HALE PROTOCOL

EPILOGUE: And the Story Goes On

DATE INVALID

What have I done?

People clad in white lab jackets gathered around a shivering young girl, just barely alive. She shouldn't even be alive…but she was. And so, she would make a perfect test subject. It's a good thing that kooky doctor left behind his notebook.

What did I do to you? Why are you so angry?

As she started to mutter weakly and sob in her blood-soaked slumber, a petite woman with flat, dark hair and equally dark eyes stepped forward and pressed a hand to the girl's forehead. The blood leaked between her fingers, staining her nails scarlet. The woman amongst the crowd froze suddenly and withdrew her hand. She slowly wiped it on her coat. She was starting to think taking this job back had been a bad idea…

"What did she just say?"

"You're probably just hearing things, Santha."

"No, I'm sure she just said Roger." The woman insisted, "I swear, I heard it just now! Roger Williams! He said his name! Just now-she said it!"

"God…I wonder if she could be…"

Please, please don't go. I'm cold.

The heart monitor spiked and dashed off into as tangent, screaming obscenities into the air. A few white coats rushed around in a mad haze, yet the light overhead was still fixed only on her.

"Stop it!" Someone halted them, "The transfer was successful! It doesn't matter at this point if the body dies! She's no use to us anymore; we have what we need."

"But-she said-!"

"I don't care what she said, Santha! Pull the plug!"

The girl on the chair stared up at the spotlight with dull, yet vivid green eyes as the beeping ran into itself and became one sold noise. Her hair was flat, colored only with the blood the bullet left her, and the bruises underneath.

We'll follow you when you leave…even if the cold catches us all…

As the dark-haired woman in front of the chairman looked up, finished with her report, he frowned in distaste and waved it away.

"She died of murder. The body last discovered, which was supposed to be hers, was falsely identified…The police will find her washed up on the river tomorrow. I'll arrange the funeral."

"May

I come, sir?" She asked, looking up keenly.

"Why?"

"There's someone I want to pay respects for."

Why is it so cold here?

The funeral was a large affair. Of course it would be; if the daughter of the wealthiest family under the queen showed up dead after eight years, people were bound to hear of it. The cemetery was packed with black suits and dresses, as if God himself had decided to paint a monochromatic landscape that day. The casket was open, with the tears of the sky and a million strangers falling into it. Sobs could be heard even under the falling of the roaring downpour, as the multitudes blew into their clean, white handkerchiefs. For some reason, rounds from the tower guard were shot into the air, perforating the wails. The girl had been no army man.

Where are you? I need you to keep me warm.

By her mother's side, a small boy peered up into the casket. He shed no tears, which was unusual in of itself. However, if looks could kill, his certainly would. The look of grief contorting his face was so powerful that whoever was strong enough to stay solemn at the sight of the dead wept over him.

"Mother's alive." He murmured, "She's just different now." His hands twisted themselves into knots as he spoke. He looked like an almost devastating similar to the girl in the grave.

Just a little closer.

The crowd pushed and flowed out of the cemetery yard as quickly as they had arrived, leaving only three remaining. The woman from her…surgery…crouched over the new patch of turned ground and ran her thin fingers across the face of the tombstone. They were still caked in blood. Had she even washed them, aside from the cold soak of the rain?

Hurriedly, she pulled of the edges of her black veil. There was a boy next to her, about six. He played with sticks in the mud, the rainwater reflecting off his red hair and bright blue eyes as his mother planted a flower on the grave. When she was finished, she plucked up her son from the rot and briskly walked away, brushing dangerously close to the other one waiting.

"Mommy, what happened?" Her son asked.

Almost there.

Someone went to heaven today." She replied carefully.

"Who?" The boy prodded further," Why are they so important, mum? I could've been playing army men. Instead, we're stuck out in the rain all day wearing stupid clothes!"

"Shh, shh!" The woman scolded angrily, "Now, Jack, you musn't ask such stupid questions! What did your father tell you!?"

"Keep your mouth shut." The child rolled his eyes as he recited the rule, "Before someone shuts it for ya."

I-I don't understand why you did this…

Now only one left.

But…

He was shrouded with a deep black cloak, only leaving his eyes and a little tuft of jet black hair uncovered. Th former glanced over the tomb with absolute curiosity. Had he done this? Who was she anyway? Who was he anyway? The man felt deep within him relief for his escape; a deep, stronger urge to do more of this work…what was it they had called it by…hurt? Pain? Kill. Yes, he must kill more. He would find his answers in death. It gave him…relief. From his own suffering, and from theirs too.

No, the man with the scarlet eyes did not know who or what he was.

But he had a feeling he was about to find out.

Sighing, he left the meaningless grave and turned to leave. He stopped. Were those…voices?

See, you can hear me.

For a split second, the clouds broke overhead and a beam of sunlight soaked the soggy ground underfoot, right where the grave and the man were, frozen in time. His eyes were wide as he looked back on it one last time. Whether in disbelief or shock or something else completely was undeterminable.

Are you going to stay with me?

"Shut up." He growled, "you humans are all the same, clinging to life even when you have none. Haven't you heard that you're dead yet?! Can't you see that? There's no hope for you. That's why you all must die."

Maybe. I think that's an awfully admirable quality as well. I have forever to wait.

"Just go away. I don't even know you. I hate you." He accused, scathing and hurting. He tugged his cloak quickly back over his mouth where it had fallen and left the cemetery; the beam of sunlight softly flickered and dwindled away, letting loose the rain once more. It splattered into the accumulated, muddy puddles, reflecting an illuminated version of the inscribed tombstone…

It's okay.

In another part of London, white coats on a seventeenth floor crowded around a blue chamber. They raised their glasses and proposed toasts and congratulated on a job well done.

Yes, the transfer had been successful. So while the body had been buried and started to decompose, the memories and emotions, the soul and mind, still clung to live and lived on elsewhere.

Emblazoned on the twinkling surface of the blue column was one word, an acronym.

'GlaSIS'

"Say something!" A coat cheered once more, joined by the congregation.

"Yes, yes!"

"Show us your success!" Another jeered. Of course, this 'your' was supposed to be taken without the 'Y'.

The machine, or rather, the girl, took a minute to draw herself back to this room. Living in the past again, eh? She scolded herself, is this what we've come to? However, she still drew up enough recollection to utter something for the crowd.

"I AM HERE."

And they clapped.

…..

The reflection read as follows:

HALE ELENOR GRIFFITHS

1914-1938

Daughter and beloved

May her memory go on as an example to others

She will always be here with us.

((.END TRANSMISSION.))

…

Damn.

I…can't believe this is finished…after all this time.

So, merry Christmas. I guess.

Also, I'll be posting an alternate ending that has a lot to do with this story to LOTF apocalyptica soon. So, look out for that. In addition, the sequel to this, named FAUX, is in progress and coming along nice and derpy like. I hope you'll continue with this long series with that as well.

Also, HOMESTUCK. I really want to write fanfiction for that….:D

I really hope you enjoyed this, even if it didn't make much sense and it was so sad and unfulfilling. Trust me, it gets better in the sequel. Just pay attention to dates(not the fruit!), and you'll be fine. Those come back to bite you (and me) in the butt later on, if you continue reading this, that is.

Shout out to my dedicated few: the ones who reviewed this story.

Cocolada

Italktodeadpigs

Daspartanreviewer

Just Another Believer

Atomicsh0ck

And Anna

Special thanks to my editor, who did nothing at all with this story, but helps me more than he knows just by listening to me sob over the phone about all my problems. Bvillemic, you're the best. I hope you feel better soon, dude. Good luck with your wood-whittling.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR FOLLOWING, FAVORITING, READING, AND REVIEWING THIS STORY. YOU ALL MADE MY LIFE FOR THE PAST FEW MONTHS. SEE YOU AGAIN SOON.

-kat-