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the "Ripples" series; the series, whole and complete, here
Topic Started: Apr 1 2006, 05:02 PM (709 Views)
Keenir
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~~~~
Title: Ripple killer.
rating: K+ I think.
Author: Rodlox.
Summary: After she kills him, Diana's day gets worse
Diana's POV.
this is angst, yes?

Spoilers: just rumors, things I've heard here and there. Nothing concrete.

Author's notes: Well, I killed off Baldwin. Now it's Marco's turn. :)

Any errors or linguistic inaccuracies are my own, and for which I apologize in advance, just in case they're present.
~~~

I should've stopped after two cups this morning. That'd be nice, if I could lay the blame squarely on how much coffee I drank before the call had come in, summoning the three of us to... I am never going back to that place. Never. Theodokos, give me the strength to abide by what I swear here and now, slogging towards my apartment door. My hands feel like lead, and making the sign of the Cross is no easier now than driving would've been, I'm lucky Tom was willing to drive me home, saving me from being in an accident. And I'm lucky Tom didn't try to talk about what'd just happened. If he'd asked, I would've walked the rest of the way home, or tried to walk through blurring vision.

I fumble my keys into the lock, the tumbler releasing on my second try, and my door opens. Kemal's got the doorknob in his hand, holding the door open for me. He's staying over again, visiting with "my favorite distant cousin" as he phrases it. But this time, when he looks at me, he doesn't say Welcome or Hello, not in any language. No, this time he goes pale, and his complexion is one that looks exceedingly sickly when the blood flees from the upper layers of skin. Despite his - fear, I suppose - he manages to look over to where Maia's sitting, next to the chessboard whose game was interupted by my coming down the hall, I expect.

Maia's recovering, and is sitting on the couch all covered with compresses and blankets, pillows fluffed up against her head and back so she's properly enthroned. She looks at me, and her eyes go wide, head shaking side-to-side, not much, she looks more like she's suffering from localized shivering than looking like she's disagreeing.

"This is impossible," Kemal says through a lump in his throat. "Impossible!" Now Maia's nodding, vehemently.

"What's impossible?" I ask, and, in a masterstroke of understatement, I utter the words that are far lighter than any part of me feels: "Things happen." However much we - I particularly - wish otherwise, things do happen. Horrible things, terrible things, things that make our hairs stand on end.

Kemal swallows, and asks me in a hopeful voice - hopeful? - "Are you pregnant?" - dear God in Heaven, how can he be hopeful about it?

"No," I tell him. I omit that I mensed yesterday, he doesn't need to hear that, and not just because he's too young to hear it.

Yet he collapses to his knees. "All is gone," he moans, repeating himself, quietly in several other languages, as if he hadn't rubbed it in enough, though I doubt he's doing it to rub it in.

"This is bad," Maia says, and at least her voice sounds better than it did when I left this morning. So at least there's <i>one</i> good thing today. One. I'll have to be satisfied with that.

"How bad?" and I do mean both meanings: how is my not being pregnant bad, and how bad are things in general? Maia, I could understand, since she saw and may again see the future. But Kemal, his ability is seeing the family tree of a person, the lineage going back however many generations to a common ancestor. "How bad?" I ask. In lieu of answering, Kemal stumbles over to where he keeps his backpack, stuffed as it is with notepads and pens, and he pulls out the topmost pad, opening it to a middle page, and holds it out to me. I accept it from him, and look at it, reading Kemal's tightly-jotted English...the date it gives is two days after he met me during his time in quarantine...at the top of the page, the Skouris and Pacella families split back during the First Crusade, and at the bottom of the page our families reunite, with Marco and I having a child together. Holy...

A leads to B leads to C: one thing preceeds another, which leads to a third. Everything had been planned out, it seems. Marco and I were meant to have a family together, the future either saw or required it. We were an expected ripple. We were supposed to happen.

I killed a ripple.

Maia comes out from the covers and hugs me. I can just barely make out her murmur through our sobs, "It wasn't supposed to happen, Marco wasn't supposed to die." I know. I knew it before that his death was a mistake, that events shouldn't have gone down that way, that I shouldn't have spun around and fire blindly at someone behind me - Marco behind me - I'd thought I was about to be attacked, I was too wired to think clearly or straight or even through a fog. Damnit.

Not only have I ruined my life, ruined the lives of Marco's family and friends...I've ruined the future too. Good going, Diana.
~~~~
the end.
Author's note: Theodokos means "God-bearer" and, like any other saint, is petitioned for intercession.
~~~~
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Keenir
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Apr 1 2006, 05:02 PM
~~~~
Title: Ripple killer.

~~~~
Title: Recollect.
Sequel to: Ripple killer.
Rating: K+
Author: Rodlox.
Pairing: Diana/Marco.
Summary: Doctor Skouris talks to Dr. Heightmeyer about recent events.

a very faint crossover, one would say. (4400/Stargate:Atlantis)
Spoilers: well, some might say it's an AU of 'Lockdown'...but I've not seen that episode yet.

~~~
"Afternoon, doctor Skouris," the assigned therapist tells me as I walk in the room they've given her, the door shutting automatically behind me. "I'm doctor Heightmeyer." I nod, acknowledging what she's said, and I reciprocate with my own name, this are all basics drilled into me from childhood -- papa always wanted his daughters to be dutiful and polite, and only one of us became the font of knowledge he was hoping for.

Fat lot of good it did me. Marco's dead because of me, I shot him. I turned and fired, my fingers faster than my eyes. Damn these reflexes of mine, as much as they've saved my life more than once, now they've destroyed the one person I could have ca- the one person I cared for. "So," I ask, "what do you want to talk about first? My childhood? My father?"

"If you want to," she says. I say nothing to that -- if I said something, that would open a door that would let me avoid the issue, that would let me skirt my pain, and I have no intention of dodging anything...however tempting that would be. I'm a Skouris, and we're taught to avoid temptation, brought up to spit in the face of the tempter, to never give in or give way to what tempts us.

Marco, pure, good, sweet Marco, the best friend anyone could ever ask for or hope for, he was the one temptation I would've - I was willing to allow myself.

"I think I can talk about what happened yesterday," I say, nodding to show that, yes, I'm okay with it. Ignore the fact I've been huddled on the bean-bag chair since I first sat down, my legs tucked up, knees under my chin; maybe not a perfect definition of 'huddled,' but it works for me. Then again, I'm not a therapist, you are, Dr. Heightmeyer; if I were a therapist, I doubt Nina would've let me talk to myself and pronounce myself all better and fit for a return to any sort of active duty. Even the sort that Tom'd been relegated to after threatening another agent's life. Then again, I didn't threaten anyone's life -- I took it.

Marco. A drop of ice water runs down my cheek, and it feels cold, regardless of what normal tear temperatures are.

Doctor Brady told Nina, while I was still in earshot, a deliberate release of information I'm sure, 'Agent Skouris was starting to be affected by the same thing that was so strongly influencing Dr. Pacella and agent Baldwin. If there's anything that needs to be investigated here, I'd be more curious about why it took so long to even start on her.' Nina'd said that she'd take that under advisement, and she may or may not follow through on that line of questioning. Either way, I've been pulled from active duty, relegated to a status where I'm not even allowed to be a paper-pusher.

"Did you shoot agent Baldwin?" she asks me.

What? "No," I say, not insisting, since I didn't do it -- he'd been grazed by a bullet at some point during the whole fiasco, I know that much. But it wasn't me who shot him.

"Did you want to?" Now we're getting strange here, so I tell her No again. "He wanted to kill you."

What is this, divide and conquer? Vae victus, doctor. "He was under the influence," of a 4400, of one particular returnee who was using a power that had only one use: to do what it did. And I couldn't even get the damn ripples right! Marco wasn't supposed to die; Maia and Kemal know that, hell they downright knew it, and they didn't tell me because they were worried it might somehow prevent what hadn't yet happened.

Heightmeyer nods. "And so were you, I'm told." To a lesser degree, I point out. "That's a nice distinction. Unfortunately, guilt doesn't always make such things cut-and-dry." You sound like one with experience on the matter. And as much as you're poking into my guilt, I won't return the favor -- for one thing, and this is the biggie, you're here because its your job to poke and see if my guilt'll get in the way of me doing my job. "Would you mind telling me what happened after yourself and agent Baldwin entered the room?" She doesn't name what the room was used for because she probably already knows what it was for, I don't name the room because I can't get it out of my mind's eye, seeing it every damn time I try to sleep, see the whole event play itself out again and again and over again.

I nod, forcing myself to open the one door in my mind that I don't want open, the door whose resident already forces open enough as it is. "We're facing off, our guns pointing at one another." Tense, so tense. I don't sweat when I'm nervous, no idea why. "I hear the door behind me, the knob turning." I shake my head. "There was nobody behind me... at least there wasn't supposed to be anyone behind me. I spun around, kicking Baldwin's gun from his hands in mid-revolution, and fired." We were that close, physically, at the time.

"The pain must've shocked Baldwin out of the haze he was in," I continue, "at least for a while, because he backed away, heading towards the door I'd just fired through, giving me plenty of room." Okay so maybe he hadn't fully escaped the haze.

"Did you go to the door?" Heightmeyer asks me.

I nod. "To see who it was." Who it was that I'd just shot. And that was when I found out. Marco. "I opened the door," and his hand was still on the knob on the other side, tightly gripping it. "I dropped my gun." What the hell, may as well admit that much. Let her make of it what she wants. "I pried Dr. Pacella's hand from the doorknob," gently, gingerly, while raising his head and back, propping them upon my arm and knee respectively. "He looked...surprised." Surprised to see me, surprised that I'd shot him, surprised that he was shot at all...I don't know which, haven't much cared to think of which it might've been. I know which I hope it was, which I want it to have been.

I looked at him, just waiting for the condemnation to resume, for him to say 'so I was right' or 'this is your idea of thanks' or something -- anything. But no, instead he just looks at me, his eyes no different than they'd been the day before, or the year before -- adoring me, forgiving me for anything I said. But I didn't say the bullet, I shot the bullet...and either it hadn't registered in his brain, which is doubtful...or he's forgiven me that too. He forgives everything about me, and he never had a martyr complex; I just turned him into a martyr, the Jim Croce song about a lover's cross playing in my mind since that moment. I could just make out "So...about dinner, pick you up at six?" Mustn't cry, mustn't cry, oceans of tears are shed by people with no backbone, by those with nothing else in their lives. My God, its just so tempting to let myself cry. Mustn't give in to temptation. Marco's gone now and there's nothing left to tempt me. It strikes me hard just how true that that is, how my attempt at having a social life has rebounded in my face, laughing at me like some B-movie villain. There is nothing for me, not anymore.

Square those shoulders, Diana, head up, eyes forward, back straight. Answer matter-of-factly and promptly. Dedicate yourself to your work. And to Maia, provided she pulls through completely and doesn't have a fatal relapse. Maia and work. Work and Maia. Nothing else need exist in my little world. I'll get by with just them. "Thank you for your time, doctor," I tell Heightmeyer once she feels our session's up.
~~~~
the end.
:spin:
~~~~
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Keenir
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Apr 1 2006, 05:03 PM
~~~~
Title: Ripple killer.
~~~~
Title: Recollect.

~~~~
Title: Attempting.
Author: Rodlox.
Summary: Two sisters' POVs on how two kids try to help.

Coda to 'Recollect,' the sequel to 'Ripple killer.'
Spoilers: Ummm....*my mind goes blank* I haven't seen past 'Weight of the World' if that helps any.

~~~
APRIL:

Opening the door, I say while the door's still swinging, "Hey guys, look I'm sorry I was out the last few days, and I know I should've called, but --" and the words 'something came up' die in my throat as I look around. Maia and some kid are wearing just black - black pants, black shirts, black socks. "What's going on?" squeaks past my lips. Scotch-taped to half the room - lampshades, vacuum cleaners, chairs, and even the tv - are hand-cut-out letters that look like...yes, I'm pretty sure they are made of tin foil. Usually when kids raid the pantry, they go for the candy.

"Hi, aunt April," Maia says, a smile flickering on her face when she looks up at me, though the happiness is plainly ephemeral.

"So, Maia, who's your new friend?" That smile's back. This is a good thing, I'm sure. I set my armload of boxes and a bag on the chair by the door - when'd that get put there? - and head over to them.

That smile's good - Right? "This' Kemal. He's your cousin." Okay, Maia, sweetie, you're a doll, and you're still my favorite niece, but that's just not funny.

I appraise the kid, who can't possibly be older than Maia, maybe her age exactly...if that means anything. "Is that so?" to which he nods, a somber set to his features. "How do you spell your name?"

"My family name?" he asks. No, your maiden name, yes your family name. I nod. "In English?" No, in Greek, see if you know that half as well as I do. But I just nod, figuring we can save the Greek for later. "S-K-O-U-R-A-S."

Ha! Gotcha. "Wrong," I say. But thank you for playing. "There's an -i- not an -a- in my name."

"I know," he says. "In yours."

"And I'm the oldest Skouris here."

A corner of his lip quirks. "My family would argue that point."

"Where're they?" I ask, curious.

"Cyprus," he says, his tone suggesting there's more, far more to the story than he's saying. "We've been there for generations. But, contrary to yours, my name has an -a- in it." He looks me right in the eye. "Maia said we were cousins, not that it was a close kinship. We're distantly related. Only twelve generations between us; you can quote me on that if you like."

O-kay...setting that aside for now, I come over to the table between them, where they've got a game of chess going. "So," I ask them, hands on my knees, leaning over the board, "who's winning?" They look at each other, both may as well have an eyebrow raised, and then they look at me; okay, guys, this' getting a little creepy. "Is it a tie game so far?" I ask, trying to make light of it, hoping they're not going to be serious the whole time -- it took a while as it was to get Maia to loosen up and have fun, to be a kid.

"We don't play to win," Maia tells me, her voice flat.

With a nod that's far too serious for someone his age, "We never do," Kemal says. "Never would."

"Why not?" I can't help but ask. "What's the point of the game otherwise?" Everything has a point, a reason, a purpose; how this kid can call himself a Skouris, yet not know that, is beyond me. Maia chuckles, a laugh that's almost a giggle; and Kemal shakes his head. "What?"

"I see family histories," he says, "plain as your tattoos, ye Maori; and Maia sees the future." Why'd you call me a Maori? When'd you come from, kid? And why didn't you call me a Samoan? "What would be the inevitable ending of any game between us? What would be the point of any contest where the outcome is fated?" him and Maia both chuckle at that.

"Good point," I say, conceeding the argument. "So, Maia, where's your mom?" Both of them immediately stop their laughing, and Maia's fingers fumble, knocking over a rook, knight, and two pawns with her bishop - any other time, I'd make a joke about spiritual power defeating temporal power...but, call it a hunch, I've got a bad feeling about this. "Is she okay? Was it something you saw?" If she saw it, then it can be prevented, right? What'd be the point of it if she couldn't?

"She's fine," Maia says, her voice almost too soft to hear. I sit on the couch next to her, and she leans against me.

"In body," Kemal clarifes her words. "But she's very sad, and a Skouris in mourning is a force to beware of."

"Most definately." Where's he from that he says it so plainly? Mom used to wield that phrase like a knife, and dad would intone it like one of his sermons. "So, is she in mourning already, or are the two of you just getting ready for when she is?" It isn't me, is it? I mean, I'm not self-centered or anything, but I'd really appreciate it not being me who's going to die.

"Marco died," Maia tells me, a whisper in my ear. I feel like I oughta ask who this Marco is, but my bet is that things like that can wait for later. Right now, figure out the best way to help sis through this tough time. It won't be easy by a long shot -- she didn't even want my condolences when her hamster died, and she kept thinking that I'd been the one who poisoned Fuzzy -- so unless she's changed miraculously since then, and I doubt it by all I've seen, she's not going to want to hear me say how sorry I am about Marco passing away. Diana wouldn't even let Maia have a dog, so who's Marco?

I open my mouth to ask if I should leave, on the unspoken logic that the fewer people around, the easier to sail through the rougher seas, when the door opens.

~~~
DIANA:

I step through the unlocked door - which is really unlike either Maia or Kemal, to leave the door like that - and stop where I stand. "April?" I ask. Great. Just great. On top of everything else, my sister is back, and in my apartment to boot. Well it certainly explains the door...and the boxes next to it. "What happened?" I ask.

"Hey sibling," April says, looking like she'd get up to give me a hug, but Maia's still leaning on her. Don't get used to it, sis, Kemal usually gets the couch when he stays over -- this' the first time I've ever had you both here at the same time.

"I take it this was your idea?" I ask, pointing at the tin foil letters taped to half the appliances in the room.

"It just was," Maia said. Great. Just great. Sometimes she sees cause and effect, and sometimes she only sees the effect. "You're not mad, are you?"

"No I'm not mad, sweetie," I assure her, coming on over. I'm not mad, in part because I know who's going to clean it up: April. "It's very nice. Thank you." And based on how he's ducking his head, I'm guessing Kemal had a role to play in it as well. "Thank you both."

"What, no thank you for me too?" April asks. Some things never change.

"You haven't been here long enough to put the letters up." When April asks me how I can be so sure, I tell her, "Your cabbie was still outside."

"Oh. Tell you what," April says to all three of us, "how 'bout I take us all to the zoo?"

"No," Maia says. "Its full of things that'll be extinct." Extinct. Gone. Dead forever, just like Marco, if on a species level.

"But the zoo's trying to save animals from dying out," April says. And Maia fixes her - and then me - with one of those Looks of hers, that face that says 'I can't help knowing what's going to happen.' "Oh," April says. "A museum? There's one that just opened downtown, and I can get us in -"

"Corridors full of the past," Kemal says. "Relics of glories that've come and gone. Nothing there but memories." I know that feeling. Memories are all I have left of Marco, just memories and some things he left behind in his desk. And once the material things are vetted by NTAC security, every little bit will be returned to the Pacella family. Leaving me with only memories.

April sighs. Welcome to my world, sis, full of the returnees. "Okay, how about some pizza?" Both kids just look at her, and I can't help but smile, since they aren't looking at her with their 'you're kidding, right?' looks...more of polite bafflement. "Oh come on, I know they had pizza back in 1940," April tells Maia, who nods. "Then don't try pulling the wool over my eyes," she jokes with her niece. "And what about you?" she asks Kemal.

"Normally I'd ask for fish today, but," and shrugs, "anything you want's good," looking at me.

"Its all in your hands then, sis," April says, and immediately looks contrite. No, can't be, she's never been contrite in her life. Apologetic maybe, but not contrite. "You hungry for anything in particular?" Aside from the feel of Marco alive and well under my fingertips, the sound of his words, the flavor of his tone, the pleasure of his company, the knowing of his glances my way, the sureity of his gaze, the definitiveness of how he pursues his target singlemindedly...

...aside from that, I don't really care what we eat.

"If we have pizza," Maia says, her tone picking up some, "can we listen to Frank Sinatra while we eat?" I can almost laugh at the look on April's face, she's now the befuddled confused one. We can live with the memories we've aquired through life, and listen to the memories of others. Thanks guys, I mean it; I was starting to sink and sink, forgetting that Marco wouldn't want me sad for long, if at all; I just forgot so much, wrapped-up as I was in, well, I'd call it pity, some might call it self-hatred...I was never good at psychology either.

But I nod and say "Sure, why not."
~~~~
the end.
~~~~
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Keenir
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Apr 1 2006, 05:07 PM
~~~~
Title: Ripple killer.
~~~~
Title: Recollect.
~~~~
Title: Attempting.


~~~~
Title: Crossing the street.
Author: Rodlox.
Summary: The good news is Marco's alive. The bad news is the kids nearly get April arrested in the process.
POV: April Skouris.

Coda to 'Attempting.'
Spoilers: Wake-Up Call (Jordan's book), Voices Carry (April Skouris).

~~~
We were crossing the street, halfway across, when Maia and Kemal drop as one to their knees, screaming their lungs out. They stop the banshee impression after a few seconds, but I have the very bad feeling it was enough to get me arrested, most likely on charges of abuse, nevermind that I've never abused anybody. I never even abused the family hamsters, and I hated those things. I happen to like these kids.

I just have not a clue what can get Past and Future here to do what they just did.

I wrap an arm around each of them, my hand sliding under their armpit and a bit past there, to where the best grip is; and I ease them to a standing position, and walk them across before the light can turn red. Okay, off the street, step up on the curbside, two more steps, and seat the three of us down on the bus stop bench.

That's when a car pulls over. Thankful as I am that its not a police car, I stand up on my own. "Yes?" I ask once the car door opens and a lady sticks her head out.

"Are they all right?" the lady asks.

"They're fine," I say in my most confidence-inspiring voice, which oddly never seemed to reassure Diana. "It was just a panic attack."
Maia takes a little break from controlling her breathing to pitch in, "We don't have asthma, we just have nerves."

"Oh, poor dears," she says, about this far || from cooing. Dear God and all the saints, please don't let her coo. "I could drive the three of you to the hospital, it's no bother." There goes that answer, that we don't want to trouble her.

"They'll be fine," I say, though I honestly have no idea. The idea of accepting a drive to the hospital is only tempting, and a mild temptation at that; I've had stronger temptations when I went without coffee for a year; that was truly hell. "It's only the outburst itself that we - that I should've been more alert for." Sis put them in my care for something as simple as a walk to the park and back, and this is what happens when I do that much on my own?

"Don't worry yourself, child. These things come out of nowhere most times, and you did handle it well." Her watch beeps. "Oh me, look at the time, I really must be off." Ta ta, I silently say as she gets back in her car and drives off.

I turn back to my charges. "Is she gone?" Kemal asks, his voice weak.

"Yep," I say. "You both good?"

"Can we get ice cream?" Maia asks.

"I'd like that too," Kemal seconds.

I don't mind being outvoted at times like this, given that while I wasn't going to suggest getting ice cream, I don't have a problem with the three of us having a cone each. "Sure. Three ice creams, coming right up." Just as soon as you two are able to walk in a straight line. "So, you both good?"

"Yeah," Maia says, "but I'm a little hungry."

"That lady," Kemal says, "her family has a tie to the Skouris family if you go back thirty-eight generations, and the side of her family that's closest to yours, just suffered a death." Wow. In my least intrusive and most respectful curious tone, I ask if that's a frequent thing, that sort of vision. He sits up and says, "Every day, every time I look at two people." Damn, that is tough. Maybe its just me, but that explains a few things, heck he's dealing the way I bet I would if I had that curse, and I'm gonna count myself lucky that I don't have it. I've got nothing against him or Maia, never did, don't think I ever will...but I'm not going to convert to 4400ism: that was a damn shitty book.

"Okay," I say, as we all stand up, "lets go get a brain freeze."

"A what?" Maia asks. Okay, so they maybe called it something else when you were a kid, kid. Suspecting she's teasing me, I explain on the walk across the parking lot to the Dairy Queen.

I don't raise the question until the three of us are sitting in a Dairy Queen, enjoying our ice creams. "If either of you'd like to share with me what that was out on the road, I'd really appreciate it."

Maia looks me dead in the eye, and I swear her pupils got all beady; though any intimidating factor was thoroughly killed by the spot of vanilla on her nose. "Marco's alive," she says. I'm sorry -- what?

"Marco," I ask, "as in the guy you two told me yesterday was dead?" Now as I understand it, there's an exceedingly short list of people who can come back from the dead, and the fact that this is real life, not a movie, makes it exceedingly shorter of a list.

Kemal doesn't look up, just keeps his head between his knees when he says, "Yes. Him." Well, I'm sure sis would just love to hear this. And why do I get the feeling I'm the one who gets the honor of making this phone call?
~~

MEANWHILES:
Marco squinted, the light may not've been very bright, but for someone who was just - it didn't make sense, what they'd said. "Say that again?" he asked. "I was what?"

"Dead," General O'Neill said. The name was familiar to Marco, who'd heard it before once or twice...one of Ryland's superiors far up the chain of command.

"That's kind of difficult to believe, given the evidence at hand: namely my sitting in this chair." Even if, before being placed in the chair by some orderlies, he'd been lying in something that'd been a little too much like a well-lit coffin for his tastes.

The General nodded. "I know the feeling." Then he smiled. "Feel up for a new job? Plenty of adventure in it, loads of travel, and you get the chance to make new friends all over the place -- and I do mean all over the place."

There was only one friend Marco wanted to see right now, and his mind worked out a plan that would let him get out of here - wherever here was - and be reunited with Diana Skouris.
~~~~
the end.
~~~~
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