PERCHED ON A LEDGE THAT stretches above the wasteland, Honey Lemon and Fred idly sit by, watching the display before them with indulgent smiles.

"Any bets?" Honey says cheerfully, flicking a morsel from their pillaged sack into her mouth.

Fred is unusually silent, his grip white-knuckled in his shirt. He is smiling, smiling like Honey, but when Honey looks closely, she sees that his smile is empty, like he is painting it over his face.

"Fred," she says quietly.

Fred swallows. "What are we doing, Honey?"

Honey shifts closer to him and slides her hand over his shoulder. Her smile fades into a solemn look. "We're getting closer, Freddie."

Fred stares at his shoes. Honey prompts him with a nudge of her elbow.

"Come on," she says comfortingly. "We need to help these people."

"And then demand a price from them," Fred says coolly.

"Well, naturally." Honey's voice is without humor.

Fred clenches his hands. "We planted that tracker in the first place," he says evenly. "This doesn't seem right."

Honey's lips twist. "We don't live in a world where we can do the right thing."

"So pick the lesser of two evils?"

Her smile widens, but there's a tinge of sadness to it. "Read my mind."

"Always do," Fred says softly.

They fly.

(•–•)

HONEY LEMON AND FRED

Once upon a time, there lived
a boy and girl in a safecity.

The safecity was demolished, and the
boy and girl had no one but each other.

(•–•)

Gogo has never been able to read humans, but she has always been able to read enemies.

Before Black Genie raised his weapon, the weapon that fired Plasma, she saw how the muscles in his cheek were drawn back and how his hips were dropped into balance and how the rigging from his spine to his shoulders was locked in tension. She saw the brightly-lit eyes, the kind of eyes that she'd seen in zombies when they'd spotted prey, easy prey, and she saw the line in his jaw, a line that demanded blood and vengeance.

Gogo has never been able to read emotion, but she has always been able to read danger.

So when Black Genie sweeps his weapon to Tadashi, she moves before anyone can see. She lunges forward and tackles Tadashi to the ground, flinging her disc with deadeye precision at Black Genie's head. He is blinded by the Plasma. The disc should behead him.

But perhaps Khan is also able to read danger, because Gogo has scarcely released her disc when Khan thrusts her arm forward, and out of nowhere, nowhere, Gogo swears, a blade made of light materializes and slices toward her disc, and her disc vaporizes into nothingness.

The Plasma passes easily over her and Tadashi, lazily, almost, disappearing into the horizon. She seizes the pipe from the car, an unbidden smile pulling at her lips.

Finally. A battle. Something she can understand.

Tadashi leaps to his feet with surprising vigor. His eyes are blank, dark—there is no Tadashi behind them. She feels a chill thrum down her spine.

"Gogo," he says clearly, every syllable pronounced with a crisp pop, "tell Hiro to turn the car 93 degrees counterclockwise. He should understand."

If Gogo were a different woman, she would have asked why Hiro had to turn the car 93 degrees rather than 90. If Gogo were a different woman, she would have wondered how the car could possibly be functioning even with its roof blown sky-high. If Gogo were a different woman, she would have shied away from the shadows in Tadashi's face and the unusual tilt to his smile.

But Gogo is Gogo, not a different woman. So wordlessly, obediently, she dashes to the other side of the car, where Hiro is waiting.

"Hiro," she says, but then she notices that something is wrong.

Hiro is huddled against the wheel of a car, arms cradled around his chest, eyes staring unseeingly into the distance. His breath is short and fast, misting quickly over his pale, chapped lips. His fist clenches tightly over his multitool—tight enough to whiten his knuckles, tight enough for the metallic picks of the tool to cut into his palm and draw blood. He groans wordlessly, a distraught child in the center of a cruel world.

"Hiro!" Gogo says sharply.

He does not respond.

She draws back her hand to slap him into reality, but a gentle voice pulls her back.

Stop. This is not the way.

She lowers her hand and grips his shoulders.

"Hiro. Look at me."

Hiro whimpers wordlessly, his eyes still caught in unseen nightmares. A vague memory dredges in her mind—a twelve-year-old memory, when she was small and skinny and huddled in the slums of Denveshima, seven years old with nothing but a frisbee salvaged from the city dump.

Shock. Paralyzing, devastating shock.

Gogo grits her teeth, frantically fighting the surfacing flood of memories. Now is not the time. Now is quite possibly the worst time.

"Mommy—don't leave me—"

She wildly shakes her head, shoving the voice away—her voice, from twelve years prior.

Hiro. Hiro Hamada.

She quickly releases his shoulders and kneels until he is forced to look her straight in the eye.

"Take a deep breath," she instructs authoritatively.

Hiro automatically sucks air into his lungs. His eyes are glazed, but he is listening to her instruction. Good.

"Count to five," Gogo says. "Then breathe out. Slowly."

Five seconds pass. She hears the vague reverb of the plasma cannon, but doesn't dare break her gaze. Hiro releases a shaky breath; it seems to rattle in his chest as it brushes between his teeth.

"What do you see?" she demands. She tapers off her tone—just how she would have wanted to be spoken to when she was seven and in Denveshima.

Hiro swallows. "Blood," he mumbles. "Lots of blood. Skin stripped off the bone."

"There is no blood," Gogo says quietly. "There are no zombies."

"Not zombies," Hiro blurts. "Faces. Wounds. I... I have a knife in my hand..."

His fingers tighten aggressively against his multitool. Gogo does not blink.

"That is not a knife," she says. "You are holding your multitool."

Hiro falls silent. The plasma cannon rockets in the background. Gogo wants nothing more than to leap over the car and aid Tadashi—surely he cannot fight four trained warriors—but Tadashi gave her a mission, and she must fulfill it. So she sits and waits and looks Hiro in the eye, watching as the mist over his eyes finally begins to subdue.

"They're... they're lunging at 'Dashi, so I don't think, I just throw the knife, and it's so heavy, I think it only goes a foot or two..."

"There is just me and you," Gogo says. "No one else."

Hiro is quiet for a moment. His breathing slows. He warily looks around, as if he has just noticed where he is.

"Oh," he says quietly.

Gogo doesn't give him time to feel guilty or silly. She nods at the car, speaking decisively. "Tadashi wants you to turn this car 93 degrees counterclockwise. Do it quickly."

And Hiro immediately jumps into the car. Satisfied, Gogo vaults over the hood, scanning the surroundings for Tadashi. She finds him entangled with the woman named Khan, desperately dodging the light-blade that sears through the air. She bolts toward the scene, tightening her grip on her pipe.

But another figure darts in front of her—the leader, Red Dragon, ragged cape fluttering in a crimson river over one shoulder, light-blade soaring into being from his knuckles. Even from afar, she can feel the press of its heat.

"We don't have to fight," Red Dragon says. His words are placid, but his expression is cold.

Gogo shifts the pipe in her hands. Its weight is foreign compared to the quiet mass of her disc. "You attacked Tadashi," she says flatly.

Red Dragon circles her warily. "Black Genie is... distraught. The love of his life died."

"He attacked Tadashi," Gogo says, and tiring of the needless dialogue, she flies at Red Dragon with her pipe behind her.

Despite the aggressiveness of her motion, she makes sure that she treads lightly and swings the pipe with caution. The most prominent lesson she has learned from fighting walkers is to never underestimate an enemy—to test, to catalog, to analyze. So she weaves around his light-blade, noticing the slight unbalance on the ball of his left foot, the minute quirk of his right knee, how he turns his hips after every strike to preserve fluidity. She catalogs him thoroughly, then strikes.

She rolls against the ground and jabs heavily at his left ankle with her pipe. He stumbles, but wrenches his light-blade at her; she barely pulls herself away in time. The blade catches the ends of her hair and the burning odor hits her nostrils.

"I'd rather kill a walker than a human," Red Dragon says warningly.

She only lunges again.

His limp is noticeable now, which encourages her; she swings the pipe in full force. He easily saws it in half, but the severed end spins out of momentum, catching him in the jaw. He staggers back, and without hesitation, Gogo slams the end of the pipe over his head. He crumples to the ground, light-blade fizzling out of existence.

Gogo's sense of triumph is cut short by a rending cry in the afternoon heat.

"Shang!"

Gogo whips to the source of the voice. Khan, light-blade just inches from Tadashi's throat, jerks away, racing to Red Dragon's side. Worry twists her features into a grotesque mask as she takes in the blood pouring from his head. Seizing the distraction, Gogo bounds to Tadashi, surveying his body for injuries. Thankfully, his only prominent wound is on his arm; a long cut weeps blood down his bicep and into his shirt. Gogo quickly pinpoints its source to a dagger on the ground—Khan's dagger, she presumes. At least it is an ordinary dagger and not a light-blade, or Tadashi's skin would be charred beyond recognition.

Tadashi's eyes rove past Gogo and fix on the car that Hiro has spun (precisely 93 degrees counterclockwise). He surges to his feet like a rag doll pulled by its strings, marching crisply to the side of the car by the energy tank. He is blank and wordless and does not seem to notice the gash in his arm.

"Tadashi," Gogo says. "You're injured."

"Irrelevant information," Tadashi says curtly. His voice is foreign to Gogo. "Will be filed after battle."

He stops in front of the car, turning to the remainder of their assailants.

Black Genie is hunkered on one knee, jabbing furiously at the plasma gun. Red Dragon is a heap on the ground, Khan leaning over him. And... that is it, apparently. Have they won so soon?

A prickle of anticipation creeps up Gogo's spine. There was another woman, she is certain. There was a quiet woman, a woman who was in the background... a woman who is nowhere in sight. She surreptitiously glances around, but Khan suddenly leaps to her feet, demanding attention.

"You," Khan says coldly, "have made a terrible mistake."

Black Genie raises the plasma gun and points it right at the car.

"Have we?" Tadashi says flatly.

Khan does not budge.

"Goodbye," she says. "We won't meet again."

And just as Black Genie's finger tightens on the trigger, Tadashi screams, "Now, Hiro!" and Hiro crushes a button on the car's dashboard and dives out of the car, and suddenly the car rockets toward Khan and Black Genie, racing right into the bolt of plasma that sears through its metal casing and right into its energy tank—

—if it had been just one degree off, it might have missed—

—the car explodes in a bucket of fire, roaring spectacularly to the sky. An unrecognizable scream tears at Gogo's ears; a horrific, unimaginable scream, of pain and loss and despair. But, ever deaf, the fire continues to roar. The fire is merciless.

"It'll get a little warm, but you'll be alright."

Gogo swallows quietly, forcing the tears out of her eyes. She turns to Tadashi and Hiro, who stand just behind her.

"Well, there goes our ride," Hiro says weakly.

Tadashi says nothing. His eyes are still cold, and Gogo does not know why.

(•–•)

DISSOCIATIVE
IDENTITY DISORDER

Definition: Creates a separate
identity to cope with trauma

Cause: Recurring, overpowering, and
often life-threatening disturbances
during early childhood years

(•–•)

Tadashi's eyes clear from the dim, pulsing blue. He feels the strategies, the analyses, the mantra of PROTECT PROTECT PROTECT dying out of his head as swiftly as it had come. He blinks, willing his memory to return, but there is nothingness. Panic rises in him, panic so hot and sweltering that it constricts around his chest—but then a clear, flat voice cuts through the haze.

"Stop squirming."

He breathes deeply and looks down. He's propped against an old metal crate of some kind, bleeding arm propped up on Gogo's knee. Hiro is hovering over Gogo's shoulder, white-faced.

"What happened?" Tadashi croaks.

Gogo says nothing. Her focus is honed in on the gash in his arm, which she is expertly binding up. Tadashi vaguely recognizes that it's not the professional bind of a textbook doctor—it's tight, efficient, practiced, as if Gogo has developed it through trial and error until she found the best possible way to bind up a cut. Tadashi is not certain how he feels about this.

"We won," Gogo says shortly.

"Won," Tadashi echoes hollowly. He looks to Hiro.

"That guy with the plasma gun fired at you," Hiro says crisply. "Gogo tackled you out of the way. Then, well, you guys all fought for a while. You had me rotate the car until the energy tank was facing them, then baited the plasma guy to fire at you. When he did, I sent the car full throttle towards them. It exploded." He gestures towards a smoking, twisted wreckage on the other side of the road.

Gogo frowns, clearly confused. "You don't have to repeat it," she says tersely. "He was there."

Hiro smiles wryly. "In a manner of speaking," he says.

Gogo looks at Tadashi. Tadashi smiles weakly.

"Thanks, Hiro," Tadashi says. "Did they...?"

"Dead," Hiro says flatly. "At least the plasma guy. You can see his smoking body. Dunno about the others."

Nausea swims in Tadashi's stomach. He leans his head back and closes his eyes.

"I did it," he says brokenly.

"Hey, they would've killed us if you hadn't," Hiro says.

Think of how painful it was. The tormenting, agonizing fire, licking and biting at every available square inch of flesh—Tadashi shudders, bile pulsing in his throat. Gogo only surveys the two in silence.

"Yoo-hoo!"

Tadashi opens his eyes at the unfamiliar voice. A tall, slender woman steps out from behind the roadside wreckage, followed by a lanky man. They are remarkably well-dressed—clothes without any rips or tears, shoes that still keep their gleam, notedly contemporary gadgets strapped to their backs and arms and legs. Tadashi does not recognize them.

More survivors, Tadashi ponders.

He notices that the man has a body slung over his shoulder—a lithe form, tanned, with a river of dark hair flowing to the ground. Gogo hisses in recognition and snatches the severed pipe from the ground, pointing it aggressively at the newcomers.

"Whoa," says the man, stepping back.

"Hey, hey, we come in peace," says the woman brightly. She bows with a flourish. It should be friendly, but something about it seems mocking. "I'm Honey Lemon," she says, "and this is Fred."

"Honey Lemon?" Hiro snorts.

"Hey, don't make fun of her," Fred says severely, dumping the body on the ground. "She saved your life." He gestures to the body—a body which Tadashi can't seem to remember, despite his best efforts. "This punk was about to nail a good one into your heads. We took her out before she had the chance."

Tadashi steps forward to examine the body, but Gogo swiftly throws out an arm, stopping him in his tracks. "Don't trust them," she warns. "They could be working together."

"Aww, c'mon," Honey Lemon says with an airy laugh. "You think you'd still be here if we wanted you dead?"

Tadashi sees their guarded smiles and the patronizing cock of their hips and he wants to hate them just as much as he wants to trust them. He looks at Gogo, Gogo who is crouching in front of him, teeth bared, Gogo who is protecting him, Gogo who has kept him from insanity. He trusted Gogo, and it was quite possibly the best decision he ever made.

So he looks at Honey Lemon, looks at Fred, and smiles openly. "Thanks," he says.

Fred blinks, surprised. Honey only evaluates him from head to toe, as if waiting for something.

"What is it?" Tadashi asks.

Honey frowns. "Well, we saved your lives. Sorry, but there's no such thing as a free lunch."

"So...?" Tadashi says, baffled.

"They want a reward," Hiro says flatly.

"You make it sound so heartless," Honey says disapprovingly.

"Isn't it?" Gogo flips the pipe in her hand, narrowing her eyes. "You only saved us because you were looking for some profit? Look. We don't even have anything." She waves her hand at the wreckage of what was once their car.

"But you don't deny that we saved your lives," Honey says calmly.

Gogo snarls.

"Aww, don't snarl at me," Honey says. "You clearly recognize this woman. She was with the guys who attacked you. That means you owe us a life debt. All of you."

Anger, black anger, flickers in the pit of Tadashi's stomach. He fights to strangle it. "So what? Are you going to kill us?"

Honey pastes a hurt look, but Tadashi doesn't believe it. Not anymore. "What? We'd never do something so barbaric. I just want to know..." She leaned forward. "Where are you headed?"

An innocent question. Or so it seems.

"Where do you think?" Hiro injects sarcastically. "There's only one place this road leads, yunno."

"Well, naturally, somewhere in Las Vepporo," Honey says placidly. "My question is where."

Hiro looks at Tadashi. Gogo looks at Tadashi. Tadashi gulps.

"Any place that looks like it could hold a cure," Tadashi says.

He expects Honey to burst out laughing, or Fred to chortle, or both of them to count him insane. But instead, Honey and Fred share a quick glance, brows furrowed in consternation. Honey tilts her head. Fred nods ever so subtly.

"Good, then," Honey says. "There's a building in the heart of the city. It's a big lab. Rumor has it that it's where the virus first spread, and it's where the cure was being researched."

"You haven't looked into it?" Hiro says, flabbergasted.

Honey smiles patronizingly. "Freddie?"

Fred lunges forward, clearly eager for his moment in the spotlight. "Beware, Travelers, of the great Danger that lies within the heart of Las Vepporo," he proclaims dramatically with a sweep of his hand. "The problems are twofold: Firstly, multistage walkers prowl the streets, seeking to devour any unfortunate mortal that strays onto its path!"

His alien language throws Tadashi off for a moment. Multistage walkers?

"We can handle zombies," Gogo says flatly, echoing Tadashi's thoughts.

Fred gapes, bewildered. Honey elbows him in the side.

"Start from the beginning, Freddie," she says.

Fred gives a long-suffering sigh, then fixes his gaze on Tadashi.

"The zombies, you know? They're mutating, like way out of whack. They're getting stronger and faster. And the strongest and fastest of them? They're right by the lab. Because, you know, if that's where the virus came from, then the zombies around there have probably been around the longest. Waaaay long." Fred sighs again. "You're gonna need a lot of people to take down those bad boys."

Tadashi hesitates. Maybe he should ask them to help. Maybe he should go out on a limb.

But Gogo speaks before he can, voice as solid as metal. "We can handle ourselves."

Honey looks at Fred. Fred looks at Honey. Honey shrugs. Fred shrugs.

"Suit yourself," Honey says.

They turn to leave, but Tadashi steps forward.

"Uh, thanks for the info," he says. "But... you said there were two problems. One was the mutations. What's the other one?"

Honey's mouth flickers into a smile. She looks at Fred, as if deferring to him for the answer.

Fred tilts an imaginary cap. "Quite simply, good gentleman," he says dramatically, "it is impossible to breach the lab. The exterior was crafted to be indestructible. Why do you suppose it is one of the few buildings that still stands?"

Tadashi swallows. "So... it doesn't matter even if we reach the lab."

"Not quite," Fred says. "You simply need in your party a person with authorization to the lab."

"Krei Laboratories," Honey chimes in. "Remember it, okay?"

They won't be able to find a person with authorization. No way. Most of them, if not all, are probably dead. The few ones that still live are probably secreted away in remote safecities. Nevertheless, Tadashi smiles and nods his head, hiding the dying hope inside him.

"Thanks," he says.

"Oh, no problem," Honey says. Her smile darkens to something dangerous. "After all, now you owe us even more."

She gestures to Freddie and they bound away, leaving the corpse at Tadashi's feet. Silence reigns over the group.

"Yeah, they're missing a few marbles," Hiro says.

(•–•)

HONEY LEMON AND FRED

Once upon a time, there lived
a boy and girl in a safecity.

The First Mutation occurred, and
the zombies, with their newfound
might, demolished the safecity.

(•–•)

The moment they're out of sight, Fred's masked smile falls away into a disturbed glower. Honey sighs internally, bracing herself for the upcoming exchange.

"Freddie," she says quietly, "what's wrong?"

Fred's eyes flash. "Honey, didn't you see?" he says pleadingly.

"See what?" Honey says tiredly.

"Four people. Dead. Because of us." Fred winces and lowers his head. "Maybe five, because we took the medkit."

Honey closes her eyes and kneads at her temples, silently counting to ten before she speaks. "Freddie," she says. "We need these. We need anything we can get. We can't do this without resources."

"Yeah, we need resources," Fred says, "but we don't need them this way." He grits his teeth. "This is brutality, Honey. We're supposed to be saving people."

"You can't save people just by wishful thinking, Freddie!" Honey snaps. "You have to get your hands dirty!"

"Then maybe we should find a different way!" Fred snaps back.

"There is no other way!" Honey sinks to the ground, glaring up at him. "Do you wanna be like my parents, Freddie? Useless? Too wrapped up in their ideals to get anything done?"

Fred falls silent for a long moment. Sensing the dissipating heat, Honey drifts closer, casting her eyes downward.

"If you want," she says, "we can watch over the group."

Fred glances up.

"But, you know, we probably won't find anything," Honey continues.

Fred stares at his hands.

"But, um, maybe we will," she says.

Fred smiles wryly. "It's okay, Honey. You don't have to comfort me. I just..." He sighs, falling flat on his back and looking at the musky sky. "I wish it was easier to be a hero."

Honey is silent for a long moment. Then: "Well, you care, Freddie. That probably places you around a 9.9."

Fred jerks up, beaming. "Really?"

"Yup," Honey says with a soft smile. She reaches out ahand. "C'mon. We've got some babysitting to do."

Fred eagerly grasps it.

(•–•)

CONFLICT MANAGEMENT

One gets fairly skilled at it when one
has but one friend in the world.

(•–•)

"Sooo," Hiro says.

They've been walking for a few hours in utter silence with Gogo continuously glancing at Tadashi. Tadashi makes no move to offer an explanation for his sudden personality change, so Hiro doesn't, either. Unfortunately, this means that Gogo is thrown out of the loop.

In all honesty, Hiro doesn't remember when it first started happening. He vaguely recalls a day where Aunt Cass pulled Tadashi aside, speaking in a very low, yet very harsh voice—but he doesn't remember why. All he knows is that whenever they're in danger, Tadashi becomes undefeatable, brilliant, cold—a completely different person than the warm brother he knows so well.

Aunt Cass never told him why it happened. Maybe Aunt Cass didn't know.

"So," Tadashi repeats, drawing Hiro out of his thoughts. "We... have a destination, at least."

"Yup. Krei Labs." Hiro spins his multitool in between his fingers. "Which is, apparently, Disneyland for zombies. And we need some kind of permit."

Tadashi scratches the back of his neck, eyes narrowed in concern. "If we get close enough, you might be able to hack it with your multitool. The problem's the zombies. Maybe we should ask those two for help..."

"No," Gogo says immediately. "We can draw them out, one at a time. They'll fizzle out eventually."

Tadashi considers this quietly for a moment.

"We don't know when the zombies will mutate," he says at last. "If we take too long, they might eventually turn invincible. And... we don't exactly have a lot of time."

The group falls into discouraged silence, plodding forward beneath the harsh rays of the wild sun. An idea pricks the back of Hiro's mind. He stops short, mouth spreading into a mischievous grin.

"Hey, you know what?" Hiro says casually. "I think we know someone who's good at dealing with tons of zombies."

Tadashi's eyes widen. "You mean..."

Hiro grins. "I think it's time to visit our tree-hugging friend again."

(•–•)

ELEPHANTS IN THE ROOM

(n.) Obvious problems that are clearly avoided.

(n.) Psychological trauma, terrifying memories,
and anomalies in behavior that are set aside in
lieu of more urgent, life-threatening matters.

(•–•)

Deep in the heart of Soudai Junction, a man called Wasabi hunches over his bed, sweat coating his back as moonlight pounds mercilessly against his figure. His eyes roll with terror deep in their sockets and incomprehensible moans peel from his lips. But there is no comfort; no presence. Just the man, his bed, and the haunting night.

"Traore," the man mumbles. "Subject 2. Traore..."

He screeches, an inhuman, keening sound that rends through the uncovered window. Then he stills, fingers clutched tightly around his temples.

"I'll... I'll be a good boy," he wails. "I promise. Promise. Good boy. Good..."

He stops short, then whimpers, drawing his arms to his chest.

"But I... I don't like needles. No. No, no, NO!"

And then he drops to the ground. He speaks, but his voice is flat, tinny.

"Hello. I am Baymax. Your personal healthcare companion."

His eyes shut.

There is silence.

His chest stills. His eyelids flutter open and he stares emptily at the ceiling, breathing through his nostrils.

Then he clears his throat and scrabbles to his feet. He spends a moment making his rumpled bed, pushing the ratty covers into perfect folds before slipping back into his sheets.

(•–•)

NIGHT TERRORS

Most patients are amnesic from
the incident the very next day.

(•–•)

tbc.

(i read every review, even if i do not reply. please consider writing one. they're very encouraging.)