Date: January 1, 2015
Time: 01:11
Location: Oransen, Illinois
On December 19, 2014, I sprung my plan into motion. I fell asleep in rural Colorado and woke up in Oransen, Illinois. My body was that of a teenage boy, the sun had yet to rise, and my ‘tools’ were located exactly where they should have been. At 08:50, I began my assault, and what ensued was the greatest school shooting in American history. And the shooter was none other than Jad Novus. A quiet and passive boy. Good grades, good friends, and not a problem by any metric.
As my assault came to a bloody end, I woke up, back in Colorado, back in my illustrious body. But I was not in control. Because that would have been far too dull. I was in the back of my own mind, and my body was piloted by Jad Novus.
For the ensuing few days, I adopted a persona. That of a playful little electric pixie by the name of Peatrice, the personal assistant of ‘Jad’s new body.’ I teased, toyed, and tormented Jad as I helped him come to terms with his new form. He was frailer than I thought, He wasn’t even willing to ‘check out the goods’ as he made his way back home to Oransen. Once there, my toiling bore dividends, and his shell began to crack. He began to lose his convictions and, in pursuing the just and lawful route, he only brought himself pain. All until he wound up trapped in a metal box under layers upon layers of military-grade concrete.
There, I broke him. I shattered him. And with great ease, I turned him into my puppet. My puppet of destruction.
“I really am worse than her, aren’t I? I’m worse than Abigale Quinlan.”
As he said those words, tears were already pouring down his face, and his body was immersed in rubble. Rubble of what was once his high school, but it was destroyed by him twice over. Once when I masqueraded in his body, and once after he indulged in my body.
When I was in his body, I killed just over one hundred people. Students, faculty, all perished at my hands, by my weaponry. But Jad Novus, thanks to his efforts, he managed to exceed my work by a factor of 537. The entire town of Oransen was decimated, all thanks to him. All thanks to his human desires..All because of the fear I instilled in him, and that he acted upon.
Jad Novus, I would pity you if you were not so… entertaining. You played your role well in my little game, but now… Now your mind is a miasma of chaos. A veritable baccano. Everyone you loved and cared about now exists within your mind, everything they were is condensed into your body. They will never leave you for as long as you live.
…Too bad you will not live much longer. You were a delight, Jad, but your story has come to an end. It is time for me to take my rightful place when within my own body.
Jad Novus’s thoughts of despair, the constant wailing of those he captured, it all came to an end. Their body— my body— the body of Abigale Quinlan— then stopped degrading itself by quivering amiss rubble, and rose up.
The scrapes and wounds that Jad inflicted on me were no more, and as I looked up at the bright moon overhead, I relished in the quiet, as there was not a sound. No hum of machinery, no buzzing of a lightbulb, not even the pitter patter of wildlife. It was as silent a winter night as I could hope for, and I took this as a moment to reflect on what had happened. To analyze what my life would now be.
Thanks to Jad, I could no longer revel in obscurity. After this, the world would want to see me gone. See me killed. See me removed from this Earth. There was a point in my life where this revelation would make me quiver and cower. But now… Now I was eager to fight. Now was the time to show the world the malice of Abigale Quinlan.
“FUCK YEAH!!! LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!!!”
As my voice echoed throughout the rubble-riddled remnants of Oransen, I broke out into a sprint, eager to greet the first wave of resistance with a smile on my face.
Date: January 1, 2015
Time: 07:37
Location: Oransen, Illinois
The sun crept past the horizon to a bright blue sky. It was the perfect weather to usher in the new year, but there was no future for a place like this. What was once a quaint suburb, the home for over 50,000 people, was now nothing more than ruin.
Homes had been onto their foundation, with not a single wall standing taller than two meters. Bold buildings of stone and steel had crumbled onto the earth, as if they were unable to maintain their own weight. Trees had been uprooted and shredded, regardless of their size or age. Telephone poles had fallen to the ground, their wires severed and transformers tattered. Roads were ripped and cracked, some collapsing to reveal the sewage systems below.
This ruin lingered in silence for hours, undisturbed by man, by any life at all, for all that had once been here had been killed. Corpses could be found in nearly any home. Drivers remained locked within their crushed cars. And any who were outside were reduced to viscera that stained the snow-covered sidewalks.
It was a disaster comparable to others that humans had experienced, but there was something different. Beyond demolished propane tanks and cars, there was little in the way of scorched earth or soot, making this unlike a bombing. The plentiful debris stayed largely intact, unlike how it would in a tornado or tropical storm. While an earthquake typically brought with it a similar level of destruction as buildings toppled and foundations cracked, the destruction was uniform and somehow even more severe than anything in recorded history.
It did not take people long to notice this destruction. For reports to come in from those beyond the perimeter or Oransen, for a state of emergency to be declared, and for the government to take action. The holidays delayed the machinations of bureaucracy, but come daybreak, the first responders had arrived.
A group of soldiers, five in total, marched through the empty streets of Oransen, clothed in gray cameo, their faces obscured by hoods, with M16s in their hands. The one leading the five walked a full meter ahead of them, his green eyes bloodshot as he looked forward, the freezing wind brushing against his coarse chalky face.
He was General Dick Kikansky, and after he paused to examine rubble of a nearby building, he looked back at his four squadmates. Caleb Jones, Ryan Gonzalez, Jack Crowhurst, and Seiji Zedaki.
“…So, is there anything we’re actually supposed to do here?” Zedaki asked, his voice young and tone affable.
“Not really,” Gonzalez answered in a soft yet weighty tone. “Aerial footage saw no survivors, and from what civvies saw, there’s nothing but junk here.”
“I know, it’s… surreal,” Jones added, speaking with a slight southern accent. “Maybe it’s the lack of sleep but… this just doesn’t seem real. I mean, even she couldn’t do somethin’ like this… right?”
“It’s the simplest explanation,” Crowhurst said, his voice wise and weary. “You’ve all seen what she could do, but what’s to say that’s the limit of her power?”
The four then looked on at Kikansky, who spoke with his back to his men.
“She had to do this. She escaped Rockheigeon at 17:22 yesterday, and they’re still scraping through footage of her, in that fucking bear jacket. She came here, no doubt about it. Then, at midnight, this happened.”
“Makes sense, but… then why are we here?” Jones asked as he looked at the rubble. “It’s been seven hours, and this perimeter ain’t secure. If we’re workin’ with ‘simplest explanations,’ she prolly left for Chicago.”
“Exactly,” Gonzalez replied. “So, what’re we doing here? This really isn’t our forte.”
“You gotta ask?” Zedaki groaned. “We’re bait, dipshit! Why else would they send in everyone they’ve got who’s ever met her? Fucking hell! First, they ship me out here to the boonies for Christmas, and now I’m breaking in the new year around a buncha guys, when I should be back in sunny SF, getting drunk, and fucking my girl!”
Kikansky stopped in his tracks and walked up to the young man.
“…Every time we meet, I forget how much of a brat you are. None of us want to be here, especially me. So, do us all a favor and shut your fucking mouth.”
“Oh, I’m sorry old man!” Zedaki shouted. “I’m just trying to keep my head cool by talking about how bullshit this entire fucking mission is. But I’ll just shut up because, clearly, it’s hurting your tender little feelings. And this is all about you.”
Kikansky looked up at Zedaki with fire in his eyes. The tall, handsome, half-Japanese soldier flicked his ponytail in response.
“You’re taking the bad route, kid.” Crowhurst said, stepping between the two. “Just say you’re sorry and keep it to yourself. None of us want to be here, but if we find nothing, you should be home by Saturday.”
“Yeah Zed, you do know this is his hometown, right?” Jones added, clasping Zedaki’s shoulder.
“I… oh shit… Yeah, um, sorry about that General, I—”
“I don’t want to hear it. Keep quiet and keep heading to the high school. We’re just over a klick away.”
With that, Kikansky continued his trek forward, his eyes focused on the horizon before him, and his mind focused on how this all began.
Born in 1969, Dick Kikansky was the child of a single mother. His father died in Vietnam, a scant three months after his birth. Dick’s mother despised the military for taking her husband away, but Dick had a different interpretation of events. He viewed his father as a hero who put his country before his family and, the day after he finished high school, Dick followed in his footsteps by joining the U.S. Army.
He took to the training well and overachieved next to his peers. To him, they were all ‘slackers’ who joined for the free education and benefits. While Kikansky wanted something else. He wanted something he thought only the military could give him. Not discipline, not skills, but glory. Every night, he would hope for war to call him away so he could achieve something righteous with his life, and his wish came true in August 1990, when Iraq invaded Kuwait.
The politics of the time were lost to Kikansky. All he knew was that he had the opportunity to die fighting for his country. Just like his father. He was shipped off to the Middle East in September, and began fulfilling his lifelong dream. Or so he thought. He was not thrust into a mythologized fire of warfare as he thought, and spent much of his time waiting, standing around in case he was needed, and letting the vast open expanse of desert stagnate in his eyes. For this was a war fought by planes and tanks, not ground infantry like himself.
However, his fortunes changed in January, when the Iraqi military began their scorched earth policy, setting oil wells ablaze. Kikansky found himself thrust into the front lines at long last, and with a platoon of 38 other soldiers, he experienced combat for the first time. The Iraqis were outnumbered and outgunned, but as victory seemed within reach, an explosion went off.
When Kikansky opened his eyes, he saw flames. A relentless inferno so thick he wondered how he was even able to breathe. His allies were on fire, their trucks had been reduced to burning metal frames, and his enemies were all dead.
Before Kikansky could comprehend what was going on, he saw the head of the nearest soldier pop like an over-ripened melon. The blood painted his face and uniform red. As he opened his eyes, he saw a man flying overhead, his body flung over thirty meters before flopping into a puddle of burning oil. Kikansky’s eyes darted around, desperate for an escape, only for something to strike him in the back. After stumbling, Kikansky turned around, where he saw a soldier’s severed arm, still clutching onto a handgun.
Half a second later, Kikansky was running. Away from the flames, away from his allies, and away from whatever was attacking them. Adrenaline carried him far, far enough for the air to be breathable again, but his sprint was brought to a stop when a bullet pierced his leg.
His body crumbled to the ground with his next step, with his face in the sand and his gun a meter and a half away. With obscenities flooding out his mouth and tears breaking through his eyes, Kikansky tossed himself onto his back and looked at the sight he ran away from. A row of flames that glowed bright against the twilight sky.
He could see none of his allies past the flames, but as he stared on helplessly, he saw someone emerge from them. A tall figure who walked through the fire as if it didn’t even exist. Kikansky panicked as he realized this figure was coming for him, only for the figure to stop, bringing their hands to their head and down their body, extinguishing the flames like they were nothing.
With the fire quelled, Kikansky looked up to see a naked woman, her frame tall and muscular, her skin a dark brown, and her eyes a stark crimson. Her expression was dull, and as she looked down at Kikansky, he struggled to find anything to say to her. Instead, he kept breathing heavily, the panic still swimming across his body.
“You almost got away from me. How naughty.”
As this woman spoke, her voice deep and powerful, she bent down and brought a hand to Kikansky’s neck, pulling away his dog tags. She dangled them before her eyes and smiled.
“Heh. Richard Kikansky, eh?”
Kikansky nodded his head in response, his movements shaky.
“Aw, aren’t you a scared little thing, Richie?I bet that bullet wound just set you off the edge. Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”
The woman proceeded to tear off a chunk of Kikansky’s uniform, revealing the bullet wound. She smiled as she brought a finger to the bullet lodged into his leg. Kikansky groaned as she touched such a tender area, only for her to pluck the bullet out and toss it aside.
As Kikansky’s screams subsided, he felt the woman bring her hand over his wound, where the pulsating pain was replaced with a searing burn. It felt like his leg was being cooked inside out, the blood from his wound burning while the nerves were incinerated. He screamed, begging for mercy, as this sensation lingered, but the woman maintained her grip for thirty seconds before letting go.
“Such a screamer. They really don’t make soldier boys like they used to.”
Kikansky brought his own hand to the wound as the woman loosened her grip, and as he investigated his wound, he was met with skin. Hot, hairless, and tender skin, but skin devoid of any trace of blood. Upon moving his leg, he felt a slight numbness, but the pain had vanished. This woman had somehow— almost magically— healed his bullet wound.
With hesitation, Kikansky began to stand up. His leg was sore, but well enough to support his weight, and even walk. He looked at the woman with widened eyes. Just as she said, she ‘fixed’ him, though he had no idea how.
“Now, run along, Richie. Run along and… trust me. We will meet again”
The naked dark-skinned woman then began walking away, toward the billowing flames. Kikansky turned away from this woman, where his eyes landed on his gun. With a shaky hand, he grabbed the weapon and began to walk away… only to stop after three steps and turn back, where the woman was still walking toward the flames.
Kikansky took a deep breath as he aimed his gun at the woman and exhaled as he pulled the trigger. A bullet landed in the back of the woman’s head, sending her body toppling down to the desert floor. Kikansky lowered his gun as he realized what he had done and slowly walked toward the freshly made corpse… only for its head to rise. The woman stood up from the ground, the bullet falling out from the back of her head, landing in the sand with a silent clunk.
“My, is your hatred of Brown people that severe? Or is this how you treat all the girls?”
The woman thrust herself forward and toward Kikansky, snatching the gun out of his hand. Kikansky recoiled as the gun was pointed against him, aimed for his head… only for the woman to crush the gun with her bare hands. The barrel was bent, the body was shattered, and what was a piece of military-grade equipment was reduced to a malformed mesh of metal.
The woman threw the remains of the gun behind her, over and past the fire, before it landed at least 150 meters away, where it silently collided with the sand.
“So, you’ve got anything to say to me?”
“You… you killed my entire platoon!” Kikansky stammered. “It… it’d be fucked up if I let you walk away like that! E-Even if you did… ‘fix me,’ you’re still an enemy of America!”
The woman laughed in response.
“Oh, so it’s revenge you want, eh Richie? Well, don’t worry. I am an honest woman. And when I said we will meet again… I meant it. If it is revenge you’re after… you’ve got a long way to go. I’d say not to disappoint me, but I know you will. Men like you do nothing but disappoint and destroy.”
With that, the woman dashed away. Through the flame and into the expansive desert wilderness as the sun sank beneath the horizon.
This marked Kikansky’s first encounter with the woman known as Abigale Quinlan… and it was far from his last.
It did not matter the country, the occasion, or how confidential the location was. Whether it be a military base, a shopping mall, an airplane, or even his home. Every few years, Abigale would find him, and she would always leave death in her wake.
After the second encounter in 1993, Kikansky began making Abigale Quinlan his life’s goal. He wanted to kill or capture her… and he did not care which. For she was not merely a threat to the military, or his country. She was the greatest threat to humanity as a whole.
He studied her relentlessly, cataloged every scrap of information he could, and led over a dozen missions to apprehend her. All of which ended in utter failure. More than his wife and son, Abigale Quinlan was the thing he thought about every day. She was his obsession.
This is why he was stricken with such disbelief when, on December 22, 2014, he heard Abigale Quinlan turned herself in. That she was being escorted to the Rockheigeon facility by Raiyne Underwood. A former ‘associate’ of his. One who gave up to pursue a normal life after she failed in her quest for revenge against Abigale Quinlan.
Kikansky thought her story was bullshit. That Abigale Quinlan could never ‘change.’ That this was all her latest trick. And that civilian life had simply caused Raiyne to grow soft. Soft in spirit… and soft in the head.
This led him to enter that room with fury in his heart, and a gun in his hand. This led him to shoot ‘Abigale Quinlan’ until he emptied his clip. Even then, ‘Abigale Quinlan’ did not break her ‘facade.’ She still claimed she was not herself. That she was a teenage boy. The same boy who killed Kikansky’s son three days prior.
For his behavior, Kikansky was reprimanded and penalized, but to him, it was all worth it. He finally captured Abigale Quinlan, after all. He achieved his life’s dream, and with every passing day, they learned more and more about this inhuman woman… at least until she woke up.
After Kikansky wallowed in his origin story, he was brought back to reality by one of his men.
“—Ansky? Kikansky? You alright?” Gonzalez called, inches away from his commanding officer.
“I’m fine,” Kikansky muttered, his voice harsh and bitter.
“So, uh, what’re we gonna do if we find Quinlan?” Jones asked, caressing the body of his M16.
“Not much we can do if we want. We already got samples after all,” Kikansky said with a sigh.
“Samples? Like, blood and tissue samples?” Zedaki asked.
Kikansky remained silent for three seconds before rubbing a hand across his face, groaning.
“…Forget I said that. If you don’t know, you don’t know for a reason.”
“It’s already out of my mind, Dick,” Crowhurst declared. “And I suggest you all do the same.”
Before the other three could respond, they saw a stretch of rubble as large as a city block. Before Dick said anything, they could tell this was their destination. The remains of Oransen High.
While the concrete entranceway and parking lot were largely intact, barring a few nasty cracks and a foot of snow, the school itself was little more than a pile of stone, glass, and metal. It was a mess, not safe for anyone to traverse without ample safety equipment. But Kikansky walked through the remnants of the entranceway regardless, his boots shattering glass in the process.
Jones, Gonzalez, Crowhurst, and Zedaki all followed, and as they saw the magnitude of destruction before them, they were at a loss for words. This was the setting for the worst school shooting in history. A place where over a hundred people died at the hands of one fucked up kid. At least, that’s how the world at large understood it. But now, it was no more. Overshadowed and destroyed by a tragedy far larger, far more severe, than anything the United States had experienced in its brief existence.
“…I don’t understand,” Gonzalez sighed. “Why would Quinlan want to attack here? Didn’t these people suffer enough?”
“It doesn’t seem to be her usual style,” Crowhurst mused. “Normally, she would let these people suffer. She always liked to elongate misery like that. But now… the school shooting may as well have never happened. All the kids, all the teachers… they would’ve died anyway.”
“H-Hey, that’s… that’s not…” Jones stammered, struggling to find words to match his emotions.
“It’s an asshole thing to say, but it’s true,” Zedaki said. “Everybody here’s fucking dead, and it doesn’t matter if they died two weeks ago or eight hours ago.”
Kikansky groaned in response to Zedaki’s comment. “…I just lost my wife. My son. And my house. Please. For the love of God. Shut the hell up, Zedaki!”
Zedaki did as he requested, keeping his trap shut… for approximately six seconds, when he spotted a small indentation in the rubble. An indentation that was painted with a dry reddish brown substance. It did not take long to discern this was blood, and while it was dry and cold, it was clearly only a few hours old.
“Um, I think I just found some blood. Like, a lot.”
The other soldiers gathered around at this sight, and began to offer their own commentary.
“Now, that’s mighty strange,” Jones said. “This place would’ve been off limits, and I can’t imagine that anyone was fixin’ to spend their New Year’s at a place like this.”
“If there’s blood, there should be a body… but I sure don’t see anything,” Crowhurst added.
“Body or no, we were sent to investigate, and this is odd enough to report,” Gonzalez declared.
The five simmered down as Gonzalez ruffled through his coat for his combat radio… before they heard something explode. Gonzalez’s body then fell to the ground, face first, and the other four looked at the back of his head… Or what remained of it. Half a skull, hair, and a lot of blood..
“Shit! Get down!” Crowhurst shouted.
The soldiers dived behind whatever cover they could find. Toppled lockers, desks, bits of walls— anything— and began pulling out their radios, only for them to explode in their hands, one by one, bursting open from the inside out.
“Damn it! We were—” Crowhurst said before his forehead burst open, sending a chunk of brain onto his boots.
“Hahahahaha!” Zedaki cackled like a maniac. “It’s happening again! Just like in Afghanistan! It’s all happening aga—”
Before Zedaki could finish, his handsome mug was shattered, leaving behind something so damaged it didn’t even look like it ever belonged to a human.
“Oh God, oh Jesus, oh no, no, no, no—” Jones rambled as he rattled a half-broken locker.
As Kikansky saw his last remaining ally lose his composure, he stood up from cover and looked at the three men who died within the past thirty seconds. A bitter groan escaped his lips before he tossed his M16 five meters away and shouted into the sky.
“Quinlan, show yourself. I know you’re after me! Whatever twisted shit you have in store for me… I can take it.”
“D-Dick, are you crazy or something? I know you lost your family, but you’re just askin’ for—”
Before Jones could finish that thought, an arm emerged from the dense rubble below. A dark brown arm that latched itself to Kikansky’s left leg, and pulled him down to the ground. His ass smacked against shattered brick as he fell, and as he opened his eyes, he saw her.
Brown skin, crimson eyes, jet black hair, a tall, muscular physique, and completely naked. Even 24 years later, she still looked exactly the same. It was Abigale Quinlan. The immortal devil who had haunted Kikansky for the majority of his life, and as his green eyes locked with hers, she shot him a toothy grin.
“Why, hello Richie. It’s only been a few days, but I guess you just couldn’t get enough of me. Your obsession would be cute… if it weren’t so sad.”
Kikansky maintained a stoic expression as Abigale looked down at him, while Jones… didn’t. His entire body was shaking so much he could barely stand, let alone aim his M16, but that didn’t stop him from trying.
“Y-You killed ’em! W-We weren’t gonna do n-nothin’ but y-you k-killed ’em”
At the sight of such hysterics, Abigale let out a chuckle and walked toward the man.
“Oh, sweet little Caleb. Do you need a hug? Maybe a warm drink? I can offer you both… and a whole lot more. All you need to do is drop the gun, and we can reconnect. It will be just like back in Texas, wouldn’t you like—”
As Abigale neared Jones, he fired his gun. A burst sprayed at the ground, where a single bullet lodged itself in Abigale’s feet. She did not flinch as the bullet pierced her and continued to walk, bare-footed, along the piles of shattered glass and brick.
“Tisk, tisk. I will assume that was just an accident. It’s okay. For men like you, it’s only natural. Now, put down the—”
“Put down the fucking gun, Jones! Do exactly what she says!” Kikansky shouted, standing up from the rubble.
Jones’s grip on his weapon only tightened. He kept his eyes and weapons locked on her as he moved backwards, but only made it a short distance before he slipped on a lopsided tile.
Jones yelped as he fell, his body telling him that something was broken, but he did not take his eyes or gun off of Abigale as she continued to walk toward him. Deep down, Jones knew that he should just throw his gun away and plead for mercy. But in his panicked mind, he could only think like a soldier… and began to fire at the woman approaching him.
He planted his finger on the trigger as his M16 unloaded the rest of its magazine— the remaining 27 bullets. Even with his shaky aim, 20 of them landed in Abigale, penetrating everywhere from her head to her knees. Her body fell to the ground like a sack of meat, and her blood stained the rubble a dull scarlet.
A wave of relief filled Jones as he saw this sight— saw Abigale Quinlan die— But it only took him a scant 5 seconds before he remembered why this plan was doomed to fail. Before she rose from the ground and towered over Jones. The bullets fell out of her body, wounds healing within a matter of seconds, and her once sinister smirk had shifted into a glare of utter disappointment.
Abigale yanked the gun from Jones’s hands and transformed the finely crafted piece of metal into ash. Ash that drifted away in the freezing winds. Jones looked upon Abigale with horror, truly and fully helpless against her. He tried to speak, to plead for mercy, but his throat refused to cooperate.
“Quinlan. Please. Let him live.”
Despite Kikansky’s words, Abigale’s expression remained unchanged. She bent down to the ground, grabbing a stone from the rubble below, casually tossing the stone a few inches into the air, as if measuring its weight… before throwing the stone at Jones’s throat.
The stone tore through his skin, ripped into his trachea, and wedged itself into his vertebrae. His body spasmed from the impact, arms flailing and mouth flapping up and down, and blood began to pour from his body, filling his throat and coating his uniform in blood. Abigale snickered at the sight, watching his blue eyes as they twitched about like a trapped insect.
As the blood continued to flow out, the adrenaline left Jones’s body. His movements grew slower and subtler, the blood began dripping from his lips, and after uttering a final gasp, Jones’s head leaned back against the rubble, his eyes pointed to the sky.
“Are you done?” Kikansky asked.
Abigale laughed in response.
“So focused. But I suppose that is my fault. I’ve shown you death so many times, it only makes sense you are apathetic to it.”
“Why did you play dumb like that? Why did you let us extract those samples? Why destroy this place? Why—”
“—Walk with me Richie. We have a lot to talk about… and I’ve got something special to show you.”
Abigale began walking to the east, away from the ruins of Oransen High, and Kikansky followed alongside her. Silence followed the two for the first minute, before Abigale let out a sigh and looked at Kikansky with a dull expression.
“You’ve always been a real dick, Richie, but you really fucked the pooch to death here.”
“…Do I even want to know what that means?”
“It means this is all your fault!”
“Heh. I know you’re crazy, Abigale. But this is a little much. Even for you.”
“Oh, you simple, simple, soldier boy. Well, I guess I need to break it down for you. Everything Raiyne said was true. I really did switch bodies with Jad Novus and shoot up Oransen High. That operation was something that a ‘lone wolf’ could not do without ample resources and connections. Frankly, the fact that anybody bought that narrative speaks ill of American society as a whole. It was all me. And because Jad’s mind had to go somewhere, it wound up in my body. From there, little Jad found his way home, met up with Raiyne, and went to Rockheigeon at her request. That’s when you showed up and… are you following all of this?”
“…So, you mean to say that was all true?” Kikansky asked, his voice low.
“Yes. And can you extrapolate what happened from there? Come now, use your critical thinking skills a little.”
“I saw you… or rather, ‘Jad,’ and I shot him. Then you… ‘took control’ yesterday, went to Oransen, and destroyed it. Just because you could.”
“…I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything more from you, Richie. By attacking Jad, you broke him. You traumatized him and without you… this wouldn’t have happened. Jad wouldn’t have entered that coma to escape reality. I would have remained dormant within his mind— remained a passenger observing what he did. But you forced me to awaken and groom Jad into my little monster. One who did such a good job that he achieved something I only theorized I could do. And through this discovery, he managed to kill over 50,000 people in less than ten minutes.”
“Wait, you’re saying that Jad kid did all of this? I thought you were trying to blame me?”
“You’re the one who broke him. If you did your job— if you behaved like a human being instead of a shaved gorilla— you could have stopped him from going mad and destroying his hometown.”
“…If Jad was in your body, and you were in his, how are you even alive?”
“I left his body upon death and returned to my own. But I did not take control right away. Instead, I allowed Jad to control my body. But after Jad came to terms with the destruction he caused, he relinquished control to me.”
“So, you… killed him inside your brain or something?”
“After what he accomplished? Of course not. He’s still there. Just… sleeping.”
As Kikansky took in Abigale’s story, the wheels of his mind churned, processing this information before letting out a chuckle.
“…Heh. I’m sure this is no surprise to hear, but I don’t believe you. It’s easier for me to believe that you’re the one who broke Jad, gave him everything he needed to attack Oransen, and then started pretending that you were Jad to trick Raiyne. I know you can be a very convincing actor when you want to be, Zhara Faizan.”
“Oh, those diplomat days were the epitome of dull.”
“Your meddling resulted in the deaths of over 5,000 Americans and 30,000 Afghans.”
“Yes, but that happened over the span of three years, and I didn’t get to see more than a few skirmishes. Such a waste…“
Abigale then stopped in her tracks, turned her head, and pointed at a street.
“That’s Kessler Avenue. You’ll reach your house in three blocks.”
“…Why would I want to see what you did to my home?”
“Did you forget about the ‘something special’ I mentioned? Go on Kikansky… or leave and report your findings. It makes no difference to me.”
Kikansky stood in the middle of an intersection as Abigale walked away, her feet quiet against the snowy street below. He looked back at her as she leisurely moved forward before muttering a sigh and looking forward. His mind told him it was best to just leave, but his heart pushed him forward. At the very least, this would provide him some form of closure.
