Authors Note: I've decided to rewrite this because (tosses hands up into the air) NOTHING IS EVER GOOD ENOUGH

Chapter 1—A New Ho

It was well past midnight in the Magnolia neighborhood of Seattle. Somewhere in the distance, a seagull caws. A cold wind blows in from the Puget Sound, whipping through the city like icy knives on this particularly chilly February night. No stars were visible in the city, but if anyone were to choose to look out at the city from Magnolia, they'd see the city create its own constellation of glittering light reflected back in the dark waters of the Sound.

At least for the moment, the world was quiet.

"C minor, put it in C minor…

...Where have all the good men gone

And where are all the gods?"

I was awoken suddenly by the sound of Jennifer Saunders' rendition of I Need a Hero and the acrid scent of Tear Gas slowly filling my house.

My first coherent thought is: 'Oh no, here we go again.'

"Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed?

Late at night I toss and I turn

And I dream of what I need…"

I roll out of bed, diving for the handgun I keep stashed beneath my headboard before remembering that I had lent it to my older brother, Theo, for target practice. Shit.

The Tear Gas was getting to me now, my eyes were watering uncontrollably as snot dribbled down my face. I lift my pajamas I had been sleeping in- a faded yellow hoodie that I had gotten from Cannon Beach on a previous family vacation- and use it to Macgyver a mask for myself.

I now know two things.

One, the nearest weapon would be the Samurai sword hanging above the mantle in the living room. And two, somebody in the house was playing the soundtrack to Shrek 2.

"I need a hero!

I'm holding out for a hero till the end of the night

He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast

And he's gotta be fresh from the fight"

In the hall, the Tear Gas hangs like a thick fog. Murky and dangerous and filling all two floors of our modest Seattle town home. The living room was down the stairs. I move low and quick. Making my way to the end of the hallway to the banister-

"I need a hero!"

Pew!

Pew! Pew!

I hit the deck. I feel the air rush past me as the shots go whizzing by me in all directions. The darkness is so thick, the shots seem to ring out all around me as I make a mad dash for the stairs.

The music swells dramatically with an orchestral air. I'm pretty sure this is the part of the movie where Shrek and everyone storms the gates to the castle.

My hands grab for the banister and I hurl myself over the side. I land with a muffled thud beside the living room couch, the insane instrumental break drowns out any other noise. I can just barely make out the outline of the sword above the fireplace.

I dive for it just as something moves to my left.

CLANG

I block with the flat edge of the blade, still in its sheath. I kick up. They dodge. An arm comes swinging from out of nowhere- WHAM!- we both go down.

Moonlight comes streaming in from the living room window and it's only then that I get a good look at my attacker's face.

"Nate!" I say in exasperation. The head to whose neck I was now holding the unsheathed blade to was none other than my twin's.

"Well it's about time you got up, Nance." Said the ginger replica of Shaggy from Scooby Doo. "Last to rise, first to die- you know how it goes."

"We'll see who makes it to the lawn first, then."

I jump up, sword still in hand, and dash toward the door.

"Not so fast!"

I barely make it a few paces before I'm knocked to the ground by a flying body tackle- or an unnecessarily aggressive hug. I roll through the momentum, kicking viciously as I stumble back to my feet. I could see the silhouette of the front door now.

Pew! Pew!

I duck, feeling one of the gun pellets graze my shoulder. My fingers wrap around the cold meal of the door handle.

Locked.

I swear under my breath, fumbling around in the darkness for the key we usually keep in a dish beside the door.

Pew! Pew!

More gun fire.

This was taking too long, I needed a new approach. 'Come on, Nancy, Think. Think!'

The kitchen window. It was adjacent to the front door and was kept closed by a simple latch.

The Tear Gas was becoming overwhelming and I repress the urge to retch as I scramble to the kitchen window. My fingers find the latch in the dark and in the next moment I am tumbling out into the cold night air onto our rhododendron bush.

I lay flat on my back, staring up into the wintry night sky, samurai sword still clutched in one hand. I rip the sweatshirt from my face, eyes still watering profusely. 'I should brush up on my fencing skills' I idly think.

"JD," I glance over through swollen eyes to see an imposing figure towering before me. He was a giant man, made entirely of muscles, scars, and tattoos. Despite the winter chill, he wore nothing but a t-shirt and jeans, exposing biceps the size of small children.

Jim Duke. My dad.

"Last one out buys Dairy Queen."

I let out a groan, flopping my head back onto the ground. I can feel the dew seeping into my pajamas, now just a pair of shorts and a tank top, the cold February wind biting at my exposed skin.

The front door bursts open as two forms stumbled out followed by a plume of tear gas. Ben and Nate collapse to the ground, still wrestling despite having made it to the lawn.

"Hey- boys! Arms down, you've made it outside." My dad calls out, fanning the two away from each other. "Arms down, everyone. Since Ben and Nate made it out last, they're buying the Blizzards™." This is greeted by groans from both of them and I can't help but smirk.

"What was that about the first to die, Nate?"

"Shut up, Nancy." Nate scowled at me, only making my smile widen.

"Nathan, don't talk to your sister like that," Dad chides as he comes over to help me up out of the bushes. "Good job, JD." He says, giving my head a pat.

As my body came down from the adrenaline, I took long slow even breaths to control the shaking. Everything burned from the Tear Gas and I think when I jumped from the stairs I jacked up my landing because I can feel dull throb come from my ankle.

I drop my sword and make my way over to the rest of my family as they pile into the mini-van. In the backseat I find one of my brother's old parkas and I toss it over my pajamas to keep myself warm, not caring that the ensemble made me look like a homeless person as I was swimming in a jacket that was far too big for me.

I have three brothers and my dad. Theodore, long for Theo, is the oldest and probably the only person I've met that beats dad in height. He's the giant ginger manager of the local 24Hour Fitness. His trademark Duke red hair was long and tied back into a messy bun, dark brown eyes just barely visible underneath big bushy red eyebrows. He's always been one of my favorite brothers, but maybe that's because of all of my memories of him packing Nate and I's lunches for school. Theo made really good peanut butter and banana sandwiches and would put a fruit roll-up and gushers in our lunches even though we were only supposed to have one or the other.

Second was Ben, short for Ben-hur. He was much smaller in stature than either Dad or Theo and was closer in height to me. He had always had more of a slight build, no matter how many circuits he did- maybe that's why he's studying to be a seismologist. Ben always felt the least connected to our family's... peculiarities. His short red hair was mussed from sleep and the rings around his eyes from the tear gas seemed to make his blue eyes glow behind his round glasses which were askew on his face. A ginger Harry Potter.

Lastly there was Nate and I. Nate was tall and lanky with a shaggy mop of curly hair and the ghost of a goatee, where I was short and stocky with long straight hair and no goatee to speak of. I had gotten all of the freckles while he had none. We shared the matching red hair and sea glass green eyes that dad said looked just like our mother's. We all had gotten dad's jaw. Strong, sharp, and defiant without even trying.

Jim Duke was not just a beast in looks, but a beast in life too. Former professional wrestler turned marine, turned cop, turned retired. He ran his house like the barracks and not a single one of his children would be caught dead unprepared for any situation. Extreme wilderness survival, mixed martial arts training, fencing, subterfuge, sharp shooting- I'm sure we have the CIA and FBI tracking our every move. Dad had basically gone and turned our family into a civilian Seal Team 6.

Once a year, unbeknownst to us, dad would tear gas the home- practice for acting in stressful situations. We then have to wait for the rest of the tear gas to dissipate from the house before we can go back in and last one out buys ice cream.

It must be quite the sight for the Dairy Queen workers, I imagine. Once a year, in the dead of night, a gaggle of red headed children lead by a scary orange refrigerator all in their pajamas come barging in to their work to eat ice cream.

Frozen treats in hand, and orifices starting to burn less, the Duke family occupies one of the booths at the back of the empty fast food restaurant.

"So," starts dad as he takes a large scoop of his Choco Brownie Extreme Blizzard™, " lets recap. Theo, you made it out first."

Theo, the maniac, had caught the first whiff of Tear Gas and had immediately climbed down from his second story bedroom window using a grappling hook he had in his room.

"And you have my Glock!" I grouch out, brandishing my red plastic spoon at him. "Because of you, I had to go for the sword downstairs!"

"Whoops!" Theo throws his hands up in a 'I don't really give a shit' sort of way, "thanks for letting me borrow it though, it's in the car right now. Remind me to give it back."

"Give it back."

"Done and done, let me pull a 9mm out of my ass. I'm sure the fast food workers will appreciate that."

"Are you kidding me, Theo? This is a Dairy Queen. I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time."

"Guys," Dad says in a warning tone.

"Excuse their cheap wit, father," Ben says loftily, "the hour is late, and it's all they have left."

"The hour is never too late to excuse shitty banter." Nate counters.

"YOU'RE shitty banter," I say, shoving my twin. This last action rewards me with my Turtle Pecan Cluster Blizzard™ being snatched away from me by my dad. "-Hey!"

"You're all shitty banter, and I'm the shittiest because I spawned you cretins." He lectures, "now back to the recap."

Ben and Nate had gone for the same .22 and had ended up getting caught up fighting over it. It had been Ben who'd been shooting at me on the stairs.

"Y'know you nearly got me with those BB's." I point out, "I'm surprised you could see at all."

Ben shrugs. He's always been a dead shot. Like some kind of old-school cowboy; being able to shoot from any angle he so chose with near perfect accuracy.

It had been raining steadily while we were in Dairy Queen, kicking up into a Notebook-ending torrent by the time we were done with our ice cream. The raindrops were beating against the pavement as though the ground had personally wronged it and I'm suddenly regretting my choice in footwear: a pair of worn black ballet flats with a hole in the toe of the left shoe.

We all stood there for a moment beneath the canvas awning before Dairy Queen, watching the rain come down in heavy sheets that blurred the street lights and hid the city completely from view. It's like the rest of the world had been erased into the dark, wet night, leaving just Interbay Dairy Queen.

"Who's going to go get the car?"

Realization dawns on everyone's face as we all remember the van parked down the street.

"No nose goes!"

In unison, all five hands flash up to their noses. Last one has to go out into the rain and bring the car around.

"Nancy's last!"

I swear under my breath as the keys are tossed to me.

I look out into the darkness, at the unrelenting freezing rain, and then back to the Dairy Queen. The warm yellow lights of the fast food restaurant back light my three brothers and my dad.

It's funny how so many last times happen without our noticing. Like there was probably a last time that your parents picked you up but you don't even remember it, do you? Or a last time you actually played a proper game of make-believe as a child. If I had known this would be the last time I saw any of their faces I would have treasured the moment. Told them I loved them, memorized their faces and all that sappy nonsense.

Instead, I flipped them off with both hands and walked backwards into the darkness.

But hindsight, right?

I trudge along the pothole riddled street to our minivan. My ballet flats become soaked in seconds and squelch spongily with each step I take. When I reach the car, I fumble for a moment with cold fingers as I fish out the key that will unlock the driver's side door. Grumbling under my breath, it takes several tries to unlock the door in the dark.

I hear car tires squealing and I look up to see a 2003 Volvo S60 fishtailing, completely out of control down the slick pavement. I am rooted to the spot as I watch the car spin wildly.

There's screeching, screaming, and really bright headlights. I feel as though I've just been body slammed by a—well, a car—and I am acutely aware of the fact that I am sailing through the air.

I can feel the rain on my face, it's cold and hard and there's a frigid breeze.

And then I remember nothing at all.