black shirt. Pursing his lips, he said, "I could just teleport you down, but I do find some appeal to this method."

Claws flew out of nowhere, catching into her shoulder and spinning her to the side, away from the wall. Galloway cried out, barely managing to keep her feet as blood poured down her arm. She couldn't do anything to stem the flow; not unless she wanted to drop her knife.

Now she was in the middle of the circling beasts. Snarling, she kicked a foot out, catching the pitbull in the ribs with the toe of her boot. Hot breath on her arm had her spinning around, slashing with the knife.

A yelp and a spray of warm blood had her grinning, but it was short-lived. 

Theron whistled — a short, sharp note — and the Hounds went back to pacing around her. Cradling her injured arm to her stomach, she spat, "You have me, so just take me."

She'd never meant anything less. She couldn't feel the ring or pinkie finger of her left hand.

The demon made a small tutting sound, shaking his head. The pitbull charged at her, and she sidestepped right into the mastiff, who raked his claws down her back. Galloway screamed and went to her knees. Her vision spun as she forced herself back up.

Having trouble drawing breath, she gasped, "I th-thought punishment wasn't your department?"

Theron was still smiling. This time, she managed to slice the blade of the knife right down the face of the Rottweiler as he sprang at her. He snarled, skittering backwards.

They were toying with her. Blood was rapidly soaking her clothes. She wondered if Sirius could smell it yet.

Brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves, Theron said, "No. But keeping Collectors and their Hounds in line is. You and your little slut broke an unbreakable rule, Galloway. What kind of boss would I be if I didn't make an example of you?"

The mastiff jumped at her, and she sank her knife into its neck, losing her grip on the hilt. The Hound howled in agony, then knocked her backwards into the Rottweiler, who sank his fangs into the outside of her thigh, tearing the ligaments. It hurt so much she couldn't even scream. The Hound bit down harder, crushing her knee, and she found she actually could scream.

Bile raced up her throat and she retched, pain swarming through her in wracking waves.

Another set of fangs sank into her bicep. She watched the mastiff rip bloody lines down to her wrist. Blood soaked her, its copper scent the only thing she could smell or taste. 

A heavy paw smacked into her cheek, ripping her face open from the outer corner of her eye to her jaw. The claws continued down her neck, just missing the artery. She was on her knees, but she couldn't remember how she had gotten like that.

Galloway couldn't see for a moment.

Then fingers were grasping her chin, and Theron's shiny black eyes were boring into hers. Blood trickled from her mouth and he wiped it away gently. Almost unable to hear him over the ringing in her ears, he said, "First, these Hounds are going to tear you apart. Then Rollins will take you to Hell."

He stood, and she tried to fight back to her feet. He placed the toe of his shoe under her chin, forcing her head back so she was staring up at him. None of it felt real anymore, outside of the pain of her torn body.

Blood slid down the back of her throat, gagging her, and he crooned, "Oh don't worry. There will be enough of you left for him to recognize. After he's seen what he's done, your body will join your Soul in Hell."

"No," she choked and he drew his foot back just to drive his heel into her chest, flinging her back into the pitbull, who opened up more gashes across her back, then tore his claws down her hamstring.

Another body barreled into her, throwing her back down into the pavement.

Claws were dragged across her belly, nearly spilling her guts across the pavement as well. Things were getting darker. She'd never imagined it would take her so long to die.

The mastiff bit into her leg just below the knee before turning and flinging her across the alley. She was flying for a second before claws tore her out of the air.

The Rottweiler opened tears in her side from her ribcage down to her waist. It dawned on her that there was no way she was surviving this. A heavy weight crushed into her chest, breaking ribs.

Fire traced from the back of her shoulder, down her chest to her navel.

There were no tears. That, or she just couldn't tell the difference between them and the blood. Her breath rattled wetly in her throat as she lay bleeding.

"Finish her," Theron's bored voice cut through the fog, and she was suddenly very aware of everything.

Every jagged cut, every crushed bone and torn ligament. She could feel as her lungs tried to expand. The cool desert air made her blood steam. She was crying, but not for herself. Either that, or her eyes were just blurred with blood and agony.

The idea of what this would do to Sirius' eyes hurt more than anything. How empty their blue depths would be.

How lonely and terrible and vengeful this would make him.

How it would kill him.

There were no random flashes of memory. She consciously thought of Logan and Rhys, of her family, of Caleb.

Again and again her mind went to every moment with Sirius. His mouth on her body, his fingers tangling in her hair. Every smile, every kiss. Every argument and joke. Every moment in his arms. Every second spent wrapped up together.

She remembered on purpose. Because that version of Sirius would be just as destroyed as her body was. Gone, forever.

All that would be left of him after tonight would be a hollow shell with nothing to fill it but blood and fire. Everything that came across him would suffer, just as he would be suffering.

Galloway owed it to him to remember the fact that once he'd been something better.

Fingers that didn't have callouses in the right places wrapped around her blood-slick wrists, forcing her onto her back. Her heart was slowing down. Her veins were collapsing.

Breathing didn't seem to matter anymore.

Galloway stared up into blue eyes that were a shade too light, in a face of lines she knew better than anything. The imposter-Sirius smiled, his teeth lengthening.

The phantom taste of mint filled her mouth.

Her hair was soaked with her own blood. She couldn't actually get her eyes to close as the Hound leaned in, licking the blood from her neck. A small whimper of protest escaped, and she tried to wiggle away, but her body was shutting down.

"Now!" Theron ordered.

Hot spikes of pain drove into either side of her neck. A scream fought past the blood, her back arching as the Hound tore her throat out.

Her eyelashes fluttered as the scream was cut off. She could feel her chest heaving as her lungs tried to pull in air. Blood gushed from her mouth, flooding down the side of her face, going up her nose and pooling in the corner of her eye.

Rollins knelt next to her, but he was just a shadow.

Galloway's chest stopped moving. Her fingers twitched.

Sirius grinned at her, teeth ruby red with her blood.

She was formless, shapeless. She didn't have a name. She was nothing more than a collection of energy.

There was an odd tugging sensation, then she was spiraling downward. 

It was dark. And cold.

Her eyes opened. She had eyes. And wrists. She knew, because she could feel the spikes that had been driven through them, pinning her like a butterfly to a wall.

A door slammed, and she looked across the suddenly bright room. She was hanging feet off the floor. Looking down, she found sharpened hooks punched through the sides of her abdomen, helping keep her suspended.

Pain battered her from every angle and she gasped. She was surprised when it came out as a scream. She was more surprised when that scream was a word.

"Sirius!"

Memory slammed back into her. Galloway immediately stopped screaming, her eyes darting around the room.

Wicked instruments and blades glimmered at her from the opposite wall. Footsteps echoed around her. There was no one around, but the sound still scared her.

Looking down, she saw a white tile floor with a drain in the center. There was something sickening about the metal grate.

Terror and pain filled the air; she had never noticed how much those two things smelled like copper.

Swallowing, she looked down at her body again, then screamed in panic as flames licked across her skin. At first, they felt cold as they looped around her waist and legs, but then the smell hit her.

A small moan escaped; the flame danced, crawling over more of her. Her mouth opened wider, and she was screaming as she burned alive.

Laughter rang out as she writhed, the hooks and nails tearing her to pieces. The blood only fueled the fire. Her skin cracked and blackened, curling away from the muscle underneath. She couldn't stop screaming.

She wanted to die. She wanted it to stop. She wanted Sirius or Logan or her father to make it stop. Galloway screamed for them, begging them to save her. Begging him to save her. She would have done anything to make it stop.

But it didn't. The tips of her fingers charred down to the bone. Her hair was an inferno. The heat took her sight, melting her throat and stopping her screams.

Finally, finally, the edges of everything started to turn soft and dark.

She had been burning for eternity.

Galloway sucked in a great, gasping breath, her eyes popping open. Her chest heaved as she looked down to find herself whole again. 

In front of her eyes, a phantom Sirius flashed, his teeth red with her blood. She shied away from him. Inside her head, a memory of his body pressing into hers tried to meld with what was in front of her.

Galloway let out a scream of defiance, jerking the two apart. The phantom Sirius in front of her disappeared. She remembered Theron saying how Hell would try to twist her memories.

How it would try to strip away who she was, layer by bloody layer.

Flame engulfed her, and she was burning again.

She stayed awake longer. She tore her throat screaming.

The darkness wasn't welcome anymore.

                                                                         ***

She'd been here for years. Maybe. It was actually impossible to tell. It felt like years.

Galloway looked up through a curtain of ragged, bloody hair. She would have bothered to move it out of her face if her eye hadn't just been torn out seconds or days ago.

Either way, she only had half her vision.

She was slumped against the blood spattered walls. What had once been pristine white tile had been covered in layers of gore. She'd stopped wondering if a Soul really had blood, or if it was just an illusion. 

It didn't matter.

Footsteps echoed across the freezing room and she swallowed, her body tensing automatically.

Someone crouched down in front of her and a small moan slipped out of her as Theron fisted his hand in her hair, jerking her to her feet. He slapped her hard, making her crash against the table in the middle of the room.

Part of her whispered that it would only be worse if she fought, but she still couldn't stop herself from lunging at the demon, a fist crashing into his mouth. With a snarl, he lifted her bodily, slamming her back into the table.

Galloway bucked and writhed, trying to fling herself back to the ground. Burning metal snapped around her wrist, charring the skin, and she clawed at the demon with her free hand as he came around to the other side, managing to rake her broken nails down Theron's cheek.

Blood was pouring down the side of her face as Theron wrestled her other arm down to the table, another cuff snapping into place. She screamed in fury, arching her back as she tried to break free.

"Oh, enough, Galloway!" Theron sighed, taking off his dark jacket before he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. Aparrently, he didn't mind getting his hands dirty when it came to her.

She settled back against the table, lips parting in fear, her breath jittery in her throat as he paced along the wall decorated with bloodstained blades.

A small whine slipped free as he selected a thin blade and stood over her, the light flickering wickedly against the metal. Theron raised an eyebrow at her and said, "Must we go through the motions again?"

She just turned her head, clenching her jaw, trying to relax. It hurt more if her muscles were tense.

Theron sighed, then she was choking on the urge to scream as the blade slipped under her skin, peeling it away in strips. After an impossibly slow minute, the demon threw something to the side, and it landed with a wet slap. He held up the knife so she could see the fresh coat of blood, then said, "All you have to do is say a few words."

"Then I'd bleed," she spat before he carved into her again. Her back arched up and she screamed this time.

"You're already bleeding," he pointed out. "But that would be the last, and it would be fast."

The knife dug deeper, slowly flaying nerves. She swore at him, a filthy string of words that would have gotten her mouth washed out with soap.

She gasped at her mistake, and Theron grinned before shimmering into the shape of her father. Eyes still maliciously black, he grinned at her and either out loud or in her head — without a corporeal body it was hard to differentiate — she chanted, "Not him, not him, not him."

Theron, in the shape of her father, continued to cut pieces away from her, no longer bothering to try and get her to agree. He only ever asked once.

Blood stained her teeth as she wailed and screamed. Even though she knew it would never help, she screamed for Sirius, because he was what she wanted. She wanted him to come and paint the walls with Theron's blood, then take her somewhere very far away.

She longed for and loathed the unconsciousness she knew would come once the demon had taken enough of her. Blood poured to the ground, Theron's arms coated up to the elbows in the sticky substance.

Sirius had been telling the truth when he said dreams in Hell were only there to show you what had been lost.

Every day, for Galloway had no idea how long, Theron came in and asked her to agree to open the gates. Every day she told him to piss off, and then he would hurt her. Subjected to every torture and abuse known to man or demon, Galloway's only comfort was her subconscious.

He was there, every time. His mouth still tasted like mint and his embrace still felt the same, even if it was just in her head. She knew he wasn't real. She dreaded waking up, when Hell would take those dreams and try to warp them.

She was terrified that it might start working.

Her throat was raw with screams that weren't within her power to stop. She'd quit trying to hold out; it hurt whether she screamed or not. It didn't prove anything anyway.

A sudden thudding on the walls around them had her and Theron jumping in surprise. He swore when the blade went too deep, and she smiled as she slipped away.

In seconds, she was opening both eyes to a dimly lit room, laying in a soft bed. Clawed fingers tugged gently through her hair, and she looked up to find him smirking at her. She sighed, then grabbed his shoulder, tugging him over on top of her.

She knew she'd pay for it later. But there was no pain here as he pressed his mouth to hers.