Out of the Ashes 2, Chapter 6

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Out of the Ashes, Book 2 Part 6

Out of the Ashes, Book 2
by Misty Meenor
A Comic RetCon Universe Story
The Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian characters are the property of DC Comics. Captain America, the Red Skull and Union Jack are properties of Marvel Comics. American Dream used with the kind permission of Lilith Langtree.

He hugged the woman, who barely seemed to notice. "Ahem. Which brings us to, how do I hold on to the incredibly powerful Miss Mars? And how will I keep you from telling anyone my little secrets? Ah. Well. Maria, show them."

Maria raised her head, her eyes meeting mine. I had a moment of panic, as I felt a presence in my head, insinuating itself, twisting around parts of my mind. There was the briefest sense of ... apology?... before it pulled. There was an obscene ripping sensation and an incandescent detonation behind my eyes, and I collapsed to the ground, senseless.


Author's note: I apologize for the delay, this was a difficult piece to write, for technical reasons which may become apparent. I'm still not happy with it, but better to post it now, than to dwell on it forever. Comments are welcome as always!


There was a dream... a woman, a terrible woman, to her enemies. But I was not her enemy. She wanted something from me... something important...

The dream faded, pushed aside by the pain in my head, and the image of Maria's slack-lipped face and dead eyes. I awoke with a start, remembering with nightmare clarity.

What had she done to me?

I was lying on my back, presumably on some kind of bed. The light was so bright it hurt my eyes, even through closed lids; I threw an arm across my face to block it out and the hammering behind my eyes subsided, a little. My body felt heavy and sluggish.

A voice came from close by, a young woman's, her tone urgent, but not in a language I understood.

Who is she talking to?

Keeping my eyes closed, and averted from the brightest of the light, I propped myself up to sit on the edge of the bed. Even that careful motion provoked a sudden bout of nausea; I leaned forward, taking slow, deep breaths, fighting off the urge to retch. My hair tumbled down on either side of my face, helping to block the light, and carefully I opened my eyes, wincing as the pain increased, but determined to take stock of what little I could see, from my sheltered perspective. The woman was still talking, her tone relieved now, but still with urgent undertones. Whoever she was talking to, wasn't responding. A phone?

Okay, first things first. My bare feet rested on concrete, not especially worn or stained, age indeterminate. My legs were shrouded in unbleached canvas drawstring pants, too long, of course, covering most of my feet, as well. My toes -- what little I could see of them -- and presumably the rest of me had returned to my default green color. I was wearing a loose top to match the pants, also oversized on my small frame. The clothing had an institutional feel, coarse and scratchy against my skin.

What had she done to me?

I had a growing suspicion, a very bad one. Still keeping my head down, in case I was being observed, I brought my hand -- also green: check -- in front of my eyes. Sheltered from sight by the curtain of my hair, I tried a simple shapeshift, just the color of my nails. The pounding in my head seemed to pick up the tempo as I tried to focus, but I felt relief flow through me as my fingernails obligingly took on a deep red polish, and I hastily returned them to normal before they could be noticed.

Well, that's something, anyhow.

I dropped my hand to my side, resting on the edge of the bed, then casually reached a little lower to explore the bedframe. A simple metal rail, it felt like; I grasped it firmly and squeezed, just a little, then harder, then with all the strength I could muster.

Nothing.

Worse than nothing; I'd cut myself on the rough edge. I watched dully as blood welled from the scratch.

Strength: gone. Invulnerability: gone.

The pain in my head told me what would happen, but I had to know. I tried to levitate myself a few inches off the bed.

Nothing. Except the pounding in my head was threatening to push my eyeballs out from the inside. This time I did retch, fortunately my stomach was empty, and I was left with only a sour taste in my mouth.

Flight: gone. I'm just a girl, now.

As Dan, I'd been six-four, two hundred twenty pounds, in decent shape. I could reach the top shelf, open my own pickle jars, and physical intimidation wasn't something that happened to me, it was something I did.

Then the metagene kicked in, and suddenly I'm a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter, and on the other side of the gender wall. Despite looking like the kid-next-door's hot teenaged babysitter, despite having to look up at the world, even from high heels, I'd always had that secret. You can't hurt me, and I could kick your ass.

I'd been female for less than half a year, but I'd never been 'just a girl'. I don't know how I could have coped without Dolores, but with her love and support, somehow I managed -- and it wasn't always easy, but I always had a crutch, the confidence that even though I might look small and frail and weak, I wasn't.

But I really was all those things now. Small. Frail. Weak. It wasn't just pretend, anymore.

Breakable.

In the clutches of a madman who commanded the power to do this to me, and worse -- and who thought nothing of murdering an entire village, a couple of hundred people, men, women, and children, just to lure Court, for reasons unknown.

But not all the children. He took some. Why?

Finally, I straightened, squinting my eyes almost shut and still having to shade them from the light. The room was long and narrow, barely wide enough for the two beds set lengthwise along one wall, separated by a few feet. Opposite the beds, centered along the other wall was a rusted toilet and matching sink. The walls were unpainted cinderblock, the ceiling high, maybe 12 feet. The source of the glaring, painful light turned out to be a single naked bulb, in a wire cage. The end of the room closest to me held a metal door, featureless except for a rectangular peephole, now closed.

That woman's voice belonged to Court. Why didn't I recognize her voice? Who was she talking to? She stopped talking, perched at the end of her bed closest to me, as far as her leash would allow, watching me with worried eyes. She was dressed in the same outfit I was, also much too large, the neck slipping dangerously low over one shoulder. Court's leash was clipped to a hook at the far end of the room, allowing Court to reach her bed and the toilet, but no further. A single LED glowed green on the mounting plate.

I took a deep breath and stood up. The pounding in my head increased until I was sure Court must be able to hear it, and I staggered, uncertain of my balance, almost collapsing again. Court babbled something in an encouraging tone, ending with a question. I glared at her in annoyance. "Who are you talking to?" I demanded sharply.

That's not what came out.

"K-k-k --"

I clapped my hand to my mouth, as my expression turned to wide-eyed horror.

The words weren't there.

It was terrifying feeling, as if the word I wanted was just on the tip of my tongue, but just wouldn't come.

I tried again. "N-n-n-n!"

Everyone has had that experience, grasping for that one elusive word. Back at college, in Psych 101, it was literally called the 'T.O.T. phenomenon', for 'Tip of the Tongue'. Psychologists find it fascinating. When it happens, even though you can't find the word you want, it turns out you know a lot about the word. You know what words it's not, you often know how many syllables it has, maybe even what it rhymes with. You can usually find a synonym, or a phrase that's almost as good. You chuckle at the momentary lapse, work around it, and move on.

For me, it was every single word. It was like there were holes where the words used to be. I could 'see' the holes in my mind's eye, deduce the word's 'shape', but the word itself had been torn from me.

In a panic, I tried to find any words that might still remain. Arm. Leg. Floor. Wall. Bed. Megan. Court. I tried Spanish. I tried the little Portuguese I'd picked up. I tried what high-school Latin I thought I knew.

Nothing. I could 'think' the concepts, but when I tried to speak, to turn thought into language, there was a total disconnect. My voice had been thrown into gear with nothing to say, all that came out were stuttering noises.

Court spoke again, her voice sharp, commanding, the tone needing no words. Focus. Get a grip. Report, soldier!

My heart sunk as the penny dropped. Court was speaking English.. Try as I might, I couldn't even parse the sounds into individual word-parts, the syllables just flowed together in a continuous stream.

I remembered the last words I heard from the Red Skull: "How will I keep you from telling anyone my little secrets? Maria, show them."

I did throw up then, barely making it the two steps to the toilet, falling to my knees as my empty stomach lurched and heaved and tried to leap out of my throat. Finally, my ribs aching, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and turned to sit facing Court, propped weakly against the toilet bowl. The pain in my head seemed to be receding, a little, like a brawl between marching bands had moved from this room into the next.

Court was frantic with worry, unable to fathom my behavior, desperate to help, but not having the least idea how. She stood, shifting nervously, uncertain what to do with her hands. She reached towards me, then pulled back, paralyzed by conflicting reactions, struggling to reconcile the gruff macho soldier she'd been with the girl she now was. Any other time, I might have found it funny.

At least you didn't punch me in the shoulder and tell me to walk it off. But a true girlfriend would have held my hair while I barfed, I thought wildly, and started to giggle, the giggles becoming deep racking sobs, and suddenly Court was there, kneeling beside me, holding me. She stroked my hair and rocked me as I cried.

~o~O~o~

I woke slowly, my eyes crusted shut with dried tears. The pounding in my head had receded into the middle distance, still there, but traveling in the right direction. I pried my eyes open, the light not seeming so painfully intense, now. Court was sitting at the end of the bed, her back to the wall, knees pulled up to her chest, watching me. I realized this had to be her bed; leashed as she was, she couldn't have reached mine. She offered a cautious smile, and said something in a sympathetic tone, ending with a question.

I sat up carefully, testing to see if the headache would come back, but it stayed put for the moment. My chest and rib muscles complained as I straightened, still sore from trying to turn my guts inside out, but I took a deep breath , and tried to figure out how to explain to Court what had been done to me.

Easy things first. I took Court's hand in both of my own, and made a show of trying to crush the daylights out of it. My Martian body might be stronger than the next normal girl's -- I had no way of testing that theory, but I had long suspected it -- but it wasn't anywhere near enough to make American Dream's hand flex even a little. Her eyes went wide, and I nodded grimly. I tapped my forehead, and then held my fist in front of my face, snapping my fingers wide to simulate an explosion, adding a sound effect for good measure. I was a little surprised when the sound came out; at least my voice was still good for something.

She looked puzzled and asked another question. This was going to be the fun part. I sighed and pointed to her, then made a talking gesture with my hand, sock puppet style, pointed at myself as if it was her speaking to me. I shrugged, shaking my head and raising my hands in an I-don't-know expression. I pointed to my ear, and nodded. Yes, I can hear you. I tapped my forehead, and shook my head. No, I don't understand you.

While she was digesting that, I pointed at myself, and made the talking gesture at her, shaking my head. I pointed at my head, and nodded. Yes, I can think. I pointed at my throat and at my lips, and emitted a tentative "La-la-la". Yes, my voice works. I touched them all in sequence, head-throat-lips, and shook my head. No, I can't speak.

~o~O~o~

The headache receded over the next couple of days, but I couldn't shake the depression that had settled over me.

The Red Skull had dispatched us both without breaking a sweat, two powerful metas, captured like fireflies in a bottle. He'd anticipated every move; now Court was firmly under control, and I was powerless, just a helpless girl, a liability, unable to express or understand any but the simplest messages.

Even deaf mutes can learn sign language. There are dogs who understand more conversation than I ever will.

Court tried to keep active, as much as the leash would allow, doing impossible numbers of pushups and sit-ups, and coaxing me to join her, but it seemed pointless; I couldn't match her, not anymore, and watching her just drove the point home over and over. Once in a while she'd forget, and say something out loud, as if I could understand her, but I quickly learned to ignore her, rather than look up and endure the guilt and pity on her face as she caught herself.

I slept a lot, and spent the rest of the time on my bed, facing the wall.

The light never went out; periodically, the slot in the door would slide open, and a guard would check on us before opening the door and placing a tray on the floor. The food seemed wholesome enough, but neither of us trusted it much. I didn't need it, and Court refused to touch it. We flushed it down the toilet.

I spent a lot of time trying to figure a way out; escaping the cell seemed as simple as taking Court's leash and letting her get close enough to the door to bash it open, but the plan fell apart quickly after that. Getting out without attracting the attention of armed guards was more important than it used to be, now that I was breakable and had to worry about bullets and such. It wasn't likely they'd give us time to explore the place, so finding the others would be problematic. And then there was the tiny challenge of finding a way out of these caves. Oh, and the whole sharing the plan thing was pretty much out the window.

So it seemed pretty much hopeless for the time being. Maybe an opportunity would present itself, but it was hard to feel very optimistic.

~o~O~o~

There were voices at the door.

I guess it said a lot about our state of mind that we both sat up and faced the door expectantly; we'd only been prisoners for a short time and we were already bored as hell.

The voices were arguing. Two voices, both men, the first one younger,demanding something. Whatever he was demanding, the second man gruffly refused to acquiesce, which angered the first one.

Court was on her feet, glowering at the door, her fists clenched. I took my cue from her and stood, facing the door warily. I assumed she recognized one or more of the voices, but without being able to even pick out words, let alone accents or intonation, I was at a loss.

Finally the first one seemed to get his way; the slot on the door slammed open, and a pair of eyes peered at us for a moment, before the bolts on the door were released, and a tall, slim figure stepped in.

Jack.

He stepped inside the door as it shut behind him, and gave us a cocky grin. Court said something, and his expression hardened. He stepped towards her, stopping just out of her reach, sneering, taunting her.

Without thinking I moved to push him into Court's grasp, but he spun faster than I could have imagined, slamming me against the wall, knocking the breath from my lungs, as Court strained against the limits of her leash and shouted futile threats.

With the sudden movement, my oversized shirt chose that moment to betray me, slipping off my shoulder, exposing too much of my breast. Automatically I moved to fix it, but he slapped my hand down, hard. He pressed me to the wall, obviously enjoying my helplessness, running his eyes over me and lingering on my exposed cleavage. It seemed he liked green girls. My hand ached from his slap, but I held his gaze levelly, curling my lip at his attentions, although my gut was twisting in fear. He was talking now, presumably for Court's benefit; I got the impression he'd have preferred to have her in my place, but knowing she was watching and helpless to interfere was giving him a real thrill.

His hand moved to caress my cheek, and I jerked my head away. He chuckled softly as he ran the back of his hand across the top of my exposed breast, before tugging my treacherous shirt down, freeing the breast completely.

I tried to knee him in the groin then, but his metagene reactions were quicker than my action, and he blocked me effortlessly. He smiled coldly, watching my expression, then backhanded me across the face, slamming my head into the wall. Stunned, my legs gave out, and I would have collapsed, but he held me pinned to the wall. He yanked the shirt from my other shoulder, sliding it down my arm until both of my breasts were exposed to his slimy gaze. I was dazed and shaking now, and there was the taste of blood in my mouth. I struggled to muster some strength into my knees, to hold myself up and meet his eyes with all the loathing I could put into my expression.

There was a sound from behind him and he spun, impossibly fast, throwing up his arm; Court had flung the dinner tray, frisbee-style, with all her considerable strength. Caught unawares it might have crushed his spine, instead it hit his arm before ricocheting off and clattering against the wall. Jack clutched at his arm and staggered back a few steps, screaming at Court. The arm appeared to broken, judging by the odd bend it had acquired. Released, I fell to the floor; still dazed, I managed to scramble blindly to Court's end of the room and out of Jack's reach. He kicked at the door and called to the guard, and left without looking back.

Court helped me to stand and fix my shirt, and tried to comfort me the best she could. There was blood on my shirt from someplace; I looked it incuriously while she tore a strip from the hem of her own shirt, wetting it under the tap and dabbing gently at my lip.

Part of me resented needing Court's protection, and by extension, wanted to resent Court, but it didn't seem important enough to work up any kind of strong emotion. I was feeling... well, nothing, really, just numb and distant and empty. Eventually I just curled up on my bunk and waited for sleep to make the world go away.

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Comments

powerful story

I can see how it had to be hard to write, it was hard to read. I hope you can not keep us hanging so long for the next chapter.
I really want to see Jack get his!
good chapter, thanks

I feel for Megan

this is horrible.

Dorothycolleen

DogSig.png

Out of the Ashes 2, Chapter 6

How many others are in the same boat as them?

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine
    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

Wow

Wow just when I didn't think this story could get much more griping it does. With the way jack is treatin megan makes me wonder if when he was still a woman he had been raped and now that he is male thinks that he should do the same but to megan or court.( Heh I would like to see him forget about court being who she is an try that with her an her rip his privates off them shove them down his throat or where the sun don't shine.)

A chance for her to grow up I think

She has always been vulnerable to mind control type things. She needs to dig deeper. The lack of mental discipline is her undoing at this point. If she can form even the smallest core in her psyche where she can rally to her strengths and literally transform herself out of this mess than she might be okay. She should be able to become adaptive to assaults like this given her shape changing abilities, literally change her brain structure to resist a new attack.

She is not using her power to its fullest potential.

Kim

hey big fan

this chapter surprised me i have feeling a new relationship will happen
but i think MARS will not be so lucky next time if she doesnt get her powers back

Sorrow and somber.

Those words are always the way I've thought of the Martian Man Hunter. You're following the same route with Miss Mars. The Man-Hunter had experienced such pain and trials that he took strength from them. Very much that which does not kill you, makes you stronger. She is the same way. Such pain that she has survived, but each time she comes back stronger. Kimmie is so right about Miss Mars not using her full powers, but she hasn't had to. Her physical powers were more than enough to carry the day. Personally I love how you're developing the character. The DC version had such a mishmash of powers it seemed to make little rhyme or reason. You're explaining just how it happen. Wonderful!!!!!!!!!
Hugs!
Grover

thank you for your feedback!

I'm glad you guys are getting what I'm trying to get across. The reason this chapter was so difficult for me to be happy with, is that it's all internal monologue, not one actual word is spoken. That was a challenge for me, to keep it from being too dry and exposition-y.

Things will pick up in the next chapter. I'm thinking two or maybe three chapters to go. All I have to do is find the time to write them :)

Please do it :D This is kind

Please do it :D This is kind of cliffhangy (does this word exist?). I just want to know how this story continues.

Thank you for writing this awesome story,

Beyogi

never fear!

The next chapters WILL come. When, is the only question... as quickly as I can, but that doesn't mean a lot, I'm afraid.

Ouch!

Given the dull headache, I'd hazard a guess that Maria's actively neutralising Megan's powers. Court's only being held in place courtesy of the tazer collar. With Jack out of control to boot, I don't see how they're going to be able to escape without external intervention resulting in (a) the base's power being cut so Court's collar is rendered ineffective, and (b) Maria is freed from Red Skull's control and can restore Megan's abilities.

As far as we're aware, no-one in the external world knows where they are, so barring the possibility of either girl sporting a hidden transmitter, their escape would have to be mediated by an internal coup. But who would be brave enough to take on someone who wiped out an entire village and is planning to use either Megan and/or Court for his own nefarious purposes?

 

Bike Resources

There are 10 kinds of people in the world - those who understand binary and those who don't...

As the right side of the brain controls the left side of the body, then only left-handers are in their right mind!

I Recall That This Story Aligns with.....

...Spectre: Shades of Grey. The Spectre visited Megan and encouraged her that she still had what she needed to escape (on her own). In Chapter 12 of Spectre: Shades of Grey Megan has gotten away. What remains to be told is how she does it. I'm looking forward to finding out.

Misty, thanks for the new chapter. I'm hoping you can find the time relatively soon to write the remaining chapters.

Ditto

Ditto

The problem with the collar

Is that, I think, it has its own energy supply. It has to. So cutting the power won't work.

Faraway


On rights of free advertisement:
Big Closet Top Shelf

Where you can fool around like you want to and most you get is some bemused good ribbing!

Faraway


On rights of free advertisement:
Big Closet Top Shelf

Where you can fool around like you want to and most you get is some bemused good ribbing!

correct!

Recall the green LED on the mounting plate where the leash was connected. Kind of like what you'd see on a battery charger.

Very Intense chapter

That was a brilliant chapter. Don't take too long to do the next one please.

Not Like the Others

terrynaut's picture

Miss Mars is a bit different from most metas. I'm guessing she'll be able to transform herself somehow and get her powers back. She can still change her appearance so there's a clue I think.

This was difficult to read but I'm still liking the story. I'm looking forward to seeing the villains get what's coming to them. I don't often call for the death of a villain but in this case, I'm actually hoping to see two of them die. When a villain is incorrigible as I think at least two are, I think putting them down is the only way. Grrrrr!

Thanks and kudos.

- Terry

A few thoughts... Hey *I* can have them! -- grin --

We know Megan escapes from maggies last couple of Specter postings. She's still recovering/weak but she has escaped in the one. And in the big fight with the chippers/DNA transformation people she is back to full ability and is mowing down the bastards almost as ruthlessly as The Specter.

As to Courtney and the collar. If it is truly a chain to the wall it's not likely a power cord. Thus unless it uses wireless power transmission the collar has a limited internal power supply. IE *bite the bullet* and drain the damnable thing. The pain would be intense but then Courtney is super tough and for it to work it must use a LOT of power... something it will quickly drain. I suspect fear of it is more the deterrent rather than it's actual ability to stop her. I think it;s alot like a revolver. X number of *shots* and it goes *click*.

Or it is keyed to an active super -- weird but maybe possible -- and Megan in her semi-crippled state will not set it off and she can disarm it, short circuit it with a strip of metal/wire --she is very bright, well trained and Specter told her to use her mind -- or slip in a piece of plastic or paper as an insulator between it and Courtney ... Could the collar be used to shock Jack or Skull unconscious with proper tampering?

Skull MUST die as should some of his minions. The misshapen girl is a victim and I suspect chipped. They need to help her, she could be the key to escaping. Or they should put her out of her misery as a last resort. But with the chip and DNA tech it should be feasible to restore her, if not to her lost childhood then to her teen body. Though the nightmares of being forced to kill those people will be harder to *fix*. She regretted what she did and deserves mercy be it healing or a quick death. I prefer healing her but it would be hard and take great bravery on her part but then I suspect she is fighting back as much as she can/dare in her *controlled* crippled state so maybe...

As to her still actively attacking Megan... Megan's regeneration should fix her but the brain is slow to heal in RL so even in an enhanced it would be slower than the rest of her body. Maybe she was forced to *reprogram* part of Megan's brain thus making it hard for Megan to regain full control as her own powers are in essence suppressing her powers. I get the impression that dominators power work or work best only with direct eye contact.

That Megan could shape shift her nails suggests she is recovering OR the poor dominator faked fully crippling her -- remember she mentally said she was sorry -- leaving her a way back to her powers IF Megan is careful and discreet.

What of the other kids? New chipped minions in process? Can they be -saved?

And Jack must NOT die he/she must suffer. He/formerly she is a worse criminal than Skull. He is a traitor, murderer or accessory to it, kidnaper and so on. Death would be a mercy. I'd say cripple/disable him, strip his powers AND use the tech to make him a woman again.

The idea she was raped and thus want to rape other woman strikes me as absurd IMHO. You would think she would want revenge and not to perpetuate the same abuse. I suspect her crap about her brother dying for nothing thus her hating the British is a smoke screen or at best self delusion. I suspect she either envied her brother's power and title and or even hated being a *weak* female. Plus though he died in combat did she tip off the bad guys to gain access to the title and eventually the transforming tech?

SHE needs to pay and death would be too easy. Maybe the poor mutilated dominator can put the feelings, the pain, the horror of every mind she touched and destroyed into *Jack* and the Skull so they relive their suffering 24/7 indefinitely. Though Skull is better off dead. No risk of his return.

John in Wauwatosa

John in Wauwatosa

Not so fast John!

I think we will have to start a whole new forum topic or thread to debate that bold statement!

^_^

Kim

be careful not to confuse the stories...

The chips belong to Megan's original story, and Maggie's current one. Whatever is going on here, doesn't involve biochippery.

Imagine if the chips were freely available to governments and criminals, and even the medical profession, what that would mean to society? That kind of catastrophic change is worthy of a novel or six. It probably deserves it's own universe. The impact would be far more relevant to any citizen than the sudden appearance of a few hundred superheros most people will never see.

So I made a specific request to any author who does me the honor of using them, to be sure that when they pop up, they are suppressed again, so that the world that serves as a backdrop to our RetCon stories isn't permanently changed, just on an author's whim. It's been a delight that Maggie wanted to use them, and she's been very kind to accede to my request.

(The fact that our stories overlap is entirely my fault. I was supposed to be finished with this story long ago, but, well, it didn't happen. So, alas, some of the drama of Megan's predicament is spoiled, but I have no-one to blame but myself. Maggie's been very kind to hold off as long as she has.)

So, the chips may well pop up again, in some other story, and that's fine with me. But every time they pop up, it's important that whoever does it is stepped on hard, so they don't have a chance to spread.

Anyway, from an authorial point of view, I'd like to think I'm more than a one-trick pony :) There's other kinds of evil in the world.

Drama Not Spoiled

This is Superhero's, good vs. evil, epic stuff. The superhero is expected to prevail over evil. It's the journey that's the fun.

Seconded.

This is really good stuff, but sometimes is seems like both Megans are the buttmonkey of the universe.

Wow! I missed this one (#6)

Wow! I missed this one (#6) back in June when you posted it. I'm really glad I did! This way I've missed the torture of waiting for the next chapter for 8 months!

I hope everything is ok and I look forward to when I can read chapter 7.

Thank you.

And you've done it again!

I'm the kind of person who shouts at the villain during a movie. And this story, like the first one, has me wishing for claws so I can scratch someone.

Oh...

It ends there....? O.O