Singer walks aimlesslythrough the streets, her arms wrapped around herself in an attempt to keep in body heat. Her jacket is doing a piss-poor job and she wonders why she bothered wearing it in the first place.

The sun is setting, soon to be gone and leave in its wake the stillness of night.

Dark, cold, and seeming to never end. Singer doesn't like the night, but she accepts the fact that it comes and will always come, just like the sun will always come back. It's one of the few things she can rely on in this day and age. Singer's been at Mullins for nearly a year now, and she knows BSL and Morse Code like she knows the back of her hand. It, like the sun, is something she can rely on now that she knows it as well as she does. It will be her only form of communication for... forever. So Singer supposes it's a good thing to rely on.

But what she's finding she can't rely on as well is Anna.

She knows the woman is busy, but it doesn't mean Singer doesn't feel a small bit of hurt when she doesn't show up to hang out when she said she would. Of course, Singer knows she still sometimes acts like an ass even when she shouldn't, and she knows there are things she will never-can never-tell Anna about herself, but she cares about Anna. At least, she cares about her more than she does everyone else here. She's even beginning to warm-up to Josh.

But Anna was supposed to meet up with her to help her sew up a shirt she'd accidentally ripped while out on a run. Singer can sew, but it's mostly just basic stitching techniques. Anna's been trying to teach her the more advanced ones. It's odd to see her do it, considering the punk aesthetic the woman radiates, but skills are skills, especially in an apocalypse.

Singer keeps walking, her footsteps echoing against the paved roads, melding along with everyone who's walking around. She sees them from the corner of her eye, but she doesn't look over at them. It might be considered rude if they didn't do the same thing. Singer's been around here long enough to work out how this place operates. They aren't as bad as the A.M.T.B., but to say people care about each other here is a bit of a stretch.

Everyone is mechanical, robotic. Schedules go around like clockwork and the only time these cyborgs revert to their humans selves is when they're around the people they care about, away from the eyes of authorities. Even then, though, Singer knows that the way everyone acts isn't normal, not the normal she knew of before the apocalypse. She's sure there are people who still act normal, who are able to separate fun and work and still have both in this chaotic mess the world is in, but whoever they are, they don't reside here.

Singer's almost certain the only person who cares about her is Anna, and possibly Josh. She's not sure. She tends to stay away from him. The intimidating aura he gives off reminds her a bit too much of Rux, even if the two are nothing alike. Honestly, Singer couldn't see Josh doing half the things Rux did, or had did, to her, but that lingering bit of caution is still there, and probably always will be.

Step after step after step. Singer almost swears the rhythm her steps make are from a song she once knew but forgot the lyrics to, not that she could sing them if she did remember. She can't even hum the tune.

She wishes she could sing though. It's the reason for her nickname, but her real name means "most beautiful" and the acne that comes with puberty and the scars that come with lack of any good skin care products show how much names mean. Beauty doesn't matter much anyway. The only people who cares to wear makeup is Anna and a few other girls who work in the hospitals, but even they say they do it to remind themselves of before, not because they want others to think they're pretty.

Aching feet come to a stop, and Singer contemplates. The communications building is just ahead, and it's where Anna probably is. Singer could go and tell her she forgot to meet up with her. She could, but that would mean admitting that it irritated her that she didn't show up. Does she want that? Friendships are a tricky game, and the road to becoming companions isn't something Singer necessarily wants.

As much as Anna cares about her, Singer can't completely trust her. If her own sister could betray her, who's to say a woman she's only known for a year won't do the same?

Sighing, but ultimately deciding she's got nothing better to do, Singer heads to the door...

Only to stop before reaching for the handle.

Yes, Anna may be in there, and technically Singer is allowed, so she wouldn't get into trouble for popping in, but there's always the chance that other people could be in there. The coms building has multiple operators occupying it so they can watch over multiple runs at a time. There's a large chance other people might be in there, and even though a good chunk of them won't know BSL, they will still try to make polite small talk, using their robotic voices that signify discomfort and reluctance to speak but feeling the need to because their morals require them to subject them to this torture instead of just staying quiet.

Singer rolls her eyes at the thought of when people about the weather.

'I hate it. It's cold all the time, and even when it's not, it's still not as warm as it should be,' She always replies, but she knows there's a good chance she's cold because she's cold on the inside too. She must be. A good person wouldn't have done the things she did, even for a loved one.

Good people aren't like that.

Anna isn't like that.

Singer lets out a breath and grabs the doorknob, turning it slowly as if she fears there's some monster on the other side. It will certainly feel like that if Anna isn't in there and she has to deal with the awkwardness of apologizing to whoever might be inside.

To her relief, Anna is inside, but she isn't alone. She's talking and laughing with some guy-dark skin, nice smile, really defined forearms. Singer's probably seen him in passing, another radio operator. For all she knows he may have been over one of her runs here. She's had so many. They have her running almost every day it seems. But that doesn't mean she recognizes him.

But he seems very intrigued when he sees her.

"Oh, hello," He says, which causes Anna to turn and look over her shoulder. She smiles, something Singer barely notices when she gives the man a small wave in response to his greeting.

"Oh, Short-stack," Anna says, and she looks half a second away from asking why Singer's here before realization passes over her face. She hisses through her teeth. "Oh, no. I forgot we were supposed to meet up tonight. I'm sorry."

Singer shrugs, not really saying it's okay, but unable to say it's not.

"So, this is the kid you were telling me about," The guy says, and Singer's face scrunches up at that. "I mean, I'd heard about her before, but well... I'd never seen her on a run." He holds his hand out to her. "I'm Elisha."

She waits, staring at his hand for a second before taking his hand. He's looking at her in a way that's scaring her. He's too observant, as if he's trying to study her, figure out something. She keeps the façade of innocence, neutrality. Never let a potential threat know your fear. She learned that from the Torrencers.

"Hope you aren't expecting Short-stack to give you her name," Anna jokes. "I've had to resort to nicknames."

"Really?" He asks, smiling slightly, as if surprised, but not really. He must have heard of Singer at some point, right? She didn't expect to be a celebrity, but she's a runner who has special needs in order to communicate. Surely an operator would have been told about that.

"Yep. No name. Just the number."

'I would appreciate it if you didn't talk about me as if I weren't here,' She signs, her face deadpanned. Anna smiles a bit sheepishly.

"Sorry."

"You know, uh, Short-stack," Elisha cringes a bit when she frowns. "You look really familiar. Well, in a way."

She tips her head to the side, eyebrows furrowing as she waits for him to continue. He has a point. She knows he must have something he's trying to build up to, but he looks so calmingly casual she can't decipher what.

"Can I try to guess your name?"

Anna laughs, and Singer feels every muscle in her body tense. This is a trap. This must be some type of trap-a trick.

But how? Only a few people know about her and the real situation of her coming here, of her being sold like an object. Those were people higher in power, people she barely ever has to see. Why... How would this operator-

"Good luck," Anna scoffs, her dark lips quirking into an almost challenging smile. "I've tried guessing a hundred times. Either Lily's a good liar or Anastasia isn't her name."

'Neither are,' Singer replies, and for the hundredth time she's thankful her mother decided she wanted a less common name. All those times of never finding keychains or coffee mugs with her name are worth it now.

"Well, I just want to try," Elisha presses, and Singer purses her lips, crosses her arms and waits, knowing she'll just be shaking her head the entire time.

Anna scoffs. "Fine, but don't be mad when you can't guess it."

He sends her a look that lacks any actual malice before his dark brown eyes focus on Singer's face.

"Anne?"

She shakes her head.

"Delilah?"

Another shake.

"Marie or Maria?"

No.

"Rosaline?"

She shakes her head, already getting bored, although she does enjoy the way Elisha has to pause because he's already running out of ideas.

"How about... Cat?"

Singer blinks. He looks oddly hopeful when he says that name, but Singer again shakes her head, confused.

"Oh, are you sure?" He asks, and he almost looks angry when she shakes her head again. She doesn't know why. It's not her name! The fact that he asked if she was sure is almost insulting.

"Told you wouldn't be able to guess it," Anna says, and she jokingly pats his shoulder. "Don't feel bad about it."

"Well, I just... when I saw her, I thought..." He reaches back and pulls something out of a desk drawer. In between his thick fingers is a letter. It's old, wrinkled and slightly stained from what might be rain or water. "There's a description here and a drawing and it-well, it kind of looks like you. But the name is addressed to a Cat."

Singer takes the letter and looks at the description written on the envelope.

Dark brown, wavy(ish) hair, about 5'3", slender nose, gorgeous eyes.

Singer makes a face. There are smudges between the two last words, hiding whatever word she used to describe the color. Shame. It could say brown, possibly, since Elisha is so sure it's her letter, but if the eye color description hadn't been smudged away this would have been over a lot quicker.

'This could be anyone,' She argues.

"Yeah, but look at the drawing."

She purses her lips but pulls out one of the pieces of paper from the envelope. The edges of the paper are ripped and crinkled, but she can still see the image in the middle. It's not the best drawing, but it's pretty clear who it is trying to depict...

And it's her.

"Weird," Anna says, peering down from behind Singer. She looks up at Elisha with confusion. "When did you get this?"

"That's the thing. I got it like two years ago from New Oban."

"New Oban?"

He nods. "Yeah."

"Short-stack's only been here for a year."

"Yeah, but maybe-I don't know. It just seems kind of weird, doesn't it?"

While the two talk, Singer pulls out the letter. She knows it isn't meant for her. It can't be, but this person, whoever she is, has her face, and she's obviously not here, which is where she's meant to be. If this random operator had a hold of this for all this time and didn't give it to any overseer, it must not be too important, so it wouldn't be a bad thing if she took a peek.

Dear Cat,

I know you hate me calling you that, but I feel like writing your name would give this a better chance of finding you than just putting Passenger Five. I hope this reaches you. All I could do was put a description of you on the front and draw a half-decent drawing of what I remember of your face, along with the name of Mullins Base, which I think is where you were heading? I hope you survived. You're a good person, you deserve it.

I wanted to let you know-I'm safe in New Oban with my parents. Ellie was right. It took them a few days to get used to the idea of being grandparents, but then they just got on with it. And we're all so lucky to be together. So many people aren't.

New Oban is AMAZING! Loads of our solar power is still working, and we're growing food in the arboretums. You can even hunt wild deer up here. And there aren't so many zombies. It's a long way off the beaten track. It's a shame the New Oban Express won't be running again, but we've managed to use loads of the parts from the front. If you ever manage to make it up here, you'd have a warm welcome. You might even be able to stay in the bedroom we made out of one of the carriages.

My baby was born two weeks ago. She's a lovely little one, opening her eyes on a brand new world... Weird to think she'll never know a world before zombies. But maybe she'll build a better one. I've called her Amala. It means Hope. And I like that the name has five letters-it makes me think of you.

Hope to see you some time. Hope you meet Hope sometime.

Love,

The name is faded and smudged to the point that it's unreadable. Singer feels a stab of guilt. This Cat obviously didn't make it to Mullins. She's probably dead, which is a shame because this person obviously saw her as a good person and she probably was a good person. She sounds a lot better than Singer is.

So with mixed, painful emotions swirling through her, she hands the letter back to Elisha, effectively stopping the conversation between him and Anna.

'This isn't me. Sorry.'

"Oh. Oh, yeah, no, it's not your fault," He replies. "It was a reach to think it could be you anyway. Still, it's weird that you look so much like her."

"Yeah, it is," Anna hums. "But now that that's done with, let's go Short-stack. I promised you I'd teaching you some new stitching techniques and that shirt isn't going to fix itself."

She turns to go, and as Singer starts to follow, Elisha reaches forward and grabs her shoulder. He leans down to mutter in her ear.

"I don't know what you're up to or if you have anything to do with that letter, but I'm watching you, Callista," He hisses, and her blood turns to ice as he pushes her forward towards the door.

She doesn't look back as she rushes out and slams the door shut.

•

I sit up in the bed, feeling drained despite how deep of a sleep I was in. I push myself up, my vision blurry, my mind confused and disoriented. I haven't thought about Elisha in years. I mean, he never gave me any trouble afterwards, mostly because I was smart and stayed away from him. But why did my brain decide to let me relive that memory? Why ruin my nap for the memory of a person I'll never see again.

I shake off the rising questions, running a hand through my hair. It takes a minute to realize that I'm not alone. Sam sits in his swivel chair and Milo is leaning against the coms desk. Their attention only comes to me when I shuffle around a bit, and I ignore the way Milo's face twists, as if me being conscious is the worst thing that could have happened today.

"Glad to see you're awake, Sunshine," Sam says, and I rub my eyes, still trying to come back to the present.

"How long was I out?" I ask groggily.

"Eh, about an hour? Not too long."

"Oh." Once the sleep is gone from my eyes, my hands fall back down to my lap. I look over to Milo, who's looking everywhere but at me. "Hey, Milo. What are you doing here? Talking to Nadia?"

"No," He replies. "I've been talking to Sam. He didn't want to leave."

"Seeing that we've had new people around, some of them don't know boundaries and have tried to come in here. I didn't want to leave Callista alone," Sam explains.

"You could have just locked the door."

"Yes, well... some of them are probably smart enough to pick locks. You get good at those types of things in an apocalypse."

His story's a good one, and a good excuse. I know Sam's been hesitant of me being alone since Nicole now knows about me. She still hasn't said anything, surprisingly, but I think she's just taking time to process it. It's hard knowing that a major aspect of your life isn't what it seemed to be. Still, I can't trust that she won't react in a less civil manner.

Nicole is anything but predictable.

"Well, I'm awake now, so if you want to leave, I could go with you guys, or find something else to do," I suggest, and Milo opens his mouth to answer, probably to say that I should go somewhere else, before Sam speaks up.

"It's fine. We can sit in here. Milo only wanted to leave because he was afraid we'd wake you."

I cock a brow. Somehow I doubt that that was the case, but the teenager who's eyeing Sam with annoyance makes no move to correct him, so I drop it.

"So, what have you guys been talking about?" I ask.

"Oh, Milo was just telling me about some of the friends he's made with some of the guys from Fort Blackmoore."

Milo nods, and to my surprise he looks at me when he speaks. His eyes even show a hint of a smile. "Yeah. Everton and I have been taking archery lessons from Jody. He's thinking about starting to train as a runner. Said as terrifying as it was, he liked being able to help when Fort Blackmoore was under attack and he wants to do the same for Abel."

"That's awesome," I reply, although I don't smile as I say it. It's good that we have more people volunteering to be runners. Lord knows we need more runners to help take the strain of smaller runs from those of us who do the larger ones, because doing both takes a toll, but I don't like how running is what always seems to be on Milo's mind, how that's his main focus.

He's always wanted to be a runner, but it seems that since Veronica merged with A.N.N.I.E., he's become obsessive. He did have friends at New/Fort Canton, but it always seems like being a runner is the most important thing to him.

It's like he's grabbing at it because he's too afraid to face the fact that she's gone. He's running away, just like he was when he said he wanted to live in New Canton.

"Have you been drawing any?" I ask, and he shrugs, seeming a bit surprised by my question.

"A little. Some of my friends agreed to pose, but I haven't been drawing as much. It's not like we actually have the supplies to go around."

"Maybe we can get some paper and colored pencils on a supply run next week," Sam suggests, and he smiles.

"Thanks."

I smile, thankful this hasn't turned into an argument between me and Milo. It's been almost a month since he returned to Abel, and yet this is the first time we've had an actual conversation without him sending me snide remarks or just outright starting conflict. It's nice, actually.

I've missed him.

"Well, in the meantime, you can work on archery, or anything else your friends are into," I say, and at this he raises a brow.

"Don't a lot of them hang out with you? You should know their interests too."

"Some of them hang out with me, and that's mostly to play volleyball. We're friends, but not exactly close ones."

He crosses his arms. "You might want to tell Lucy that. She seems to think you, her and Josephine are best friends."

"Me and Peter are best friends. That's common knowledge, and if I were to have a third best friend, it'd be Tom."

"Doesn't he beat you up all the time?"

I shrug. "It's basically a criteria that you have to had threatened my life to be close to me."

"Hey, I haven't done that," Sam says with a frown, and I shrug.

"Okay, maybe you haven't threatened me, but you have put my life in danger."

"When?"

"Besides every time I leave the gates-"

He frowns. "Your job is to go into danger. I haven't-I haven't really-."

I give him a mock smile. "Fine. You want me to be specific? How about the time when I was running from Van Ark and you were so focused on getting Paula and Maxine out that you didn't notice I'd been surrounded and I got captured and dragged to Van Ark's jeep while chained to the back of it? And then when I got out you were more worried about your stupid jumper than me."

He opens his mouth, pauses, then closes it with a sigh. "Okay, yes, that was a mistake, but I thought you weren't mad about the jumper."

I open my mouth to reply, but falter when I see the look on his face, as if he's scared that I'll say I'm still holding that grudge against him. I shake my head.

"I'm not. I'm just trying to make a point. I'm just saying if you're close to me, you've probably put my life in danger one way or another. I mean, Peter's shot me and held me at gunpoint twice and Tom broke my wrist and rigged a car to explode when I opened it.

"But back to the subject at hand," I look back at Milo, "Lucy hasn't known me long enough to be my best friend. She barely knows anything about me besides some of the stuff I've told them while at the A.M.T.B. and the stories they heard about the great Runner Five, which were very weird since they didn't have much communications and were extremely isolated."

Milo shrugs. "Maybe she thinks you don't have to have known each other for that long. I mean, you became pretty close with the people here pretty quickly."

"That was when we were still in the apocalypse and we knew that most people didn't last very long here."

"We technically still are in the apocalypse."

"Yeah, apocalypse 2.0." I sigh and run my hand through my hair. "Manage to cure the first one and now we have the V-Types. It's nothing new, but when I think about it, I still feel bitter. I was hopeful that maybe things could go back to how they were before it all."

He looks at me. "I don't even remember how it was before."

"You don't?" Sam asks, and he shakes his head.

"Not really. I mean, I was nine when the apocalypse happened so I remember a few things, but I tend to push away what I remember of my biological mum since she literally abandoned me and my siblings when the world turned upside down. I remember cars and TV and all that, but I don't have many specific memories."

"Well, hopefully soon we'll find a way to stop the second apocalypse too." Sam's voice has a hope in it that is uniquely his. "Then you can make memories as we bring things back, like-like new songs. I think you runners would be happy with anything as long as it's not 'Dynamite'."

I laugh. "I think the lyrics of that song is burned into my brain. I'm surprised I don't sing them in my sleep."

"You have, sometimes. Although it's not really singing, just mumbling."

"Did I... mumble anything while I was taking a nap?"

Milo makes a face, as if he thinks I'm worried I may have said something embarrassing. Sam knows though, what I'm asking, or at least he has an idea.

"Uh, no. Everything okay?"

"Just a weird dream. Memory of when I was back at Mullins."

He frowns, confusion swirling in his eyes. "Haven't thought of that place in a while."

"Yeah. Neither have I," I say, and from the look he gives me, he's internally asking the same question I am.

So why am I suddenly dreaming about it now?

"You never really talk about Mullins much," Milo muses, tipping his head to the side. "What was it like?"

"Uh, boring. I didn't have many hobbies, only had one person I liked, another that I tolerated and everyone else I just avoided."

"Then why would you have a dream about a place like that?"

I shrug. "I don't know. The brain is weird. It was about some letter that was given to me. An operator received it a year before I came and thought maybe I'd just come by late because the description matched me for the most part. It wasn't meant for me, obviously. A year before coming to Mullins I was in America, probably wandering around Virginia in search for food to then be inevitably picked up my military soldiers. I never thought about it after that. Don't know why it would have suddenly popped up in my brain now."

"Well, at least I know I'm not the only one," Sam pipes up. "The amount of times I've dreamt about people at Uni who were in my engineering classes with me. I probably wouldn't have remembered their faces even while I was in class with them, but sometimes they just suddenly pop up. It's weird."

"Why did that person think the letter was to you? Weren't you like, twelve?" Milo asks, and I roll my eyes.

"I was fourteen then, and I don't know. Some things you just never find out, like whoever was meant to get that letter never got it. She never knew someone cared about her." I hum, already forgetting certain details, like you after waking up. Wherever that woman was living and the name the intended recipient are already long gone as if it were never there.

Although some part of me feels like I'll end up remembering at just the wrong moment. And I can only count down the dreams until it happens.

A/N: Here you go, guys! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I was only able to edit it once because it took everything in me to write this because my brain is dead so please forgive me if there are a lot of errors. I've been working on a paper for school and it's turned my brain into mush. It's also why there was only one chapter this week. Anyway, please be sure to vote and comment! Thank you and have a blessed day!