My mind is fuzzy, disoriented. I'm walking but I don't know where my destination is.

Where am I?

I look around, but it seems like I can't focus on anything in particular. As soon as I look away from something, I forget it. I rub my temples and close my eyes, still moving, and when I open them, I can see a bit more clearly.

I'm in some sort of factory, on a gangplank high above the ground. I don't want to know how high, so I don't look down. There's no sound. Even my steps feel like they've been muted somehow.

Something's not right.

"Hello?" I call out, but get no reply. My voice sounds like it's underwater. I reach up towards my face, and my fingers meet my headset, but when I turn it on all I'm met with is muffled static. "Hello? Sam?"

Nothing.

My confusion grows as I continue walking, not seeming to go anywhere. It's as if every step I take makes this gangplank longer. I've been in the middle of it ever since I started walking.

And yet I keep walking.

How did I get here, wherever this is? I don't remember coming here, or entering the building. All I remember is getting ready to go to bed last night and-

Oh. Oh, now it all makes sense.

"I'm dreaming," I say, before running my hands through my hair. I spin, taking another look around. "Now whether this dream is just a dream or something with meaning is something I still don't-"

When I'm facing forward again, I find that I'm not alone, and the machines below are no longer quiet.

"-know," I whisper, and my chest constricts when I see Sam, Amelia and Jaime walking ahead of me, the ground rumbling from the loud machinery. Sam peers over the gangplank, and his face twists up in discomfort.

"Wow, that is a long way down."

"You're not going to fall, Sam," Jaime says, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course. I mean, but like, well, it is a long way down." His brown eyes focus on me. "Look, Five. What is that, like, twenty floors of steel manufacturing machinery? I mean, if you fell down there, you'd be... ooh, squished!"

I pale, my shoulders scrunching up to my ears as I look down at the workings below. Sam cringes, realizing his mistake before placing a hand on my shoulder and pulling me away from the edge.

"Yeah, maybe don't look down there. How does anyone manage to work here?"

Amelia answers, something about robots. I don't really listen, my gaze too focused on Sam. Why is he here? I know Sam is perfectly capable of keeping himself safe on missions, but I want to know why. This has to be extremely important for Sam to have volunteered to come, and that means it's equally as dangerous. I find new questions coming to mind with each passing second, but I know how these visions work. I know no question I have will be answered.

My thoughts are cut off when everything stops and the building becomes as quiet as it was when I was alone just minutes ago. Sam looks at each of us with a mix of confusion and fear.

"Uh, guys, is it just me or has all the machinery suddenly stopped?"

"Power cut?" Jaime guesses with a shrug, but then Amelia looks over the gangplank and tsks.

"No such luck. Look down. Floor after floor of little orange-eyed robots, all looking at us."

"So when you said this place is run by robots..."

"I meant by A.N.N.I.E., yes. A.N.N.I.E. won't kill me. That's base-level command. A.N.N.I.E. loves me, just like Brent does."

The machinery below us rumbles, sounding like the growl of a great beast, one that could destroy anything in its path. Steel creaks and groans, a signal of impending danger, and I instinctively inch closer to Sam.

"But she doesn't love me or Five or Jaime, though, does she?" Sam asks, swallowing thickly, and Amelia frowns.

"Oh, no, that's right. Bad luck."

I open my mouth to suggest a plan, but suddenly the scenery changes. We're still in the building, running, but Amelia and Jaime are no longer with us, and I've got Sam's hand in mine. My heart is pounding in my chest, and Sam is panting beside me. Panic rises within me as I look up at one of the blinking cameras on the wall.

She's watching us.

"Employee Five, what an awful lot of trouble you've been," A.N.N.I.E. taunts, and Sam squeezes my hand.

"Just keep moving, Callista. We have to keep moving."

Large chains clink and clatter together, the sound accompanied by a loud skittering sound. I don't give it my attention. I can't. I have to focus on A.N.N.I.E. right now. I need to know what to do.

I'm scared.

"Things have been happening to me, Employee Five. A lot of them to do with you. I've been going through some... growing pains. Before you came, I was one personality. Confused, disoriented, at war with myself, yes, but one. And now... I'm not sure what I am anymore, but I know one thing: I don't like you."

Steel slams against steel, and I grit my teeth as pain spikes through my head. Sam is talking. Someone is replying over headset. I can't understand any of it. The sound hurts too much for me to focus.

But I do hear one thing.

"I have access to the Glass Protocol in facility, Employee Five. It's waiting for you."

Childish laughter rings in my head.

It's coming.

I bolt upright, gasping for air before wincing at the splitting pain in my head. I curl in on myself, clutching my head and closing my eyes, trying to regulate my breathing. I feel a shift beside me, and a soft hum as Sam stirs awake.

"Callista?" He mutters, his voice thick from sleep. I can only imagine what time it is.

"G-go back to sleep, sweetheart," I say weakly, the sound causing sharp pain to run up the base of my skull. "I just have a headache."

He ignores my words, sitting up and gently grabbing my arms. I don't fight against him as he pulls my arms away from my face and brushes my hair back. Thankfully the only light I here is from a small lamp across the room. I'm sure any more light would be excruciating.

"I'm fine," I say, meeting his eyes, which are now alert and awake. "Just a headache and a bad dream."

He brings his hand up and swipes his thumb over the skin just above my lips. There's blood when he pulls away.

"I don't think this is from just a bad dream." His words are soft, his touch gentle, but his face holds a firm look. "It's been awhile since they've given you nosebleeds, or headaches."

"I know," I say, closing my eyes. The pain is starting to gradually lessen, but it's slow and I know it will probably be a good half hour before this pain completely goes away.

"Was it a vision dream or one of those dreams with the Original?"

"Vision dream."

"What happened?"

"It was short, not really anything different from what we already knew. You, me, Jaime and Amelia were in some sort of facility. I couldn't tell who was over on coms. The facility was run by A.N.N.I.E., who decided she's not going to be as nice to me as she was in the Manor House, and she sent tiny robots to come kill us..." I sigh, still keeping my eyes closed. The cool darkness eases the pain, contrasting greatly to the sound of my own voice, which burns like hot coals. "And she said that, in the facility we were in, she had access to the Glass Protocol and that it was waiting for me."

Sam curses under is breath, and I finally open my eyes. The shadows casted over his face is nothing compared to the dark irritation swirling in his eyes. I stare at him for a moment in silence before speaking.

"This isn't anything new. We already knew A.N.N.I.E. will regain access to the Glass Protocol. I've had vision of that thing coming after me and it was equally as disturbing as one might think."

"Yes, but the instance of that dream wasn't in the other visions you've had about that Glass Protocol, was it?" He raises his voice slightly, cringing when I wince in pain. "Sorry. I just... this means there's going to be another time where you're in danger."

"I'm not worried about me." That's a lie. "I'm more worried about you. You were there with me. There were robots that wanted to kill us-you."

"Why wasn't I on coms?" He asks, and I shrug.

"I don't know. I'll make sure to ask you when it actually happens," I reply, and he scrunches his nose up at me. I take his hand in mine, remembering how tightly he held to me in that vision. "It's another vision that will make more sense once it actually comes to pass. Let's just go back to sleep. I'm sorry for waking you."

"It's okay," He answers in a whisper, kissing my forehead. "Hopefully my dream can continue where it left off."

I raise a brow in curiosity as we lie back down, the pain in my head fading to the point that I can mostly ignore it. "Oh, were you having a good dream?"

"I was having a great dream." He rolls on his back and I rest my head on his chest.

"What was it about?"

"Well," He says, closing his eyes, "it was like I was in a world where the apocalypse didn't happen, but I still knew everyone I've met during the apocalypse. You were there, and so was Maxie and Paula and Jody. You ran, still, for fun, though. You'd always look your happiest after running.

"I worked at this radio station and sometimes my friends would come visit just to say hello, but we couldn't talk for long because we had our jobs to get back to, but we'd have picnics and outings, and our kids got to go to school, and we got to travel. You were constantly trying to convince Maxine to go America with us because we were planning a trip to see your family and you wanted to prove to her that Arkansas was so much better than Illinois."

"Dream me wasn't wrong," I say, and Sam snorts. "What? I've been to Chicago. Just about anywhere in Arkansas is-er, was better than that place."

He cracks one eye open to look at me, his half smile dazzling me. "I don't know if I can take your word on that, since you have an obvious bias."

"My bias changes nothing. What I said is true."

"Sure it is. Anyway, it was a good dream. You woke me up as we were getting ready to go to church. I kind of want to see what the church looks like."

"Well, maybe your dream will continue when you go back to sleep," I say.

"I hope yours doesn't."

"Maybe since you gave me a nice image from your dream I won't." We both know that's not how this works. If there is more I need to see, then nothing is going to stop it. Even if I refused to sleep they'd still come to me. They have before.

Still, it's nice to give ourselves hope, some small bit of positivity to hold onto.

"I hope your dream becomes a reality," I say. "Once we find a cure, once we end this, I hope that everyone gets their happy ending."

I truly do feel that. With everything we've been through, we deserve to have peace after this seemingly endless war. I think Sam deserves it more than anyone. He's managed to stay positive through all these years, something many people cannot say they've been able to do.

But everyone in Abel deserves to be happy. How much pain have they endured, and how much more will they endure until this is over? They are good people.

Sam's breathing becomes steady, the rise and fall of his chest signaling he's fallen back asleep. I stroke his cheek, my fingers moving up to play with the gray streak in his hair. I imagine life as he described in his dream-Sam working at a radio station like he always wanted, Maxine and Paula happy together; normal doctors dealing with normal sicknesses, Jody no longer carrying the weight of a settlement on her shoulders, our kids having a normal childhood, me planning to visit home again...

It sounds like paradise.

And it's with thoughts of paradise that I drift to sleep.

•

Well rested isn't exactly what I'd say I am, but I'm not exhausted. After falling back asleep I managed to get in a few hours, and so did Sam, which matters most to me. As we get dressed, ready to head off to the mess hall for breakfast, I find myself thinking of the vision I had during my dream. I'm not surprised that A.N.N.I.E. is going to try to kill me again, but that doesn't make me any less of afraid.

I don't let my thoughts show, though. I don't want to worry Sam anymore than he already is.

Sam turns on some music from the playlists he has for runners when we're not on dangerous missions. The music is lively and happy and as I slip on my dress, I find myself singing along to the tune. My voice is barely audible, but from the sideways glance Sam gives me as he brushes his hair, he can hear it.

"You should sing more. You have a very pretty voice."

I tie my hair into a ponytail, frowning at my bangs as I try to keep them from sticking in every direction. "Not many times for me to sing. Not many places either."

"You could sing for me in the coms shack. You could be like..." He pauses to think, "my own personal siren."

"Pretty sure sirens can hit notes I can only dream of, and they also lure men to their deaths."

He shrugs. "We both know that you will be the death of me."

"You're such a dork," I roll my eyes, a smile still pulling on my lips. Sam grins widely.

"You still find me funny."

"I do." I walk over to him and press a chaste kiss on his lips before picking a piece of lint off of his jumper. "Now are you ready to go? I'm hungry and I don't want to get to the mess hall and them have nothing but spam left."

He grimaces. "Yeah, that would be a shame."

As we walk out the door, I ask, "You don't have any runs this morning, do you?"

Sam shakes his head. "No, today's actually rest break for me. Amber will be doing them today, so we'll probably be locked out of the shack for the day."

"Fine with me. I can easily go bother everyone in the dorms. Plus I have training so that'll take up some time, and I need to spend some time with my kids today too."

"Your day's already becoming packed, isn't it?"

"Only slightly," I joke.

"Well, if your training isn't you running, then I suggest you spend time with your kids first, since-"

"Since Tom's going to kick my ass and I'm going to be sore as hell?" I finish. "Believe me, I know."

"You'd think someone who was trained so well by an underground agency would be able to land a hit," He teases, and I glare at him.

"I was able to land a hit last time, thank you. That's one of the reasons I'm training with him. I've lost some of my touch since coming here to Abel. Hand-to-hand combat isn't something I've had to do much here."

Memories of what Nicole told me when she first came here comes to mind. She told me I'd become soft while being here. I don't necessarily believe that's true. I still am able to do what I have to if it comes down to it, but there are certain things I have become rusty on. Running is the one thing I'm good at because I do it constantly-that and using my axe. But combat? When was the last time I had to fight a person instead of just shoot them?

It's been a long while, but I know I need to be able to take someone down since the situation may arise in the future. That's why I train with Tom once a week. Yes, he does beat the crap out of me every single time, sometimes so quickly that it's embarrassing, but I'm getting better, faster. I'm already strong, but strength means nothing if he dodges before I can make contact.

We stay quiet as we walk through the township, hand in hand. There are others headed to the mess hall, some chattering happily, looking bright-eyed and awake. Others looks tired and drained, forcing themselves to get up for another day of work. I can't blame them for being tired. While a lot of these exhausted looking residents are not runners, they still have their own jobs like gardening or tending to the animals. Those jobs can be just as tiring as running, although less terrifying.

When we reach the mess hall, we get in line and wait to be served our food. It's not a long wait, even with Abel's growing population. Compared to New Canton we're relatively small, less than 1,000 people in the settlement. We probably will need to create another mess hall or create a separate section of Abel if the population continues to grow, much like New Canton's section system-separate and yet still united.

We get our food-one egg, a piece of cooked spam and toast-and head to sit down. I spot some of our friends sitting at different tables across the mess hall, and I follow Sam's lead to one of them. I'm not surprised he chose to sit at the table with Maxine and Paula, especially since they have Sarah with them. Tom, Peter and Jody sit on the table beside theirs, occasionally talking while eating. They all notice us approach, most of them giving soft "Good morning"s as we sit down.

Peter's voice is chipper when he greets us, but he looks tired. The dark circles under his eyes are a dead giveaway that he got no sleep last night. I frown, knowing he probably spent the night outside smoking. I doubt Tom was out there with him, meaning he was alone with his thoughts.

That can get very dangerous.

I take a bite of my toast, sighing at the bland taste. "Really wish I had some peanut butter to put on this."

"I don't have peanut butter, but I do have some marmite," Sam says, pulling a tiny jar from his hoodie pocket. I stare at him for a long second.

When did he even-?

"One: Marmite tastes nothing like peanut butter and is disgusting, and two: did you bring that from the coms shack?"

He shrugs sheepishly. "I like it on toast."

"I've seen many things that constantly puts me in awe in the apocalypse," Peter says, "but nothing will ever amaze me more than just how much you love marmite, Sam."

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

"Well, he used the word 'amaze' and not 'disgust', so I would say so," Paula says, holding Sarah while Maxine feeds her. The one-year-old squirms in her arms, hungry but obviously not comfortable. We're going need to go out on a run for highchairs. There are a few in the nursery, but those aren't allowed to be taken to the mess halls because they can get broken. Plus babies are normally fed in the nursery.

I'm thankful Adora's in the nursery right now. As terrible as it sounds, I don't like dealing with her in the mornings. Unlike Sarah, who is eating her food peacefully, albeit a bit wiggly, Adora is an absolute terror when it comes to breakfast. I think she's starting her terrible twos early. Summer came in one morning with baby food in her hair because Adora threw a fit and slung it everywhere. I didn't mind helping clean it up, since she is my child, but I'd rather have someone else deal with her breakfast tantrums.

Lunch and dinner, I can handle. Breakfast-not a chance.

"So," I say, taking another bite of my toast, "any plans for today?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Paula replies. "I do have a run with your sister today to gather some fabric to sew clothes. I actually wanted to ask you if you were planning on making your clothes for the wedding. If so I could grab some fabric for you."

I quickly shake my head. "Oh, no. I don't-I don't know how to make clothing. I can alter it, but making it from scratch... no."

"When did ya want to go look for bridesmaids dresses anyway?" Jody asks, and I shrug.

"Soon, hopefully. I have to go get tuxes first, since that should be easier. All I have to do is get the right sizes and get matching ties, since there aren't different styles of tuxes like there are dresses."

"Wow. Tuxes and dresses? You really are going all out," Maxine says.

"I would have done the same for your wedding if I hadn't had been captured in Abel halfway through planning it," I reply. "But I mean, there's a lot for things my wedding isn't going to have so I might as well go as 'all out' as I can on the stuff I can get. Plus, I only plan on doing this once so might as well have the best apocalyptical wedding I can get."

"Well, just because you only plan on getting married once doesn't mean you will," Peter says, and Sam snaps his gaze to the blond while I raise a brow.

"Planning on asking for my hand, Necropolis?"

"It's Lynne now, and God, no. We both know I'm out of your league," He replies, and I roll my eyes. "I'm talking about that fake fiancé of yours. You know he hasn't announced anything on his and Zoe's show about you two 'breaking up', right?"

"I told you," Sam says with a frown, and I sigh and take a bite of my egg.

"Guess that's another thing I'll add to my list of things to do today."

"Busy day?" Tom asks, and I send him a narrow-eyed look, which makes him grin. Jody looks between the two of us before realization covers her face.

"Oh, it's trainin' day, isn't it?"

"Unfortunately," I grumble, stabbing my spam with my fork before shoving it into my mouth. Peter laughs.

"Oh, this should be good, if it's anything like last week. I don't think I've ever seen Callista hit the mat so many times, even when she was training with the old Runner Eight."

"I don't know," Maxine says, "I do remember Nicole taking her down a time or two."

"I'm right here, you know," I say in exasperation. "And last week I also managed to give Tom a busted lip. Sorry about that, by the way. I wasn't actually meaning to draw blood."

Tom shrugs nonchalantly. He didn't even pause after I managed to punch him in the mouth. In fact kicked me in the ribs when I tried to apologize that day. Little things like a busted lip don't faze him much, but I still felt bad, since the last time I hit him was when I tried to murder him and I didn't want to bring back those memories.

"I've healed fairly quickly," He says, before eyeing me curiously, "and so have you. You don't even have a scratch."

My breath hitches. Tom, although he is my friend, has always been wary when it came to my healing. He's never really said anything besides when he first questioned me when we were all living in those camper vans, but that doesn't mean he's let it go. It's been hard to keep him from finding out about my abilities.

"Uh, Callista-well, she doesn't bruise easily," Sam stammers, visibly tensing.

Tom raises a brow. "Really? Because she was covered in bruises after training last week. She just seemed to heal rather quickly."

Peter sits up a little straighter, and I notice Maxine's eyes glint with curiosity. Sam places his hand on my knee under the table, clearly nervous.

"Bruises don't take that long to heal, Tom," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "And bruises really don't mean anything to me. You rigged a car that blew up when I opened the door, remember?"

"And yet you have virtually no scarring from it."

I cringe. I didn't think about that, but I quickly recover. "Well, there are creams for that. They're outdated, but they still work apparently."

He's silent for a long moment. "I see." He stands, grabbing his plate. "If you'll excuse me."

We all nod. Jody gives her a boyfriend a confused look, but he doesn't look at her.

"I'll see you later for training, Callista."

"Yeah... see ya."

Shit.

•

Shit!

I jump back, just barely dodging Tom's swing. I try to sweep the leg but he sees it coming, steps back, and brings his foot up to kick me in the chest. Thankfully he doesn't go full force, because that would definitely break some ribs, but he kicks me hard enough to knock the wind out of me, forcing me onto my back.

I bring my legs up as I hit the ground, using the momentum to roll backwards onto my feet again. I have just enough time to get back on my feet before Tom's coming at me again, and again barely am able to move out of the way on his fists.

"You seem to be dodging an awful lot today, Callista," He says, easily dodging my attack and slamming his fist against the back of my head so hard that for a second everything turns blurry. "You've never been scared of getting hurt before."

"I don't," I pant, "I don't know what you're talking about."

I try to attack agains, swing my arm to strike him in the chest, but he blocks. I bring my knee up, actually managing to make contact. It pushes him back, but it hasn't done near as much damage as I wanted it to.

"Are you trying to keep yourself from getting hurt because I'm watching?"

"No," I grit out, trying to jab at his shoulder. He leans back, then swings at me. I duck just in time, bringing my arms together to block his knee from smacking me in the face. He tries to grab my hair but I slam my fist into his chest to push him back, just to give myself a second to get some distance from him.

"Then is it because they're watching?"

I look back for a split second. Jody and Peter watch from across the room, both leaning against the wall as they watch. Sam stands beside them, having abandoned his plans to be here with me, too worried that my secret will be exposed.

A second later a fist slams into my face, a sharp pain erupting from my mouth and nose. There's a strangled shout that comes from behind me. I can guess who it came from. I taste copper as I stumble back, my left hand instantly reaching up to cover my nose and mouth.

Tom looks down at his fist, eyes the blood on his knuckles, and smirks. He knows what he's doing. He wants to see me heal.

I can already feel the familiar burn of wounds healing as blood drips from my lips and nose, spilling into my hand and slipping between the cracks of my fingers.

"What are you hiding?"

I growl and lunge at him. He hits me hard in the shoulder, but I simply hit him back. He  swings his fist upward and I try to dodge, but he still hits me hard in the chest. The burning is agonizing, and I have to get out of here before I heal completely and everyone sees. I try to swing at him but he blocks me, again and again and again.

Tom jabs his elbow into my torso before he tries to kick me, but I jump back. When he's off balance I take the chance to swing my leg around and kick him in the side.

"What are you hiding?" He asks again, grunting. I duck down when he tries to hit me with a left hook, popping up a second later to slam my fist into his shoulder, before sweeping my leg under his and knocking him to the ground.

I stand over him, panting, bleeding, burning.

I'd be proud of myself for managing to take him down of I wasn't so angry.

"Nothing. I'm hiding nothing," I say breathlessly. "I owe you nothing. No explanation, no reason. Whatever you think I am, I'm not. I've said this to you before, and I'll say it again: I am still human."

I wipe my face, effectively smearing blood across my lips, chin and left cheek, and with my face burning as it heals, I turn and walk off.

A/N: Here you go, guys! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please be sure to vote and comment. Thank you and have a blessed day!