How Taylor Hebert became the student of Death.

Thanks to Commissar Carnifex and The Sleeping Knight for betaing.

Enjoy!

Revelations

Taylor Hebert sighed as she unpacked her lunch as discreetly as possible. The library was a graveyard of activity, but that did little to settle her nerves. Emma and her friends had taken to tracking her down whenever she chose to avoid eating in the cafeteria, and she was starting to run out of places to hide. She was pretty sure the only reason that she had been able to use the library as often as she did was because hardly anyone used it.

It was a level of care that really showed in how the library itself was treated. Worn out books and shelving units, the occasional leak from the pipes in the wall. It was depressing how far Winslow had allowed their library to decay, but it wasn't like Winslow was a paragon of teaching.

Taylor set the rather large book up in front of her so that nobody would be able to see her face without coming into her little corner. As she dug through her lunch bag she idly read through the pages before her. It looked like she had managed to grab a philosophy book from the shelf this time, and this one seemed to be focused on questions of existence and the like. She was careful to mask the noise of her chips cracking under her teeth as she eyed the page up and down, if only to sate her boredom. The reading was dense, but she was pretty sure she was starting to get…

"Oh, look who it is," Emma's mocking voice rose up like bile from a tar pit. Taylor bit back a curse as the book was pulled to the side, Emma's smirking face taking up her view. Sophia and Madison took their places by her side, ready to put her down if she started to get any bright ideas. "You know, we were just talking about you, Taylor."

The three of them giggled as if they had told some sort of hilarious joke. Well, Madison and Emma did anyway, Sophia sort of just grunted. There was something wrong and off about the girl that Taylor could never quite put her finger on, but it was enough to make her nervous about incurring her wrath. She already pushed and shoved her without provocation, she didn't want to think about what would happen if she was provoked.

She made a move to get up from her seat, but Madison and Sophia took up positions beside her, blocking off her exits. She was forced to sit back down as Emma started to hurl insult after insult. They still hurt, but after so long there were more like a dull throb, a welt that she constantly had to deal with.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," an unfamiliar voice drawled. All four of them turned to see the new librarian a few feet away, hands shoved into his pockets in a laid-back manner. Taylor had known that they had gotten a new librarian after the old one decided that Brockton Bay wasn't the place to live and left without a word. She had never actually met the man yet though, despite the fact that she had been using the library to eat lunch.

Even standing up she would have had to look up to see his face, but he was otherwise generally unassuming. He certainly wasn't someone that she would pick out of a crowd. There was a slight smirk on his face, as if he was perpetually amused by something, and his dark hair hung just above his equally dark eyes. Those were the only part of him that really stood out, but she couldn't put her finger on why. There was just something unsettling about them, as if they had seen everything and then some.

"Oh, we're just having a nice conversation with our friend here," Emma said with a sickly-sweet smile that mollified most teachers. Taylor couldn't understand why they always seemed to let Emma and her cronies get away with whatever they wanted, but she had long gotten used to it.

"Really? I didn't realize that referring to someone as a 'skank' was a sign of friendship," the man said with the same low drawl. He hadn't moved a muscle, but something changed. No longer did he appear relaxed, instead he seemed to be coiled up to pounce, ready to lash out at a moment's notice. His dark eyes seemed to bore into Emma like a diamond-tipped drill as she sputtered for a response.

Taylor's lips twitched as she tried to hold back a slight grin as the tables turned on the red-head. She couldn't remember the last time someone had called Emma out, and from the looks of it neither did Emma. So long as the teachers didn't bring the problem up they seemed content to let it slide under their attention, but now Emma had to explain her actions.

"Listen, it'll be better for you if you leave," Sophia growled lowly. Her lips seemed to twitch as if they wanted to form a knowing smirk as if the girl knew that there wasn't anything that Pierson could do to her. It was that kind of confidence in her own invincibility that made Taylor's blood boil.

"Really. Do tell," the man said and shivers ran up and down her spine as the tension in the room bubbled up like a volcano threatening to blow its top. Sophia's molten glare was a sharp contrast to the liquid nitrogen of the librarian's. It would have taken a buzz saw to rip through the tension filling the room, freezing her in place like a rabbit before an oncoming truck. After a few seconds Sophia's will gave out and she glanced away, pale and shaken.

But despite the aura of danger surrounding the man, he hadn't lost his amused edge. The entire situation seemed to be nothing more than some sort of mild entertainment for him. The Trio looked far from entertained, instead they looked like they wanted to do nothing more than make a bolt for the door.

"Perhaps its time for you to leave," the man said mildly, but there was no mistaking the implied threat. Sophia seemed to regain her composure for a brief moment to take a threatening step forward but quickly backed down as the man focused his fathomless eyes on her again. She wordlessly made her way towards the exit, not quite running but certainly not walking. Madison and Emma quickly scampered after her.

Taylor turned to thank the faculty member for assisting her, but she instead found the book she had been reading pulled back as another book was set on her desk. The title Socrates: Ironist and Moral Philosopher was laid out before her. She turned he gaze back the man who was now starting to walk away.

"I think you'll find it more useful to your current dilemma," he said as he slid her previous book back onto the shelf from whence it came. His back remained turned to her as he started to walk back towards the front desk, but Taylor managed to loosen her tongue.

"Wait, why are you doing this?" she asked as she eyed the book. It seemed to be focused on human behavior more than anything, but it did little to answer her question. She didn't even know who this man was and yet he was willing to stand up for her and apparently give her a book he thought she would benefit from reading? Why was he doing more in an hour than most teacher had in a year?

The man stopped and turned around to face her, an amused smirk still on his lips. "Call it curiosity. I want to know how far you'll go if given the chance. I expect that you won't disappoint me," he said as if it was perfectly natural for someone to claim they wanted to keep track of someone because they were curious. Part of Taylor was somewhat worried he might have other intentions for her, while the rest of her was letting out a sigh of relief that someone was on her side for once.

"I-I don't even know who you are," Taylor protested. The man's smirk widened a little bit, almost into a full smile as if she had just asked some funny question.

"Adam. Adam Pierson. I'm the school's new librarian, and it looks like I'm going to be your new teacher too."

Taylor wasn't sure why she returned the next day to meet with Mr. Pierson. She didn't know him, and despite his assistance with the Trio she had still been more than a little wary of any offerings of kindness. She supposed a year and a half of torment and dismissal would do that to a person. She hadn't even wanted to get involved with some sort of unofficial mentorship with how hard she was already working to keep her grades from being tanked by Emma.

But one thing was for certain—

She didn't regret it.

Mr. Pierson wasn't like the other teachers at Winslow, even beyond actually responding to her distress like they hadn't. He didn't care about her spewing out information from a textbook and memorizing it for a test, he wanted her to learn, to understand. When she had returned to discuss the book that he had given to her, he hadn't just talked about what the teachings where, but why they were that way, and how did she fit into them. He wanted her to push her own understanding of the world, to broaden pool of knowledge and understanding.

And he certainly had a large pool to work from.

No subject seemed to be beyond his grasp. Math, science, history, language, politics, he taught them all. She found herself spending more and more time with him in the library, even skipping some of her more lackluster classes so she could learn more from him. She still kept up with them, but the work that Mr. Pierson was providing was far more challenging and stimulating.

And challenging it was, in a way that the school's homework and tests just weren't. She wasn't being taught with the intent to spew information back at him, she needed to demonstrate a level of comprehensive understanding of the subject for him to be satisfied, and even that wasn't often enough.

His breadth of knowledge made her wonder why he wasn't teaching at a university at some sort, and why he was stuck here as a librarian in a decaying city. She had to wonder why of all the people in the school, he had chosen her to teach and not anyone else. She had even asked him on one occasion, though he had only smirked and gave her a vague answer that left her somewhat unsatisfied.

"I suppose that's something we'll have to learn together."

He had even managed to get the Trio's bullying to fall to the wayside, much to her relief. They had ceased with physical confrontations and had cut back with their harsh words and criticisms. They still would laugh and taunt her, but she had heard them all before. And honestly, the least Emma could have done was added some variety or consistency to her words. How she thought someone could be a whore but at the same time too ugly to look at possible was beyond her.

Though they had tried to get Mr. Pierson in trouble, the attempt had backfired spectacularly.

Taylor wasn't sure why she was being called to the office, but she was certain that Emma and Sophia were behind it somehow.

Her suspicions were confirmed as she entered waiting room outside Blackwell's office with the two girls sitting in chairs, sadistically sweet grins on their faces.

"Oh Taylor, we were just telling Miss Blackwell about your little rendezvous with the librarian," Emma taunted with a Cheshire grin. Taylor kept herself from flinching like Mr. Pierson had taught her to, but she couldn't contain the rolling ball of dread forming in the pit of her stomach. She knew what Emma was insinuating and how it might go down for her mentor. If it was serious enough he could lose his job, even jailtime if it was serious enough.

She had to wonder what level of depravity that Emma wasn't willing to use in order to make her suffer.

"Don't expect your little hero to save you again, Hebert," Sophia hissed with the cadence of an angry wolverine. Taylor glanced to the secretary, who was quite obviously trying to avoid looking anywhere but her. Taylor sighed at the familiar but still hurtful behavior as she stood next to the door, waiting for Blackwell to call her in. She would have sat down, but willingly sitting next to Emma and Sophia was just asking for trouble.

The door to office swung open with a click, and out walked Mr. Pierson, none the worse for wear. His seemingly ever-present amused expression was on his face, even as he gave the two bullies a look that made them quiver in their boots. Taylor knew that Mr. Pierson didn't care about them beyond the fact that they were hurting her and trying to ruin her life, but Taylor had to wonder if he was as amused by their reactions as she was.

"Come along, Taylor," he said as he moved to open the door. "Miss Blackwell and I just had the most enlightening conversation. I don't believe that these two will be a problem for you anymore."

Taylor followed him without hesitation, though she did take a quick peek into Blackwell's office to see the woman paler than a sheet of paper and quivering like a leaf. A tape had been set on the desk along with some papers that she couldn't make out from this angle. But judging by the way her fear quickly gave way to white-hot rage once she spotted Sophia and Emma, she was willing to bet that it wouldn't be good for them.

"What was that?" Taylor asked as they passed through the empty hallway. Mr. Pierson smirked.

"That my dear was the power of information and proper leverage. I simply reminded her of all the previous times that vultures lied to her face and what the cost would be for her for going along with those lies. She didn't seem too keen on keeping that status after I explained what I could do to her career," he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

When she finally saw Emma and Sophia again in World History, they looked worse for wear. Emma looked like a hollow wreck, the fair skin that people always praised her for was pale and clammy. The moment her eyes locked with hers the redhead turned away, quivering like a leaf.

Sophia, on the other hand, looked like she was ready to murder someone. She kept on clutching her fists up, and she broke her pencil halfway through class. Taylor could just imagine her as one of those cartoon bulls snorting in anger. But she kept such thoughts to herself, even with the apparent reprimand she didn't think she should try pushing her luck.

She would take what she could get.

The bullying had petered out then. At least, until the Trio realized that she had a life outside of school as well.

Methos wasn't the kind of person that could get sentimental.

Most Immortals couldn't be, having learned that they would often outlast most of the things they held dear. Friendships, loved ones, possessions, even ideas could die before they did. The curse of being able to live forever as it was.

But even by the standards of Immortals, Methos got far less upset when things of his were broken or lost. Five thousand years of living had taught him the value of being able to let things go. How many of his kind had he seen brought low because they had been blinded by trying to cling to the past?

Methos had learned that above all, his own survival was more important than anything. It wasn't that he didn't care about things or people, he just cared more about himself. MacLeod probably thought that was a rather selfish way to look at the world, and he would be right. But it was because of that belief in survival above all that he had managed to survive the Game for the last five thousand years.

But even despite that, Methos couldn't help but find himself disappointed in himself as he entered the hospital. He had assumed that his student's tormenters would have backed off after his little chat with the principal. He should have known better than to assume they could let things go like he could, to assume that they would allow their favorite victim to walk away without a mark.

He and the Horsemen had never let that happen, why should have they?

Methos didn't even bother stopping at the front desk as he quietly slipped his way into the hallway. Despite himself, the ancient Immortal could help but feel a little on edge as he made his way to Taylor's room. He had never liked hospitals, there were too many people there that might actually noticed that he didn't stay hurt when he got injured. He already had enough people hunting him because they knew who he was, he didn't need more trying to find out what he was.

In some ways, the advent of parahumans was a blessing in that way. It was far easier explaining yourself away as a newly triggered parahuman than anything else. But at the same time, it made people less likely to dismiss the idea of a corpse waking up and walking off of their own accord. And that wasn't even getting into the parahuman powers that could kill or incapacitate an Immortal.

"Mr. Hebert," Methos said as he stood at the edge of the doorway, careful to not intrude on the man's space. He had seen plenty of grieving fathers over the years, he had been a grieving father over the years even if he couldn't have children of his own, and he knew better than to try and sneak up on them while they were in such a state.

The blading man looked up from his daughter who was laid out across the medical bed. Methos eyed the bruised covering her face, parts of her swelling up alongside the black and blue skin. The Immortal made a mental note to start incorporating combat into her lessons. He had intended to do that anyway, but he had wanted to hold it off until she trusted him enough.

"You're Mr. Pierson," Danny Hebert noted, a wary glint in his eye as he stood up. Methos tried not to smirk as the man's eyes traveled up and down his form, assessing him as a threat to his daughter. He raised an eyebrow but did nothing else, the man held his gaze for a brief moment before letting out a frustrated sigh.

"Taylor's been talking about you. She said that you were tutoring her," the man said, not quite relaxed, but not ready to pounce just yet. But despite his apparent anger, there was a broken look in his eyes, full of pain and regret, a shattered look in his eyes that threatened to drown him. Methos gave him a slight nod.

"I felt that your daughter's talents were being wasted by Winslow's teachers," he said. That much was true. The idea that students were ready for the real world once they were done with high school was a stupid notion. They didn't even teach half the things that they needed to know, instead giving them useless information that would only benefit them in certain circumstances.

"Hm, and you took it upon yourself to teach her. Why?" he asked, clearly not satisfied with his explanation. His hands curled into fists and the veins on his arms throbbed with a building rage. The man's nostrils flared like an angry bull's. Methos could tell that the man needed a target to let his anger out on and it looked like he was the most the most available target.

Best to divert that anger before it became problematic.

"Because your daughter has amazing potential, and seeing it wasted at Winslow and to a pack of thugs was unacceptable," Methos said. He wasn't lying when he said that his daughter had the potential to be someone incredible. She certainly wasn't the strongest or the smartest or the wisest, but then again, neither was he. Instead, he saw something in her that he had only ever seen a few times in his very long life.

The will to survive.

It was a trait that even most Immortals didn't possess, but those that did tended to be the ones that lived very long lives. The will to not give up as the world just kept on weighing you down, to stand up, brush it off and move onto the next day. Knowing when to back down but to never surrender in the face of certain death. The focus to shed that weight like a coat and move on with your life.

That was what he had seen in Taylor Hebert, and it impressed him. Impressed him enough to take her on as his student, even if she wasn't an Immortal. To see such potential like that wasted grated his nerves.

Though his choice to tutor her wasn't out of pure altruism. He could see that modern civilization was heading down the drain thanks to parahumans, and it certainly didn't help that Endbringers kept on destroying cities and driving people mad. Methos knew better than to just bury his head in the sand the ignore the coming collapse, that was a good way to lose his head. No, instead he was preparing, gathering people would could survive without the sensibilities of modern life and do what had to be done to live.

Most people would have balked at such an idea, of giving up the morals and ideas of the modern age to give way to tribalism. But Methos has seen plenty of civilization collapse over the years, and those people tended to be the ones who ended up dead. This was no different, even with powers and monsters coming into play.

Danny Hebert seemed to wince at the mention of the "pack of thugs" that had put his only daughter into the hospital. The tension bled from his form, the taunt muscles becoming sags of flesh. He barely seemed to be able to stand, much less throw a punch. But the glint of parental rage hadn't completely dimmed from his eyes, and it promised a world of pain for whoever had done this. Of course, once Methos got his hands on them they might consider Hebert's rage a mercy.

There was a reason that the Horsemen had gotten into the Bible, and it wasn't because of a good PR agent.

"She told me things had gotten better, but I never…" Mr. Hebert trailed off, looking at his daughter with a forlorn expression, clearly trying to figure out how he had never noticed what had been happening beneath his nose. The man clasped his forehead in his hands, all bust lost as everything seemed to shift around him like a raging maelstrom, not giving him a single minute to sit down and think.

Methos had to wonder if she had ever told him about the bullying in the first place.

"They won't get away with this," Methos promised. He wasn't going to coddle Taylor, things like this and worse happened all the time, but a teacher who couldn't keep their students safe while they mastered the basics wasn't a very good teacher. "That much I promise you."

"What are you going to do?" the man asked tiredly, looking for all the world like he wanted nothing more than to just wake up from this endless nightmare.

Death smiled.

Andrew smirked as he eyed the twenty dollars he had gotten from that black chick, licking his cracked and chapped lips in anticipation. Enough money to buy a gram or two of dope. And all he and his friends had needed to do was go and beat down some twig of a girl. He had felt somewhat conflicted at first, but the promise of a high was too much to pass up.

They hadn't touched her in that way, so it wasn't like they had done anything evil. They just needed some high and she had been the easiest way to get it. It wasn't his fault that she had people who hated her that much.

The teen made sure that the band of black and blue that marked him as Merchant was clear and visible. It made haggling with sellers easier if they thought you might bring down the rest of the gang on their heads for not cooperating.

"Hello there," an unfamiliar voice said as a hand clasped his shoulder, wrapping behind his neck. Andrew did most certainly not yelp in surprise as he was dragged off course into a side alley. Once he managed to disentangle himself from the man's grip he found himself staring into a pair of dark eyes that sent shivers down his spine.

"W-where's Ken?" he asked, licking his lips nervously. The dealer wasn't one to let someone just take over his street, which meant that this guy was working for him or…

Andrew decided that he was going to be very polite with the possible killer.

The man tried to smile, but there were far too many teeth for it to be called such. Andrew could just imagine a serial killer wear that type of face. "I asked Ken to take the day off. He was happy to oblige, especially once he decided he needed to see a doctor." Despite the man's polite speech, Andrew could feel his hairs standing on end as he discreetly reached for his pocket knife.

"What do you want with me?" he asked, trying to keep the man's attention away from his shifting hand. The man's smile turned into a grim line, which was even more terrifying. He looked down his nose as if Andrew was nothing more than a curious fly that he was debating on killing or not.

"I heard you and your friends had a little meeting with a girl. Taylor Heb—"

Andrew lunged for the man's heart, hoping that the sudden shock of his pocket knife would distract the man enough that he could get a clean hit in. But as the rusted blade of his worn knife swung through the air, the man's arm blurred as the next thing that Andrew knew, he was laying on his back gasping for air with the man looming over him.

"I was going to do this the nice way," the man said, clicking his tongue in disappointment as if he was scolding a child for stealing a sweet instead of attempted murder. Andrew tried to get up, but his chest was wreathed in pain and trying to move his arms and legs felt like trying to wade through jello. The bored, almost conversational tone was somehow more terrifying than any rage that could have been brought to bear.

"But I suppose we'll have to do this the hard way."

The man's fists struck his form and all Andrew knew was pain.

Emily Piggot was having a bad day. It was one thing to realize that the identity of one of your Wards had been compromised, which was unsettling enough as it was. It was another thing to find out that said Ward had been engaging in illegal activities while under the watchful eye of her handler. Piggot could feel her blood pressure rise up a notch as she eyed the papers again, praying that it might all just go away if she read it one more time.

No such luck.

These papers solved at least two murder investigations the BBPD had given up on solving, and more evidence that she had even gone as far to bribe gang members into attacking people that she didn't get along with in her civilian identity. A newly reformed Ward using her position of power to inflict suffering on others and get off scot-free?

It was a scandal that would ruin her career and at least a dozen others if the media got wind of it.

But more than that, it was an affirmation to everything that she believed parahumans to be. If a child was capable of something like this when what might an adult be willing to do?

Officially she should have brought these documents to the Chief Director and gotten permission to hunt down the person that did this, but Emily found herself somewhat hesitant. They had found the identity of a Ward, but they had done so to keep her from accomplishing other violent acts towards innocent individuals. There was nothing in the documents that couldn't be found out by a determined human and nothing to indicate powers had been used to gather information.

She wouldn't stop her men from investigating, but she wouldn't push them too hard to catch the person responsible. They could use more people like them in the world if they were willing to do this. Her intercom beeped once and her secretary's voice echoed over the speaker.

"Director Piggot, Agent Anderson is here to see you."

The whistleblower might be getting off for now, but Hess' agent most certainly wasn't.

"Send him in," Piggot all but growled, clasping her hands in front of her with a level gaze as the young agent slipped through the door, pale and trembling. She might have felt some sympathy for his position if she wasn't so angry.

No, now there would be words.

"I see you're getting better."

Taylor glanced up from her reading to see her teacher standing in the doorway, as silent as a shadow. She had even realized that he was there. She glanced over to where her dad was sleeping, having spent most of the night talking with her once the sedatives had worn off.

"Slowly," she said, only wincing a little bit as she set the book down. Thankfully none of her bones had broken, but she did have a few fractures that the doctors were worried about. But the internal bleeding had been the most damaging part of that attack, requiring surgery to fix it before it got out of hand. It had apparently gone off without a hitch, with only the stitches and occasional stabs of pain to remind her. "Dad said you visited a few days ago."

"It's been a busy few days," her mentor said, grabbing the remote and flicking the television on. Taylor paled as a broken boy's face was plastered across the screen with a news anchor reading off the charges. Taylor swallowed as the faces of her attackers were plastered alongside their comrade, each one in a similar state of disarray. "But I don't think that they'll be bothering you much anymore."

"You…" Taylor trailed off, not quite sure what to say. What could she say to that? She had just found out that her teacher may have very well beaten several teenagers so badly they looked more like mangled corpses than anything.

They did the same to you, a voice in the back of her mind whispered.

"It was a bit overkill, but sometimes you need that to deal with idiots," he said as if he was commenting on the weather. He sounded more disappointed in the amount of effort he needed to accomplish his actions more than the actions themselves. Taylor looked at her teacher with a new eye, carefully considering how dangerous he might be and how close he was to her. From the amused smirk on his lips, he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Why shouldn't I scream for help?" she asked quietly. The man shrugged nonchalantly.

"You're free to. But we both know you won't," he said with confidence. And he was right. Despite this rather startling new piece of information she still trusted him. He had been the only one to help her in her time of darkness, the only one to pull her out of the abyss and try to help make her something more than what people told her she was.

And despite the disturbing level of violence inflicted on her attackers, he had done it for her.

The question was why.

"Why me?" she asked, staring at him with such intensity that for a moment the man's smirk dipped down with an assessing gaze. She could feel him peeling back her layers as he considered her question.

"You have potential."

"Potential for what?" she pressed, not willing to let the subject drop. Mr. Pierson sighed as if he had assembled a puzzle for her and she still couldn't figure out the answer.

"I'm preparing you for what's coming. The end of modern civilization as you know it," he said with a level of seriousness that made her stop and think. It would be easy to dismiss his words as the rambling of a mad lunatic, but history lessons popped up in her head, unbidden by her. Pieces and hints that she had heard throughout his teachings started to come together in a way that shouldn't have made sense but did.

It was a terrifying possibility to consider, but it was the truth.

Civilization was dying.

"The barbarians are pounding at the gates, but nobody wants to admit it," he said, clicking the television off and leaving them in blessed silence. She needed to think, to consider what she had just realized. Lessons of the fall of civilizations that he had shown her flashback into the forefront of her mind, quickly comparing their situations with their own. The realization that the Protectorate was becoming less and less capable of holding back the tide of villains, many of which were trying to carve out their own little empires. The fragmentation of Africa and South America, two continents now all but ruled by parahumans, weather as warlords of crime lords.

Modern civilization was coming apart at the seams and the news wanted to talk about the best-looking heroes?

"People don't want to see the truth," Mr. Pierson said, answering her unspoken question. "They don't want to look up and see that everything around them is falling apart. They would rather cling to the illusions than adapt. Modern civilization is already dying, they're just living on borrowed time."

"And what do you want to do?" Taylor asked, her voice small and afraid.

"What I've always done. Live. Grow strong. Survive," he said, and for a moment the mask of Adam Pierson fell aside to reveal the real man underneath. Taylor saw not a mild-mannered librarian, but rather someone who had lived through it all. Dark fathomless eyes with a weight of time that no human could carry.

"Who are you?" she asked. The man that she had once known as Adam Pierson smiled as if she were a toddler who had just asked a particularly clever question.

"I'm the one who's still alive."

Taylor mulled over his words. It wasn't an answer, at least not one that she wanted. But in the end, did she really need to know? In the face of what she now realized what was coming, did it matter if the man wasn't who he said he if he could help her and her father survive? If he could make sure that they both lived through the oncoming collapse of human civilization as they knew it?

"And what are we going to do?" she asked, carefully masking her feelings behind a wall of indifference. She doubted that it could fool him, but it gave her some comfort. The man that she had once known as Adam Pierson held out his hand to her, warm and inviting.

"I suppose that's something we'll have to learn together."

The answer that he had once given her echoed back through her mind as she considered his offer. She locked eyes with him, staring into fathomless pits of time. A weight of untold years that made her seem so small. She was nothing, a friendless loser that most people wrote off as unimportant.

Except Adam, or whatever his name was, didn't think so. He thought she could be more than the loser in the back corner of the room. He thought she could survive when other people would fall and fail. In the face of that belief and everything else she had just realized, what else could her answer be?

Taylor grasped the hand of Death.

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