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Prologue: The World (Is Going Up in Flames)

When her world ended, she was taking a jog on the Venice Beach Boardwalk during a scarce day off.

It took her a few moments to realize that everyone around her had stopped, as though time slowed down. She slowed from her jog to a quick walk as she looked around, worried that some random flash mob was about to happen.

However instead of breaking into a choreographed dance, everyone around her turned on each other in a most violent fashion.

Was this a new kind of flash mob? A... mob mob? Living in the city, who knew what people were up to...

She faltered in surprise but blinked and was able to duck in time as an old man tried to use a chair from a nearby café to take her down. She softly pushed the old man to the ground and ran.

So it wasn't that kind of mob...

She reached the sand and stopped, blinking at the sight of surfers in skin suits choking each-other with the chords of their surfboards, families who were visiting the beach were hitting each-other with plastic shovels and buckets. The dirtier fighters were using sand to blind their opponents before tackling them.

She turned around, blinking hard and taking a deep breath as she assessed what was going on – something unexplainable. More specifically, she tried to assess a way out.

Her eyes flitted around, her mind forming a path throughout the moving bodies, and she sprinted. She ducked a punch here and there. She felt something hard hit her back, making her stumble but she caught herself as she turned down an empty alley and stopped halfway.

She took a few deep breaths to calm down her nerves and her brain that was working in overdrive.

This wasn't a flash mob. This was society resorting to violent insanity without rhyme or reason.

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and spotted a group of Yoga Moms - yoga pants with matching sports bras and tees - heading towards her, and she started at a sprint down the alley away from the beach.

She came onto a main street and stopped just in time as a table flew by her. She continued to run – it seemed the more she stood still the more vulnerable she was. She watched a black SUV swerve on the street and crash into a parked car, the driver stumbling out, immediately overrun by people throwing punches. She jumped onto the hood and climbed to the top, looking around.

It was complete and utter chaos.

She reached for her headphones, the music still blasting in her ears, but then faltered.

There had to be a reason everyone was acting like this - and she wasn't.

She looked around for some sort of clue, even looked up to see if there was a drone or fighter plane that had dropped some sort of bio-chemical weapon, but saw nothing. She then looked down, and faltered when she saw cell-phones scattered on the road, all with the same image on the screen: the Valentine logo, orange and blinking.

She kept her music playing, Sleigh Bells almost a too perfect soundtrack for the mayhem going on around her. She turned at the right moment to see someone pull a gun – a surprise in Venice Beach – and aim it right at her.

She dropped to her stomach as they fired, the bullet whizzing over her head as she turned onto her back, reaching into the body holster under her shirt and bringing out her Micro TT-30; it was what she always had on her, no matter what. She heard another shot and cried out as she felt searing pain on the top of her thigh – just barely a scratch, luckily. She swung her arm around at her attacker as she pulled the trigger.

Her body twitched involuntarily as she saw a large spurt of blood erupt from his neck before his body crumpled to the ground. A split second later a man and a woman dove for the gun in his limp hands and then started fighting over it.

She felt the car shaking and turned back onto her stomach to see three women pushing the car she was laying on top of. One of the women gave up and climbed onto the hood, the two others followed; snarling as they climbed up to get to her, their faces bloody and bruised, their eyes wild. She jumped to her knees, pointing the gun at them.

They didn't even falter as they scrambled on the windshield to get to her.

"Please!" she shouted over her headphones, but they looked determined.

"Shit," she muttered to herself, flipping a small switch on her gun and pulling the trigger; the shotgun shell taking the three of them down as a frozen cold feeling seeped through her body.

She looked away and scanned the area, grateful no one else was paying attention to her – instead they were intent on destroying each other.

She heard tires screeching on cement and turned to see a car swerving in the street, running over bodies…

She cried out, wanting to look away but she couldn't. And it was good she didn't, since it turned and sped right towards the car she was currently standing on. She got to her feet and jumped up just in time as the car crashed so she didn't lose her balance.

She flipped the switch on her gun again and shot the driver, not paying attention to the face as she looked around, and then immediately closed her eyes; the bodies of men, women, children all dead on the ground - a sob escaped from her throat but she blinked her tears away, staying alert.

What the fuck was going on?

She needed to get out of there - she needed to call this in.

There was no precursor, no sign whatsoever… but all of a sudden, it stopped.

It was as if the world went silent, despite the music still ringing through her headphones.

People looked around, dazed. Others started shouting and screaming, finally realizing the destruction and despair around them and what they had committed themselves.

She let out a few deep breaths, her heart beating fast and then picking up in tempo. She brought hand up to her chest, wincing at the feeling.

Something felt… wrong.

She felt a sharp pain in her gut and gasped; not at the pain, but at the recognizable feeling…

She looked around and found what she needed immediately; a sporty looking car meant for speed, a middle aged man (what a cliché) stepping out and looking around confused.

She jumped down to the hood of the car she was standing on and then down to the cement, sprinting towards it, sliding into the driver's seat. She looked around and found a cell phone in a cup holder, tossing it out before she closed the door, ignoring the shouts of the driver as she put it in gear and slammed on the gas pedal.

Their house was thirty minutes away. She needed to be there now.

She weaved through stopped cars, honking the horn so idiots loitering in the street had enough time to jump out of the way. She pulled off her headphones off to rest on her neck as she got her phone from her armband, punching in a number and putting it on speaker as she focused on the road.

"Lincoln, report! Your tracker reads-"

"What the hell is going on, Adams?!"

"This was what we saw in Kentucky. Valentine's SIM Cards. That was a test… this is the outcome."

She blinked, her mind racing, connecting the dots…

The aftermath of what she had seen at the church… it was exactly the same scene, just now at home. Their intel proved that the SIM cards were the result.

Valentine's free SIM Cards were released internationally... was this happening all over the world?

She made a quick turn onto the freeway, riding the shoulder which was thankfully unblocked.

"How and why did it stop-"

"The U.K. branch sent out a transmission only minutes before the attack, but it's the SIM cards, that's all we know."

"Yeah, I figured as much," she said, spotting the exit and getting off, wincing as she drove over a sidewalk to swerve around more parked cars.

"Is it done? Will it happen again?"

"Where are you going, Lincoln? Why aren't you-"

"Is it done!? Will this happen again?!" she yelled.

"Lincoln, stand down and return to-"

"Is it done? Did they destroy-"

"We don't know… stay cautious. How did you-"

"I was out for a jog, my headphones-"

"Good, good. Keep them on you."

"Find out what the fuck is going on, Adams, I've got-"

"Mind who you're talking to Linc-"

"The fuck I will! Shit just hit the fan – it's worldwide, isn't it?" she shouted, clutching the emergency brake to drift a sharp turn onto a suburban street, unblocked by cars.

The hesitation on the other end of the call led her to confirm it was.

"Christ. The U.K. branch sent the signal, are they on it?"

"Radio's are down-"

"Of course," she said, clutching the brake to make yet another turn.

"Shit… shit… we're reading that the satellites are up again. Headphones, Lincoln, now!"

"Fuck," she muttered, ending the call and putting on her headphones, resuming play.

She made a final turn, driving over the sidewalk and across a lawn, driving over two more properties before coming to a screeching halt.

She jumped out and ran to where a man and woman were having a brawl on the front lawn.

"No!" she screamed over the music blaring in her ears, raising her gun and shooting the man in the knee. He fell to the ground, writhing in pain. The woman, now without an opponent, turned her raging eyes onto her; the same color as her own.

"No," she gasped.

The woman let out a yell and came at her.

She cursed, switching the safety and tucking the gun into her bra as she brought her hands into fists and got the woman in the gut as soon as she was within reach. The woman dropped to her knees and she jumped behind her, taking their arms and twisting them unnaturally as she got a good grip and backpedaled towards the house.

"It's okay, it's gonna be okay," she whispered to herself. But that's when she saw the stab wounds. The woman's shirt was dripping with blood in various spots, and she felt the warmth of the blood seeping through to her own clothes.

The woman was still writhing in her grasp, as though the wounds weren't bothering her.

She stopped when she reached the porch and grabbed the nearby hose. She let the woman go and jumped for it, getting it unraveled in time before she was tackled down. She cried out and turned, bringing the hose against the woman's neck and wrapping it around. Even with her neck constrained, the woman landed a punch all the same. She shook her head from a daze and lurched up, landing on top as she straddled her, wrapping the hose around her arms and finally her legs.

She stood and looked around.

Being such a suburban area, she didn't see much action outside. A couple was brawling across the street and she reached into her bra, bringing out her gun and closing one eye for precise aim as she shot both the man and the woman in their knees, the both of them falling down, ceasing in their killing of each other.

She looked around but didn't see much else. She felt a heavy sense of dread when she realized the killing was probably happening inside the homes…

She looked around the lawn and saw two more cell phones, the same blinking logo on the screens, and used her last bullets to shoot at them in a Hail Mary attempt.

She kept her headphones on as she looked at the man she had shot. He was on his stomach, crawling towards her, looking so angry… She turned to the woman she'd wrapped in the hose, finding her struggling but failing to escape from the restraints.

She blinked away more tears, staying silent while Sleigh Bells still blasted her eardrums as she moved to the woman, inspecting the wounds.

It wasn't good.

"Oh, god," she said, reaching forward and adding pressure to the one closest to the woman's heart.

They writhed in her touch, never stopping.

"Nat! Stop! You'll bleed out!" she screamed, but the woman kept moving.

Suddenly the music stopped. She brought out her cell, the screen black, not responding when she pushed any home buttons. Dead battery.

Something hit her back and she turned, looking down to see a bloodied butterfly knife; the handle had hit her back instead of the blade. She looked up to see the man closer than ever. She only sighed, reaching down to grip the handle tight before throwing it. The blade lodged in his shoulder, stopping his movement towards her.

She turned back and put pressure on the woman's wound again, shaking her head, her tears falling onto the woman's face.

They writhed and shook but then suddenly stopped, but she kept the pressure, shaking her head.

She cried out and flinched when a hand touched her cheek. She blinked and looked down at her mirror reflection looking back up at her; face white of drained blood, her matching blue eyes warm.

She ripped off the headphones and unraveled the hose.

"Thanks, sis," the woman muttered, sounding breathless.

"Stay still." She pushed her down when she tried to sit up, and kept pressure on the wound.

"It's… I can't feel anything..."

"No," she said, shaking her head, more tears falling as she realized she'd shot the nearby cell phones and her own had no battery. She couldn't call for help.

"Ana."

"NO!" she screamed this time, keeping pressure on the wound.

"I knew you were coming," Nat said as Ana muttered "No, no, no," on repeat, shaking her head, avoiding her eyes.

"Look at me."

She closed her eyes tight, taking a deep breath before opening them to meet her gaze.

"It's okay, sis."

"No, it's not! Don't leave me, Nat, please, not like this," her voice broke and she shook her head.

"Ana?" another voice called. She turned her head to the man, Jeremy, who'd she shot in the knee and also thrown the knife at. He was sitting up, using his good arm to keep upright. "Ana, I didn't… I don't…"

She shook her head and turned back to Nat.

"Nat… stay awake. Just hold on, I can call-"

"They won't get here in time; we both know that."

"Then I'll fucking drive us. C'mon," she said, refusing defeat as she reached around Nat's shoulder to hoist her up, but she shook her head and pushed her away.

"Ana, I'm so sorry," Jeremy man said. She turned her head, glaring, and he stopped, his eyes widening.

"If you know what's good for you you'll shut your trap immediately."

He did as she told, and she turned back to her twin sister.

"Nat, please," she said, the tears now flowing freely, her heart stopping when she saw how her skin was slowly turning white. She'd lost too much blood. She was beyond saving-

She let out a final sob and bent down, resting her head on her shoulder, bringing her arms around her, not caring about the blood. Nat hugged her back just as tight, her body shivering uncontrollably.

She breathed in, shaking her head before pulling back.

"I'm sorry, Nat. I should've gotten here sooner-"

"Never blame yourself, you hear me?"

She shook her head.

"It's a skill of yours, placing all the blame on yourself. Our first car crash, the first time I fell off my bike. Mom and dad-"

"You mean John and Amy," she interrupted, her voice dark. Nat just shook her head.

"For me, Anastasia," she took in a breath, "for me, don't blame yourself for this."

She shook her head.

"I could've-"

"NO," she said this time with conviction despite her shaky voice, "Promise me."

She shook her head.

She couldn't. She wouldn't…

"It's not you. Whoever's responsible for this… place the blame on them, not yourself, you understand?"

She took in a shaking breath.

"Promise me, sis," she said again.

She nodded.

"Tell me," she whispered, her breath falling short.

"I'm not… I'm not to blame," Ana said, releasing her hands from the stab wound on Nat's heart, using her wrist to wipe away her tears.

"Who is?"

Her hands curled into fists.

"Valentine."

"That's a weird name."

"Please, Nat," she said, letting out a soft laugh combined with a sob.

"Love you, sis," her twin sister whispered faintly before falling limp.

Her heart stopped.

Her world stopped.

She felt as though someone had just cut out half of her soul and destroyed it.

She looked down at her mirror reflection, and froze. Nat's eyes were still open, but lifeless.

Her hand was so shaky it took her a few tries before she was able to reach up and drop her twin sister's eyelids, closing her eyes tight and letting out another sob.

"Ana," Jeremy said shakily; their neighbor, their support after John and Amy had left…

She grabbed her gun before standing up and turning around, aiming it right between his eyes, her hand steady as ever.

He yelled out, using his only good arm to scoot back, the knife still lodged in his other shoulder. She advanced, her aim never waiving.

"Ana, please. You… you saw; you know… it wasn't me. I would never…"

She didn't see Jeremy this time. She only saw the man that had killed her other half.

"Why do you have a knife, Jeremy?" she asked, her voice cool, unshaken.

"I… I…" he stuttered, and stopped, keeping himself upright with his good arm. She stood right above him, the gun inches from his face.

"Ana, please!" he shouted out, though she barely heard it. He only had a few cuts on his face, a nice bruise forming under his eye. Her sister barely had a chance with him… with a fucking knife.

"Goodbye, Jeremy," she said, pulling the trigger.

Jeremy let out a scream at the empty click.

She'd depleted her bullets, so she knew what would happen. But pulling the trigger definitely helped.

Realizing he wasn't dead, Jeremey let out a sob and fell onto his back, breathing heavily.

She took another step and bent to a knee right beside him, looking down.

"I meant it when I said goodbye. I never want to see your face again. I never want to hear your name again. I want you gone. Do you understand?"

He nodded his head, and winced, his good arm grasping at the blade still lodged in his shoulder.

"Nope, I'll be taking that," she said, reaching forward and wrenching it out from his skin, ignoring his cry of pain.

It was a butterfly knife. She reached forward, wiping the blood – her twin's blood – off on Jeremy's Hawaiian t-shirt before she dislodged the lock and twisted her wrist, her fingers moving lithely to avoid the blade as she closed it and tucked it into her bra.

"If I ever see you again, you will regret it," she said, turning her back on him.

"Ana-"

She turned and raised her leg, slamming her foot onto the stab wound she'd inflicted. He cried out in pain again.

"I thought I made myself clear, Jeremy. Crawl into your home, wait until I am gone, and then leave. And if you think I won't be checking back on you, you've got another thing coming. Do you fucking understand me now?"

"Who… who the hell are you?" he whispered.

She almost laughed at that. If he had asked that question thirty minutes before, even a year before, she would've had a different answer. But now…

She had nothing.

Except - as it would seem now - her job.

She shook her head as she walked to the car, sliding into the drivers seat and revving the engine.

"You don't want to know."