Warning for a bit of cussing, Bree being confused, and Marcus being a condescending jerk. What's new? So this is the new chapter. Yeah. Please comment. Feedback is appreciated.

Summary: Bree is tired – tired of spinning, tired of screaming, and so fucking sick of tragedy. And then there's Marcus, who just makes this day worse. This is just the beginning.

xxx

It's all coming down to this final bound now, this single motion that must be fluid and a million times faster than lightening - a movement that will be invisible to the human eye. It all comes down to this. Blinding white light dances in her vision, and she manages a brief smile and wink in Chase's direction.

And then she is gone.

White hot fire licked at her bones, and before she knew it, she'd wrenched open her jaw with some invisible strength she didn't know she had and screamed her head off. She screamed and screamed, raw and terrible, like some sort of animal being skewered on a stick alive and dangled over a campfire. She can't run anymore – she feels frozen in this unbearable heat, and her brain is exploding, her heart is exploding, her soul is being stripped away – no, she cannot bear this. A hundred, then a thousand, then a million, then a billion, and then so many more prickles of cold sear through her body. Bree falls apart. She crumbles. She dies. She shivers. She doesn't get up for what feels like a long, long, time.

And then she is falling.

There is no up or down here. There is nothing to grab onto, no ceiling to watch grow smaller and smaller from above, and so far, there is no concrete floor to land on. She tried not to wince; once she hit, the ground would hurt like a bitch. There aren't even blurs of color rushing past her to indicate any sort of movement in place; there is only white, unmoving and blank. Bree can only feel wind from every direction, pressing and tugging at her body and yanking at her hair. The wind feels so intentional and forceful that for a full thirty seconds she believes that invisible hands are grabbing at her, fingers scraping across her bare stomach, her open chest, and her legs – tipping back her head and poking fingers down her throat.

This got rather uncomfortable, and she squirmed and writhed in midair, closing her eyes to block out the sensation of dizziness. She felt like throwing up – she wondered if bile that slid from her throat would be suspended in the air as well. Best not find out.

Who am I?

Bree. My name is Bree.

Right. That sounds right.

What felt like hours passed. Eventually she gets bored of feeling wind rip through her body, and wondering if her flesh will rip to shreds. Bree is tired – tired of spinning, tired of screaming, and so fucking sick of tragedy. She doesn't know why. After all, she barely remembers her name, much less what may or may not have happened in her past that makes her so sad and empty now. She crinkled her forehead.

I was – I was – chasing something. Running away? No, that isn't right. I was chase – chase – Chase. Not running. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no, please, NO.

Dammit. Chase. Adam. Leo. Mr. Davenport. The bomb. The kiss. Chase.

Right.

Dammit.

She felt her acceleration speed up, and the dropping sensation in her stomach increased. She visualized herself hurtling to the ground, faster and faster and then –

When she opened her eyes again, she found a pair of brown irises staring down at her. The lashes framing these eyes were dark and full, and two dark eyebrows rested above them. A dark hairline. Brown hair. Sharp white teeth bared behind pink lips.

.

.

.

Marcus.

The mouth had a nerve to smile at her, all cheek and teeth.

The evil little twerp.

"You." she seethed, a murderous rage overtaking her mind. "YOU!" Her limps felt like Jell-O, and she knew that she didn't have the strength to vibrate her hand through his body and tear out whatever wires and cables that made him function, so she settled for poking an angry finger at his chest.

"Me." Marcus grinned impassively, spreading his hands out. He was crouching next to her, and his face was inches away. She never thought she'd see him again – they'd killed him, and he was supposed to be dead. He was supposed to stay dead. Marcus looked exactly the same – dark, malicious, unmoved – but not stoic. Mirth danced in his eyes. She guessed the douchebags never learned.

Her surroundings were still white – there were no angles or texture, but she could feel hard, solid ground below her and she had never felt more graceful. Above her, blank white loomed like a gaping sky with no end, beginning, or shape. The only shadow and form around her that wasn't white and motionless was Marcus himself, clad in dark clothes and an irking smile.

"You did this, didn't you?" Bree seethed, furiously. "You're behind the – the bomb – and the death – the city -" she started spluttering, and she sat up, face to face with him. Her lips were drawn back in a snarl, and she was fairly sure that if she spit at his face it would be a clean hit, right between the eyes.

"Oh, come on now, is that how you treat an old friend?" he chuckled, infuriatingly calm. He spoke slowly and deliberately, as if explaining physics to a small child. "And to think, Bree, we used to get along so well." Bree saw red. She wasn't dumb, and she certainly wasn't in the mood to put up with his, manipulative, scheming bullshit. Not now, not again, not ever.

"Believe me, Marcus, you wouldn't like me angry. And you especially won't like me when I'm pissed off." she hissed.

"Oh, I'm so scared." he mockingly blubbered, his face breaking into a sneer. "What's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this? Did you get tired of hiding behind your brothers?" Bree was glad for the brief flicker in his façade, and glad for an excuse for her to grab the lapel of his jacket, haul herself up, and punch him in the face with her free fist.

"We were friends! We all trusted you! You tried to kill my family!" she choked out, rattled. "I'm dead, now, are you happy?" Her first punch sent him staggering to the floor, and the second came after she rolled on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

Her clenched fist knocked his face to the left. Then to the right. Left. Right. "I'm DEAD, and I didn't even get to say goodbye!" she howled. Left. Right. Left. Right. "I'm DEAD, and I can't go to college, get a job, save the world – I can't do anything! I'm eighteen years old and I've never gotten to live my life in the real world because of people like you. I never got to rest because people like you – thoughtless killers, thieves, liars, and traitors keep fucking with the world! My job never ended, not like it should've! Because I'm gone. Gone FOREVER, and the last person I'd ever want to be stuck in a hellhole with is YOU!"

.

.

.

Her fist was a blur of peachy knuckles and nail, and she hit him in the face until her entire arm felt numb. Bree drew her elbow back again and again, each time sending it colliding with the boy beneath her with devastating speed. When she socked him directly in the nose, his head slammed back into the floor with astonishing force, sending fractures in the ground below. When she couldn't send her hand into his face anymore because of sheer exhaustion, she delivered one final right hook, slumped, and heaved herself off of him and onto the floor. She looked sideways at him, expecting to see at least a smattering of blood smeared on his face.

"Ugh." He groaned, and brought a hand up to his cheek. His stupid, perfect, beautiful cheek was unmarred. His skin was flawless; yet his eyes were scrunched in pain. Bree started down at her knuckles in wonder and surprise; they were bruised and bloody, and her entire hand ached. It wouldn't have surprised her if at least three bones had been broken.

"What the hell…" she mumbled in disbelief. She'd been hitting him with a speed faster than lightning; he wasn't even dented. "Who the fuck built your face?"

"My mother. Hah, kidding, kidding. You're not the only one who got a few upgrades," he moaned, hand cradling his face. "Still, that hurt like hell, I'll give you that. How much practice do you get with that right hook, anyway?" he asked from behind his hand.

"I…I use it on Chase all the time when we spar." she answered automatically, eyes fixed on his face. Whoever had rebuilt Marcus had done a good job; if even she couldn't dent him, then there was no telling what kind of technology was used.

"Poor guy." he responded simply, rolling over onto his side. "Guess he's learned to keep his guard up, huh, with his sister beating on him all the time."

"Yeah."

"You're not, by the way." Marcus added. Next to her, he stared up at the endless, invisible sky of white and stretched his back into an arch. She tried not to stare.

"What?"

"Dead, I mean. You're not dead – yet."

"What do you mean?" This was puzzling, and frustrating. If she wasn't dead, then what was she? Everything around her felt solid and real, but then again, she couldn't trust her instincts anymore, now could she? After all, dead people couldn't think or hear or smell. But then…what happened to her? If she wasn't dead, and Marcus was here then -

"C'mon, Bree, I thought you were smart. You can figure it out, can't you?" Marcus teased, and she was reminded once again of how much she hated him. She hated this dark boy who was dripping in self-righteous purpose, this murderer, this machine.

"If I'm not dead, then does that mean you – you're alive?" she asked haltingly, afraid of the answer. He looked over at her with wicked, sinful eyes.

"Depends."

She snorted. It was a vague answer, and she wouldn't put it past him to start talking in riddles. The little shit. "Where are we, then?" she tried again, moistening her lips. He sighed and sat up.

.

.

.

"Have you ever heard of a little place called purgatory?"

"Hell?"

"Nah. That's different. That's forever." he shrugged. "This – this is a purgatory place, where we're examined, evaluated, and healed. If we're lucky. You've come a long way, Bree. You're not dead. This isn't where the dead are sent."

"You're a robot. An android. You…can't go to an afterlife." she informed him blankly.

.

.

.

"This isn't afterlife, sweet cheeks." Marcus snapped. "Think of me as more of an automaton," he grinned, cat-like. He flexed his fingers. "I was made well – made to mimic human emotion, want, and reaction. My body's a bit artificial -" he winked at her and she gazed back in fury, "- but my head and heart -"

"You don't have a heart."

"- are a little more than a machine. They made me too well." he laughed bitterly, and let out a sigh. "Free choice isn't always an option when you're not a real person. I lived on strings, like a puppet – like Pinocchio. I wasn't a real boy then. Believe me, Bree, I didn't want to betray your little rat pack, honest. It really broke me apart, it did. But I've been gone – or dead, as you put it – a long time now. You're what, eighteen? Twenty? You've sure grown up," he leered with an exaggerated look checking her up and down. She shivered in disgust.

"Liar," she spat. "You weren't guilty at all."

"You're right," he agreed, nodding. "It didn't break me apart - I really just didn't care."

"You deserved to die." she ground out between her teeth. "I wish you'd stayed dead!" He chuckled knowingly at this and tilted his head. Bree hesitated. "So we did kill you?" she asked, breathless. "We won?" She needed to be assured of this victory, at least. He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I can't be killed. But you and your little Breakfast Club gave a damned good try, I'll give you that." Marcus's voice was easy and light, bearing no grudge toward her. Bree's eyes narrowed. He was always a good liar. She scrambled to her feet, and he leapt to his.

.

.

.

.

"Why are you here, Marcus? In this…purgatory."

"I was never a machine, and I was never a boy. I was always more and less, a perfect in-between. That warrants some special treatment from the universe. Did you really think nuts and bolts were all that kept me functioning? When I was rebuilt, my handlers didn't understand the technology they had in their hands. You may be able to reach this place by running yourself half to death," he sneered, "but I can be here with a flick of a finger. You're not that special, Bree. Technically, I'm your brother – flesh and blood -" he guffawed at this before settling back into a sneer, "- but we're not the same. We're not the same at all. Speaking of flesh and blood, apparently you and the smart one don't really care about those kinds of borders, do you, eh? Good for you, as long as the Davenport brother don't find out that you two have been eye fucking each other for the last three years behind everyone's backs -"

Her hand reached out to smack him in the face, but he dodged. He was faster than she was.

"How did you know about -?"

He tapped his temple. "This place has its benefits."

"You've been spying on us?!" she cried. "You've been half-dead for years and you've spent your time in limbo playing peeping-Tom? What the hell, Marcus?"

"I know, I know, it's so evil," he deadpanned. "There's not much to do around here that doesn't involve destroying the universe, which, at the moment, isn't really my top priority, seeing as I am currently a resident. But yes, I have been…checking up on all of you. Among other things."

"You're a freak!" she growled, trying to shove him. He stood still, and it was like trying to nudge a brick wall. He had Adam's strength, and his ability to stand firm and unmoving. He was smart, and right manipulative little bastard who was so infuriating. He was nothing like Adam, he was nothing like Chase, and he was most definitely nothing like here. "You're a twisted, sick, perverted freak who's never going to -"

"To what, speedster? Learn how to live like a normal person? Finally be loved by a father? Maybe, oh, I don't know, come back to life? I may not be dead but I'm sure as hell not alive!" he bellowed. Behind him, below him, above him – white. White, white, white.

Bree blinked. He continued. "I've been stuck here for YEARS. YEARS. I've tried to go back -"

"Where?"

"To our universe. To our world. But it won't work. I don't have enough energy to open the doors anymore. But now that you're here -" He broke off, and she stared at him. He was crazy and red in the face, and she was just a tiny bit afraid of him.

"Where are we?" she asked helplessly.

"This is where the endings begin, the beginnings end, and the possibilities split. This is how wishes are made, death is unleashed, and life is spun. This isn't a place or a thing – this is an it. It is greater than you or me or everyone in the universe combined. This will take you where you need to go." He smirked at her confusion. "Everything that has ever been and never was is a possibility here. Every universe, dimension, planet, galaxy, dream, or possible path is accessible here. You just need to find a door – the right one. Your door."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"How?"

Marcus smiled, and held out an inviting hand. "All you have to do is wish for it."

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The next chapter with Chase will be up, and oh, boy are things just getting weirder and weirder. I'd love a comment or two in the box below - feeback would be wonderful. Any questions will be addressed. :)