I sit cross-legged in the greenhouse, the moonlight seeping through the glass roof, showering me in its cool light.

I hate it.

After learning what Sigrid's plans were for Abel-for me, Nicole and Nadia and I came home. I let them give Janine the details. I don't think I could have explained it if I wanted to. All I could think about was what Sigrid said about me-the 'vessel' as she called it.

What does that mean? What does she expect to happen when she calls me and summons Moonchild?

I've had Moonchild try to take over before. She succeeded the first time she was drawn out using hypnosis. She took over my legs, made me run even though I didn't want to. Is Sigrid expecting her to take over my whole body, permanently?

Can she even do that?

I shudder at the possibility. I want to ask her, but she could so easily lie to me, since she knows the answer I want to hear is no. I don't want to think of her taking over my body, using it to destroy Abel: still the image is there in my head. I see her helping Sigrid, while all I can do is scream, trapped inside my own mind with no control over my actions.

I think that might be worse than the mind control.

Not only that, but Sigrid's plans for Abel involve some kind of 'gun', something that would destroy us from the inside out. It could be anything. It could be anyone. At first I thought it might be me, but she said in my file that they would have to wait for the right time, but the 'gun' could be accessed at any time.

Although, if that is true, why is Sigrid waiting?  Is she planning on putting on some big show, a way to boost her ego while killing her greatest threat? Does she plan on making our demise some kind of spectacle for her to show off?

I'm sure Janine's already making plans, thinking, plotting, trying to think up of every possible thing Sigrid might have made to bring us to our knees. The problem with us not knowing what this thing is is that we might take it with us if we ever tried to leave. That's even if we could leave. We can't leave the underground labs unguarded. Sigrid may not be as interested in them as she was before, but I'm sure she would gladly take them if we gave her the chance.

We cannot give her that chance.

My head snaps up when I hear a slight brush of something, the leaves of a nearby plant swaying ever-so-slightly. I watch, my body going rigid as my eyes scan the area closely.

"Who's there?" I call out, which is stupid. If someone's sneaking around, which they are, since curfew was an hour ago, then they don't want to get caught.

I don't care if I get caught. Everyone already knows I stay up past bedtime, and if anyone asks, I can always chalk it up to nightmares. It's usually not a lie, especially lately with everything that's happened with Moonchild. It's one of the reasons I'm planning on doing mediation and breathing exercises every day. Even though there's a part of me that still despises Kytan, I need his help. I need this to end.

"I know you're in here," I call out, standing up, my hands curling into fists. I'm not in the mood for any of these silly games. "If you come out now, I won't tell Janine you've been up past curfew."

I'm met with stagnant air and silence that feels a bit too tense for comfort. I hear the shuffling again, and I grab an empty clay pot and throw it on instinct.

It shatters when it hits one of the stands, nearly taking down some of the plants set on it. The sound rips through the silence as broken pieces clatter to the ground.

"I may not have a weapon, but I know how to make use of what I have-" I start.

"Okay, okay. Sheesh!" Milo grunts as he and Phineas emerge from their hiding spot in the shadows.

I relax instantly, although my face pinches at seeing the two boys. "What are you two doing out here?"

"What are you doing out here?" Phineas asks defensively, crossing his arms as he looks at the broken pieces clay strewn about. I huff at him.

"I'm not in the mood for your sass, son-"

"I'm not your son," He replies all too quickly, and I bite my tongue, ignoring the stab of hurt I feel in my chest.

I purse my lips, one hand coming to rest on my hip that's jutted out. "Again, I'm going to ask, why are you two out here?"

Phineas won't meet my eye, so I turn to Milo. There's a sadness on his face I haven't seen in a long while.

"We like to come here, sometimes."

"Why?"

"Because Penelope liked it here. She was good at gardening. She liked it. It... it reminds us of her." He crosses his arms. "We usually don't come around here at the same time. We don't really tell each other what we do anymore."

I hum, still agitated, but less so now that I know their reasoning. They tend to think about Penelope more than I do. I try to shove her to the back of my mind, just like I do with Willis. It hurts to think about them. It hurts to think about how they died, and I couldn't do anything to stop it.

And with everything going on, it's easy to keep myself busy and distracted so thoughts about them don't come crawling out of the depths where I keep them locked away. This isn't so for the boys. Phineas only has to worry about school and his chores after them. Milo has a bit more to keep him busy, but he does get the occasional free day. It doesn't surprise me that he thinks about his sister often.

She's only been dead a little over a year, which hurts to think about. Everything that's happened-what Sigrid did to me, what Ian did to me, and to Sam and Milo... some of it happened not even a year ago. Time seems to move so oddly. Things happen so fast that things that happened last year feels like it could have happened decades ago.

"Why did you come out here now? Why not come out here in the morning?" I ask finally, and Milo looks around. The moonlight shines on a flower, and he cups his hand around it, carefully not to pull at the green stem.

"It's quieter when no one else is in here," He replies. "Although I guess Phineas wouldn't mind either way."

The younger boy rolls his eyes at that. "Just because I can't hear doesn't mean I can't see. I don't like people walking around. They never leave me alone. They just keep asking if I'm okay."

I sigh, feeling a heavy weight settle onto my shoulders. "And you're not."

"No! I'm not okay! Penelope's gone and she isn't coming back and..." His voice cracks, and he looks away, probably to keep me from seeing the tears. My heart aches for him.

"Yeah, she's not," I say when he finally looks back at me again. "And neither is anyone we've lost. And it hurts... a lot. But that's why we keep on going, for them. We want to make sure the deaths of the people we care about don't go in vain."

His eyebrows knit together, a pained, angry look crossing his face. "And how would we do that for Penelope?"

"We already have. We did when we took back Abel, and we'll solidify it even more when we take down Sigrid."

"You were supposed to find out about the invasion plans today, weren't you?" Milo asks, and then he cringes almost immediately.

"No," I reply slowly, "we-as in, myself, Nicole and Nadia-were supposed to be testing her bike when an opportunity arose. And how did you know about that?"

He winces, then rubs his arm sheepishly. "Well, it's not hard to guess what happened when you come home with a camera full of secret pictures you won't show anyone. Plus when I asked Nadia why you guys were gone for so long, she kinda told me it was because you went to go get the Minister's plans. She didn't tell me much after that, though."

"And she didn't for good reason. Janine will brief the other runners when, and if, she feels ready."

My words are flat, empty. At least, they're as empty as I can pretend to make them. Telling anyone about the plans could cause a panic. If people knew about this 'gun' Sigrid has among us, if people knew about how Sigrid believes me to be a vessel to call upon to summon Moonchild... I feel my chest tighten as I think of how many terrible ways it could go. We have enough problems to deal with. We can't make more by telling everyone that Sigrid could kill us whenever she pleases.

"Well, what about me?" Phineas asks. He's wiped at his eyes as best he could, but they're still swollen and red, a clear indicator that he's been crying. "I'm not a runner. Does that mean I won't know about the plans?"

"Probably not."

He huffs. "Not fair."

"Why do you need to know them?" I ask, crossing my arms. "Why do you need to know the details on how the Minister plans on destroying us? All it will do is make you feel worse, believe me."

Neither of the two seem happy with my answer. I understand their curiosity, really. But what's the point in knowing something horrendous like this when there's nothing they could do about it?

I cover my mouth to stifle a yawn. "I'm tired, so I'll be heading for bed. I suggest you two do the same. Phineas, you have school in the morning and Milo, you probably have chores or a run. You need sleep."

I turn and start walking towards the front of the greenhouse, the moonlight leading the way, almost as if it's creating a path just for me.

"Do the invasion plans include Moonchild?"

I pause mid-step.

"...What?" I ask. My voice is so quiet, I'm unsure if he even heard me. If he didn't, Milo still repeats the question again. His voice is a bit firmer this time, louder, and I slowly turn around.

"I'm honestly unsure how to respond to that."

"It's a yes or no question. You answer with a yes or no," He sasses, and I glower at him.

"No, the invasion plans have nothing to do with Moonchild."

He stares at me for a moment, tipping his head to the side. His eyes study my face, which I keep neutral. I refrain from groaning. I'd rather this not turn into an argument, but I can feel it coming like old people can feel when a storm is about to roll in. It's settled within me like a deep ache within my bones.

"You're lying," He says, fully confident. Phineas watches his lips, and then looks to me with a questioning gaze. I scoff.

"This conversation is over." I turn on my heel, my shoulders scrunched and tense as I start for the door again.

"So, what you're telling me is that you are lying?"

I grit my teeth, unwilling to take the bait.

"Why can't you just tell me? I already know what she can make you do. I was there on that ship-"

I spin around, my movements so fast it startles him.

"You do not know anything about how Moonchild affects me," I reply, calm despite the mounting anger in my chest. My hands are shaking. "You don't know anything about the Minister's plans for Abel, and you won't until Janine decides to tell you. That may be tomorrow, or it may be never. I don't know. All I know is we've found out the plans. They aren't good, and we have very little time to stop her from killing us all. So, I suggest you go to bed. You may be needed for a impromptu run tomorrow."

Then I turn and leave, steam practically coming from my ears.

I grit my teeth and run a hand over my face, a muttered curse leaving my mouth as the night air, which is oddly humid, settles on my skin. I instantly feel uncomfortable.

"I need a drink."

•

"Please tell me you brought more than just cigarettes."

Peter raises a brow, obviously surprised by my appearance. Tom seems less surprised, although he might just be concealing his emotions. I've found he's rather good at that, when he wants to be.

"Why?" He asks lightly. "Plan on getting drunk tonight, Five-o?"

"Well, yeah, actually. It honestly wouldn't take much to do so," I reply, my face staying blank when his smile drops and concern flashes over his face.

"Is this about what you found out about the invasion plans?" Tom asks, and by the looks he's sending me, he already knows what those plans are.

"Does it matter?"

"Fair enough."

He tosses me a small bottle of... something. It's too dark for me to read it. We stay in the shadows, since technically, we could get into just as much trouble as anyone else if we were caught out past curfew. We never do, but the fact that we could, plus the fact that we don't really want anyone questioning us, keeps us here, in a dark spot in Abel, safe from any wondering eyes.

I unscrew the cap and take large drink, my face pinching up at the bitter taste than leaves a scorching burn down my throat. I lick my lips, trying not to grimace too much from the taste. I should have known. It's tequila from one of those factories, the one Moonchild used to make her mind control serum. After we took her down, people used it to start making tequila again.

They aren't very good at it, but finding good alcohol in an apocalypse would be a miracle anyway. It's why we don't drink the good stuff we have except for on special occasions.

I take another swig, leaning back against the building as the burn in my throat travels down to my stomach, becoming a pleasant warmth. I'm already beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol, being the light weight that I am.

"You guys are out early," I mumble, my words slightly slurred. "It's only a little bit after curfew."

"Couldn't sleep," Peter replies, and I hum.

"I'm beginning to think you don't ever sleep."

"Honestly, I'm starting to think the same thing. I wonder if I could go without sleep."

"Like what, for a few days or something?"

"No, forever. It's not exactly like I can die from exhaustion." I don't miss the bitterness laced in his voice, and I keep my eyes downcast, not wanting to see if Tom is giving any disapproving looks.

"You'd end up passing out after so long," Tom replies nonchalantly. "And I wouldn't recommend it, since we need you somewhat well-rested when you go on runs."

"Ugh, now you're starting to sound like Janine, just not as pretty."

He laughs, genuinely smiling as he lights a stale cigarette.

"What are you going to do when you can't find any more cigarettes?" I ask before taking another swig of tequila. I have to blink rapidly to push away the blurriness that follows.

The two give me concerned looks for drinking such large gulps so quickly, but neither make an attempt to stop me.

"Probably start rolling our own cigars, or something?"

"Oooh, cigars. That makes you sound all fancy," I giggle.

"One look at us, and you'd see that we are not even close to fancy," Tom replies.

"Is there anyone fancy left in the apocalypse?" I ask. "I guess Valmont, maybe, because-because he wears a suit all the time. He probably smokes cigars to feel fancy too."

"We haven't even started..." Tom trails off with a shake of his head when I look at him, not at all focusing on anything he has to say. Am I already that far gone after only three swigs?

With a shrug I take another, frowning when Peter takes the bottle away from me.

"That's enough for you," He tuts, looking almost amused when I whine in annoyance. "I don't think Sam would be very happy with us if we had to drag you back to the coms shack like a sack of potatoes."

I smile stupidly at the thought of Sam. "I don't think he'd be that mad. Although I think I'd be mad if you just dragged me somewhere."

He just rolls his eyes, sending a look to Tom.

"I don't like being made to go places," I hum, forcing more of my weight onto the wall behind me. "I have to do enough of that on-on missions...

"And with Moonchild."

The atmosphere changes instantly, but I barely notice. It's like Peter and Tom have changed, but I still feel fine. I feel great, actually! The two share a look that I don't have the brain capacity to understand, so I don't bother wasting the time to decipher it, knowing I'd fail anyway. Instead, my mouth moves to its own will, spilling out word after word.

"Sigrid called me a vessel for her-for Moonchild. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about that that. In church, I was told God spoke through certain people, using them as vessels. Guess He thought using me that way would be too boring, and instead decided I'd be a vessel for an insane hippie who tried to make everyone in the world happy before she threw herself off a building."

I hiccup, sloppily wiping my eyes that are stinging with tears. "It seems my only use is to be something for everyone else-to be used and molded like a-like a little... something. I don't know."

"Uh, maybe it's time for you to go to bed," Peter says, and he has to wrap his arm around my waist to keep me from falling forward. When he does, I take that moment of distraction to swipe the bottle of tequila back from him and take another drink. He gapes at me before swiping it back. "I said no more for you."

"You were supposed to be the fun one," I whine.

"I am the fun one, since you're obviously a sad drunk."

"Am not. Well, actually, I don't know. Only ever been drunk once before."

"Exactly," He replies, trying to drag me towards the coms shack. I don't really resist, but I don't comply either.

"But 'm not wrong, you know," I mumble. "The A.M.T.B. told me I was only worth somethin' if I did somethin' useful for the base... Said it was all I was made for. Worthless otherwise. You know what that feels like, don't ya, Three? Tom, too."

"She really is drunk. I don't think I've heard her talk this much about her past ever," Tom says, a smidge of surprise in his voice.

"I have," Peter grumbles. "Although she wasn't so casual about it."

I try to shrug, but when I do my shoulders end up pushing Peter away, and he almost drops me, since he is the one keeping me upright.

"They were right though. I actually was made for one purpose."

"Yes, yes, Callista. We know. God has a single purpose for everyone. And His purpose for me right now is to get you to bed."

I shake my head and make the face of an annoyed child. "No, no, no. I was made for a reason, like actually made in a lab." I chuckle in bitter realization. "I was-I was made in a lab, like in a movie."

"Hold on," Tom says, grabbing Peter's shoulder. "I remember you mentioning that to me a few days ago."

Peter looks at him in shock. "She mentioned it to you too? I honestly thought when she went on about the whole 'I don't think I was ever human' spiel she was just losing it. I mean, it's easy to say we've all gone a bit crazy since the apocalypse, so I didn't... So, you really think you were made in a lab?"

"Yep," I reply, my eyes remaining unfocused. "Last of five. Made as a little tiny egg and then shipped off to somewhere so they could have me inserted or something, and then I grew inside my mom and was born. Yay! I was meant to be their leader, after the hive mind clicked, but it never did. Chorus died, and then Cameron and Chrysalis. Now it's just me and the Original left."

Peter's eyes flash with realization. "Wait, Chrysalis. I remember her. She was that New Canton runner who looked just like you. And Cameron was the firefighter Jaime knew. She looked like you too, didn't she?"

I nod.

"But who's Chorus?" Tom asks, and I let out a noise to represent 'I don't know'.

"Janine knew her, I think. I mean, when I shot myself that's what Chorus said, anyway. She died so Janine could get away from zombies."

"I'm sorry. When you shot yourself?" Peter chokes. "When the hell did you do that?"

"After Sam got bit by a zombie."

"Why the hell have I never heard about this?" He looks at Tom. "Did you ever hear about that?"

He shakes his head, and I laugh, although it's interrupted by a hiccup. The two both look at me, curious to know whatever secret they're excluded from.

"No one knows about it, Three. Sam's the only one who does. Plus, even if I did tell them, I'd have to lie and say I missed. I was so sad... I missed him." I sniffle, my lip trembling at the memory. "I was really sad when I thought Sam died. He means everything to me."

Peter curses under his breath. "Oh, please don't start crying on me. Just-what do you mean you'd have to lie and say you missed? Are you saying you actually shot yourself?"

I blink. "Do you... do you not know what lying means? That's weird, because you did it a lot before you betrayed us to Van Ark."

He noticeably flinches at my causal manner. "Yes, I-I know what lying is. I'm just-did you actually end up shooting yourself?"

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"Then how did you hide it? How is it Sam was the only one noticing you had a gunshot wound? And where did you even shoot yourself? Head? Heart?" Tom asks, and I blink once, twice, a small hiccup leaving my lips before they stretch out into a smile.

"Sam didn't notice I had a wound. I ended up telling him later at Noah Base, silly."

"But how did you..." Peter starts, but trails off, and I can almost picture the gears turning in his head as he tries to understand just how I managed to hide something like that. I don't stop smiling.

He'll never figure it out.

"I can't tell you that yet," I reply. "It's not time."

The confusion on his face grows. "What do you mean?"

"I've seen it. It's not time. I've told you this."

I see Tom send Peter a confused look. Once it clicks, he forces a nervous smile. His hand presses into my back while the other keeps a grip on my waist to keep me from falling over. It's just enough pressure to feel uncomfortable, but not enough to cause any pain.

"What do you mean when you say you've seen it?" Tom asks, and Peter pushes me forward a bit faster, which causes me to stumble a bit.

"I see a lot of things," I reply.

"Of course you do," Peter agrees before looking at Tom. "She's probably just spouting things off. I'm sure half of this is utter nonsense."

"Is not," I huff, sounding quite a bit like a spoiled child.

"Is too," He teases.

"Is not!"

He snickers at the annoyed look I send him. "Is too."

"Is not!"

"Okay, okay, you win," He says, and I smile triumphantly as we reach the coms shack. He raps on the door a few times, and a few moments later, after hearing a few irritated grumbles, the door opens.

I squeak in pain as the light burns my eyes, and I squeeze my eyes shut and push back, only to be held in place by Peter. He pushes me forward a bit, my feet shuffling against the dirt.

"Special delivery," He says, pushing me into Sam's arms. I keep my eyes closed for the most part. "She's drunk, so if she starts spouting off nonsense, that's why."

I crack open an eye to glare at him and Tom. "'S not nonsense. Everythin' I said was true."

"Uh, what-what exactly did she say?" Sam asks. Whatever irritation he had when he was woken up has now been replaced by panic. At least, it sounds like panic.

"I told them where I came from, from the labs."

"She also said she shot herself after she thought you died," Tom says, crossing his arms. "She said she didn't miss and that somehow you were the only one who knew. Care to explain?"

"Wait, you actually think she might be telling the truth?" Peter asks incredulously.

"There's always some truth to insane ramblings. I know."

"Yeah," I slur, leaning into Sam's embrace. I breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of trees and grass and cotton that mixes into something that's uniquely Sam. "Don't worry Tom. I know you think I'm crazy, but I'm not gonna take your place. Everyone still thinks you're the craziest one in Abel."

He doesn't say anything.

"I don't know what she's talking about," Sam replies, and I look up at him, feeling the tiniest bit hurt. Why is he trying to tell them I'm a liar? "As far as I know, the only time Callista's tried to... do that, or anything like that was when we lost her in the night a little after she first arrived at Abel. Luckily, the rope broke."

"Really?" Tom asks, obviously not convinced.

"Yes, really."

The two continue to talk, and I find myself becoming tired-tired in general, but mostly of this conversation. I open my mouth to speak, although the sound is muffled since I'm talking into Sam's shoulder.

"You're not gonna cut me with a knife to prove your point again, are you?" I ask, twisting around to look at Tom. "I really just want to go to sleep now."

"Cut you with a what?" Peter asks, eyes wide. Tom doesn't offer an explanation, although I do see the slight shift in his posture. It's barely enough to be noticeable. "What are you talking about?"

"Obviously she's just talking to talk," Sam cuts in, starting to sound agitated. "Now please leave so I can get her to bed. God knows it's going to be hell dealing with her in the morning. Go on."

There's a beat of silence, before a grumble of annoyance leaves Sam's chest.

"Go!"

"Why are you yelling?" I ask, and finally the two listen and leave, probably because they don't want to deal with a pissed off Sam. "Did we do something wrong?"

"Something like that."

"Oh," I say as he helps me onto the bed. He has to in order to keep me from flopping down and most likely falling off and hitting the floor. "I'm sorry."

"S'okay," He replies. He helps me get my jeans off but doesn't bother with my shirt since it's a T-shirt and it's comfortable. "But God, how much could you have possibly drunk to tell them that much?"

"I drank... four swigs? Five?" I say, although it's more of a question than an answer.

"And how big is a 'swig'?" He asks, and I shrug halfheartedly, my eyelids already drooping.

"A big mouthful," I yawn.

"And what exactly was it you were drinking?"

"Shitty tequila. Tasted bad."

He curses in Chinese. "No wonder you were so talkative."

"It felt nice to talk." I scooch in closer to him. "Lying is exhausting."

"I know," He sighs. "But we have to sometimes."

"I know."

"Just get some rest. Hopefully we can deal with this in the morning."

"Okay. Goodnight."

There's a long pause, one filled with annoyance and sadness and frustration. I barely notice it, because within seconds after he turns the light off, I feel myself drifting away into the abyss.

Sam strokes my hair as he lays down beside me, and I barely hear his soft voice before I'm gone. "Goodnight, Callista."

A/N: Here you go, guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Also, just so you know, Five's swigs were just a little less than a tequila shot, which is 1.5 oz. So it's safe to say she had about 3 1/2-4 tequila shots. So yeah. Anyway, please be sure to vote and comment! Thank you and have a blessed day!