A/N: Hey guys, this is my first story, so sorry if it sucks (I'm not the best writer, sadly). Before you start, you should know that it skips through time a bunch- just wanted to put that out now so no one gets confused. Thanks, and enjoy (hopefully) the read!

September 17th, 2013

The lobby falls apart around them as the flames eat their way through the mangled wood. It's a surprise they haven't died yet- gotten crushed by falling planks or suffocated by the smoke snaking its way around them.

It's hot, he thinks to himself. Of course it's hot.

His thoughts are in a jumble- nothing can really fully form in his mind. He knows- he remembers everything, but at the same time, he doesn't. The confusion angers him. He knows he's never been like this before. Always logical. Always the one with answers. But now, he was just broken.

He stares on at the figure before him. Sprawled out and broken. The thing he hated the most, but could never avoid. Seeing her in this state gave him some sort of satisfaction. A sick feeling, one he knew his old self would hate. It was ironic, really, how these events unfolded. The very thing she held against them became her downfall.

She holds her hands up in defense, wide eyed, expecting him to come after her.

No, he thinks. Not yet.

He looks over his shoulder to address the third body. A broken body in the place of a man- probably unconscious, poor thing. After all he'd been through, who wouldn't break? Even so, he was jealous. That mans' pain was only physical. He only lost his fingers. It was nothing compared to what he experienced... what he was forced to endure.

"Waylon-" He turns back to her, eliciting a flinch. He'd almost forgotten she was there.

"Waylon, I'm sorry" She starts, moving slowly as to not provoke him.

Funny. What was this woman to him anymore? She used to be everything. She was everything. And now? She was begging, but for what? Mercy, perhaps? He snickered aloud at that thought. Whatever remained of his sanity had left him long ago.

She was up now, backed up against a wall, observant as an owl in the night, never breaking eye contact.

"I didn't mean to, I swear"

Rage. He felt his anger roar into his ears. Did she really just say that? The audacity- the nerve- after all she had done. Like rubbing salt on a wound. Why would he believe her? He didn't want to. He didn't think he had it in him. She was his most trusted- his prized possession, and it all turned out to be a farce. A grand play in which he was the puppet, and her the puppet-master. How easy it must have been for her to lie to him, to use him.

Something finally clicked, and an idea streaked through his jumbled mind. Oh, what an idea it was. A smile etched its way across his face, and he began to step forward, clutching a sleek knife hard until his knuckles turned white.

He saw her now. More clearly. For what she was. For what she is.

She recognized the look on his face, and at that moment, she knew her fate was sealed. She knows now, that he's too far gone to be called back. No more tricks. No more games. She couldn't get herself out of this mess, and it pissed her off. After all she'd gone through, she thought- no- knew she deserved a better ending. Not this. Never this.

Oh how he would enjoy this. Seeing her in this state was almost euphoric. He took each step slowly, gauging and savoring her reactions. Fear. He knew all too well what she was like.

Best Friend.

Lover.

Wife.

But all that was a lie. Some sick joke.

She never loved me. She never loved any of us.

Something else broke in that skull of his. Something he was trying to prevent for what seemed like an eternity. He wasn't the only victim. No, he was far from it. He would make her pay. Make her suffer. For him. For them. For everyone that was ever wronged by her. And he knew just the way to do it.

He was now mere feet across from her. Her heavy breathing could be heard over the now roaring fires overhead. They stand there, acknowledging each other.

"Please, Waylon, I'm sorr-" She made one final attempt at saving herself before being cut off.

Thump. Waylon's vision follows Lisa's head as it roles off her shoulders, and stops it with his foot.

"Whore" He spits.

August 9th 1944

A/N: Alright guys, this was kinda fun to make, I know it's really sloppy, and all the points are repetitive, that they're too vague, yada, yada, yada, but it would still be great of you to leave feedback. The story will make more sense as you progress, and the next few chapters (If you guys want them) won't make much sense either, but it'll all come together (hopefully) around chapter... say, 4. Or 5. Maybe 15, but highly unlikely, lol.

Also, if you don't get the random date at the end, the way I'm going to be doing chapters is by leaving cliffhangers in the form of a date. It's more time specific, and you can guess your way into and around what will happen. I usually liked stories that were more interactive with the viewers like this. :D