Nico-I'm the only thing I can't run from.

Leo-I'm the only thing I can't fix.

Percy-I'm the only one I can't win against.

Leo:

A vestige of human contact and a state of depression. His eyes are rimmed with tears and his hands lathered in blood, grease and perspiration.

Drink five cups of coffee. Fix what's wrong. Fail. Get frustrated. Pass out from working.

Repeat.

It's a year after the Giant War and this is now my pattern of living. I have close to no human contact and I don't bathe or talk.

I barely use my voice in the morning. But, at night I scream myself hoarse. At night, my own personal demons come and dance around me, trapping me in my own fiery hell. They whoop and laugh in sadism, their cheers taunting me. I burn them, and I watch them fall as ashes to my feet.

At night, I stand as my fire burns through the world. I stand in solitude and horror as I stand atop a hell of mangled limbs and rotted flesh.

At night, I watch them die and I feel their looks of betrayal and their expressions of hurt boring into my flames.

I failed them. I can't control myself. And so, I stand alone as my sanity is lost and I am lost in a world of anguish, confusion and fire.

Who said I couldn't be burnt?

_\Emo Feels/_

My hand is working. It's working on what's wrong. I have to fix it, that's the only thing I can do, right? Even before the world fell?

It's all a faded blur now. A scene of lost memories and mindless chatter.

And so I focus on the present. Not on the future. The future doesn't need someone like me, all I do is burn. All I do is destroy.

My hands are steady and my eyes are wide with what I took a while ago. What was it this time?

I can't remember anything at all, and so I just let myself fall into the fuzzy blur called my own personal hell.

I fail. I drop my tools, as if they were on fire and collapse onto the cold brass floor of Bunker 9. My problem stares up at me with a deafening defiance.

I'm staring at my reflection. I reach out my hands and touch the cold metal floor, that is providing me with this image. I look away, blinking away my tears. I cry blood. I take a shaky breath and place an unsteady palm on the glossy and shiny surface supporting my form.

"God, Just Stop crying."

I look down at my hands, the bloody mess and the broken and burning tissues creating a haunting artwork. I glare at it. My life's work.

My mission these past years we're to fix the problem, I try to run from it, but I see it every time I look in the mirror. I am the problem, I must destroy myself. I must kill myself. That is my mission.

Only then, will the problem be fixed.

"I am the only thing I can't fix."

Nico:

Hollow expressions and meaningless touches. Blurred nights and hopeless mornings.

I'm a mess and I don't deny it.

It's a year after the Giant War and this is my routine:

Go to a bar. Drink. Find a girl. Sleep with her. Get out before she wakes up.

Repeat.

My face is clean and my nails are manicured, my hair is messy, yet attractive and my clothes are clean.

But, I feel so dirty. On the inside and the outside.

And so I run. And I run. And. I. Run.

I run so far that my legs ache and I run so fast that my heart nearly gives out. But, I am just glad that I can feel. It is better than the aching dirtiness that devours me from the inside out. It is better than fading into the hell of the darkness that awaits us all.

What else is left for people like me?

We rise from the dust and we all fade back into the dust.

I'm useless. I'm a waste of space. I'm a mistake. Worthless. Wrong. Stupid. My life is meaningless. I. Am. Nothing.

I'm not worth a damn.

I run to escape. Escape from the deaths. Hide from the pain. Avoid the darkness. Conceal the silence.

At the end of it all. Silence will fall.

But, now. I'm still running. I won't stop. I don't think I ever will.

Hell, just look at me.

Who said that I could do anything?

I clench my fists together, drawing out blood from my pale palm and sigh

There is one thing though. That ruins me. There is one thing I can't run from.

Me.

Percy:

I can see them. Their faces are floating around me and all I can do is scream. There are no words. No feelings.

I. Just. Scream.

I scream so loud that I can't hear myself anymore. I scream so loud that I can't remember anything. I scream so loud that all I can hear are my hoarse yells resonating throughout the vast nothingness.

Well, if you call an abandoned, haunted hospital: "Nothing."

It's not just any haunted hospital. It's a camp. A camp which I think I used to love. It gives me flashes of good memories... Then, they take me back again.

What are they? The voices, of course. Can't you hear them? Strain your ears, then. Feel the downright pain and misery in those screams. Feel the pain.

You can hear them, now right? Sink yourself into it. Envelop yourself in it. Drown in it.

And feel how I feel. I'm lonely. Stay with me. Stay with me and listen to them screaming.

I fight back, while screaming, feeling my hands thrash around my body ,without reason. Then, you feel its searing pain and you stop fighting. You let the pain take you.

My whole life has been a fight.

Fighting to survive. Fighting to keep myself safe. Fighting to keep others safe. Fighting to keep my sanity.

I never realize that in the end, there are some things that you can't fight. Some things, you can't win against.

Who said I couldn't lose?

I look at the mirror. With my hair in a mess and my eyes are a fierce green and blue, like the sea during a hurricane. My clothes are torn and fatigue plagues my limbs.

Who can't I win against?

Peek a Boo.

I found you.