The girl stalks her target with the same single-mindedness as a predator on the hunt. She moves through the thick forest, her lithe frame blending seamlessly with the lush foliage. Her senses are attuned to every rustle of leaves, every sound that could reveal her presence. She is a ghost, a shadow that barely exists in the world.

She is not a person but a tool. She is like the rifle she carries, an object to be wielded by those who command her. Her mind is honed and shaped for one purpose, to kill without mercy or hesitation. She is efficient, deadly, and completely detached.

The rain falls in a steady patter, the drops bouncing off leaves and trickling down her face. She barely notices the wetness, her focus consumed by the task at hand. Her heart beats with the same steady rhythm as the rain, her breath coming slow and measured.

As she sights her target in the crosshairs of her scope, she feels nothing but the rush of adrenaline. She is a machine, a tool, a weapon. And she is about to fulfill her purpose.

The woman in her crosshairs had been crouching behind a thick tree, talking to one of the other soldiers. The girl raises her rifle and takes careful aim, adjusting her sight. The woman's body, shown in vivid detail through the scope, is in her sight. The woman holds a radio to her mouth, speaking urgently. A woman with black and silver hair in a white coat in the forest.

The girl's finger moves the trigger of her weapon ever so slightly, causing the rifle to make a soft clicking sound as she readjusts her aim. She has adjusted the sights on her scope just a little bit. The gun would kill the woman with just a single bullet to the chest.

Suddenly, she feels a new presence at the periphery of her senses. It is not one of the others with her.

She slowly lowers her rifle, never taking her eye off the target ahead. She uses the spells she has been taught to search around the area to pinpoint the new presence. This is her purpose. It is all she has ever known.

The girl whirls around her rifle at the ready. Her eyes widen as she sees the little girl. The intruder is a little girl her age. No older than eight to ten years old. The girl is in sandals and wearing a t-shirt and shorts, her hair unkempt.

The newcomer looks at her with wide eyes, her face filled with awe and terror. The girl is so awed at seeing another person that she does not even recognize that the newcomer is a target. Her finger moves to the trigger.

The world slows as she feels the torrent of emotions wash over her. The undercurrent of fear, the tinge of regret, the golden flame of anger. And something else, something she had never felt before.

It was because of this feeling... that she hesitated.

The girl's finger tightens on the trigger. She is a tool, a weapon. She was created to fulfill a purpose.

Eliminate the girl. Retreat and reconvene. Pursue the primary target once more.

But she could not.

The newcomer was looking at her with wide, pleading eyes. The little girl was looking at her as if she were human as if she were a person too.

The newcomer continues to stare at her, fear and awe warring on her face. Her bright silver eyes, wet with tears, held her in place.

The girl's hands start to shake. She is a tool, a weapon. She must kill her. She cannot let her live. The girl raises her rifle and sights the little girl. This is what she must do. This is mercy. This is what she was created for.

But a voice whispers. The girl does not understand.

The newcomer turns to flee, and the girl hesitates.

She wavers.

And she cannot fulfill her purpose.

The girl quickly whirls around, pulling her rifle up and searching for the girl. The girl has already fled. She had hesitated.

The girl hesitates as the little girl disappears into the trees. She suppresses the peculiar spark she'd felt.

No matter, the other Cobras behind her would dispatch of the little girl.

Slowly, she turns back towards her target, noting the woman's back is still turned to her, utterly ignorant of her presence.

The girl lifts her rifle, regaining her composure.

She sees the crosshairs on the woman's chest, and a small red line forms in her vision. The red shape pulses with each beat of the woman's heart. The girl focuses on it for a moment, feeling her breathing begin to slow in her. Her heart is beating in time with the woman's. Her chest rises and falls with the woman's. Her spell takes effect.

The girl hesitates, her finger on the trigger. She breathes out, the breath shuddering through her entire body.

A sniper's aim must be certain.

A sniper's aim must be steady.

She pulls the trigger.

The world stops.

Time stands still.

The gunshot echoes through the woods, sending birds fleeing and animals scurrying.

And the woman vanishes.

She vanishes in a burst of light and energy, a bright silver light. The girl feels her spell dissolve. She has failed her purpose. Her reality shatters.

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A voice speaks from the forest canopy nearby. "A sniper must be in control before she pulls the trigger."

The girl's head snaps to the voice, her sidearm at the ready, held back over her shoulder. She sees the woman holding a staff. The woman's lips are quirked in a frown as her eyes sweep over the girl's short golden-blonde hair. A mere tuft beneath her calling card — a camouflaged beret with a yellow viper emblem.

"That is quite the fascinating magic you've employed. To think the Viper of Mindanao would be such a young girl..."

The girl does not flinch at her English moniker. She merely stares at the woman. Her target.

The woman lets out a sigh and shakes her head. "What's your name, child? Tell me your name."

The girl continues to stare at the woman; she does not speak.

The girl fires her pistol. The bullet flies straight and true, but the woman lifts her staff, a shaft of solid oak in her hand, and the bullet harmlessly deflects and ricochets into the sky.

The woman smirks as the girl begins to fire again. The girl's eyes narrow in concentration as she manipulates the spell on her sidearm. Her ammunition is modified, and her pistol is customized to her needs.

The woman just watches as the bullets fly at her, gathering her magic and deflecting all. She feels the spell on the sidearm weaken as the girl reloads.

The girl is still manipulating spells, and the woman can feel an undercurrent of Kulam.

The woman smirks as she lifts her staff, gathering all the energy around her. The girl may be talented and powerful, but she is still young and inexperienced.

The woman sweeps her staff out before her, releasing a vicious blast of energy that rips through the air and slams into the girl.

The girl attempts to roll with the spell, but she fails. She is frozen in space. The woman looks at her with pity.

The girl can feel the life leaving her body as she contemplates death for the first time. She has delivered many in her short time in this world, and it would now be delivered upon her.

She stares at the woman, her wide eyes emotionless.

The woman does not speak; her eyes and her heart fill with a strange expression.

The girl attempts to endure the pain. She waits for her death, her purpose fulfilled. She can feel the blackness beckoning her. Her body is devoid of magic, sapped and negated by the woman's own spellwork.

The woman had disabled her and would now execute her.

The girl takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, accepting her fate. Her last thought is that she hopes to be reunited in the afterlife with those killed in the service of her master.

And in seconds, everything faded to blissful oblivion.

...

Her eyes snap open as consciousness returns. She feels a cloth pressed to her head. Her vision clears, and she sees innocent silver eyes staring at her with concern. Long black and silver draped around the face of the young girl. A young girl is holding the corner of the cloth to her head.

The girl is seized with panic. An enemy!

Her body grasps for the extra sidearm she keeps holstered to her thigh; it is missing. She searches for her rifle she keeps near her sleeping bag but finds it missing too.

She grasps the unknown girl's arm in an instant, her other hand balled into a fist, and she snarls in confusion and panic. She opens her mouth to bite the girl, to kill her. To survive.

"Release her, little sniper."

The girl stills, her body freezing at the voice. She looks up to see the woman again with a smile on her lips. The woman has a staff in her hand and points it at the girl. She releases her assailant's arm in defeat, who scurries away to hide behind the woman.

"Now, child, I'm sure you have many questions. Why don't we start with your name?"

The girl hesitates, looking back at the woman. The girl starts to speak, her mouth is dry, and her throat is parched. Nothing comes but a croak. The one with silver eyes points to a glass of water on the nightstand.

The girl nods, but the woman never takes her eyes off the girl. She can feel the intensity of her gaze as she reaches over to the glass; she takes it in her hands and drinks it, draining it in one go.

The woman waits patiently as she looks at the girl again, who has now settled back onto the large sleeping bag, her arms crossed and her legs pulled up to her chest. The woman watches her warily, but the girl does not look up; her eyes are still downcast.

The woman speaks again. "Your name?"

The girl looks up at the woman, her voice a mere whisper. "This one has no name. This one is merely a tool."

The woman stares at the girl, who continues to look at her, unwavering.

The woman tilts her head in confusion. "You have no name?"

The girl shakes her head.

"Who is your master? Where are you from?"

The girl sighs and speaks; her voice is tired. "This one does not know her master. She does not know where she is from. She is the Viper."

"Why are you here?" The woman's voice is curious, her tone gentle and soothing.

The girl never takes her eyes off the woman. She looks at her, watching her every move.

The girl pauses as she looks at the woman. "This one is here to kill you, and everyone here."

The woman frowns, her brows furrowing as she frowns and stares at the girl. The girl looks back at her, her face expressionless.

"Why do you take this one prisoner? This one knows nothing. This one is merely a tool. This one is a sniper, trained to deliver death to Master's enemies. This one delivered. This one did not miss. But this one is still a tool. She is still a weapon. This one does not have feelings. This one does not have emotions."

The girl speaks robotically, her tone monotonous and her speech clipped.

The woman's face changes to a frown as she looks at the girl; the girl does not show any emotion.

"It would be tasteless to kill you, my dear child."

The girl stares intently at the woman.

"Would you become this one's master then? Would this one become your new slave?"

The woman's eyes narrow as she listens to the girl, who is still monotonous and emotionless, almost as if she were reading from a script.

The woman speaks now; her voice is stern. "Slave? Forget that nonsense. Hear me, and hear me now. You serve no one but yourself now. You are not a tool, you are a person. You are a child. I am not your master. From now on, I would be your mother."

"Mother? What is a mother? "

"A mother is a woman who cares for you, who protects you, and who loves you. You would find in a mother a place of refuge. She would protect you and guide you on the path of the righteous. A place to call home. I would be your home, little one. What say you?"

The girl replies monotonously and emotionlessly. "This one does not understand."

The woman steps towards the girl, who scoots back in response. The woman kneels down next to the girl, and she smiles.

The woman stares at the girl, who is still expressionless, her eyes blank.

The woman lifts her hand, and the girl flinches at the movement.

The woman puts her hand on the girl's head and runs her fingers through her hair.

The girl shrinks slightly from the touch but remains composed.

The woman places her hand on the girl's shoulder, and she begins to speak.

"Tell me, little one. What is your favorite color? "

The girl slowly opens her mouth to speak. "This one does not know."

"Then you shall pick one. What is your favorite food?"

"This one does not know."

"Then you shall share mine until you find one. What is your favorite thing to do?"

"This one does not know."

"Then you shall learn from the others."

The girl's eyes softened slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if, for a fleeting moment, she was an ordinary girl.

The woman smiles again as she takes a part of the girl's short blonde hair and winds it around her finger.

"Your name shall be Dior, for your golden locks that shine like the sun."

The girl's face suddenly lights up. Her eyes widen at the mention of a name.

"This one is your mother, and you are my daughter. You shall learn from your mother, little one. I shall take you to a place where there are people just like you, who were once alone too. They shall become a family to you."

The girl's face softens as she looks up at the woman. "This one would have a family?"

The woman smiles in response.

The woman reaches out and takes her hand, leading her out of bed. Together, the two would move away from the darkness into a new beginning.

----------------------------------------

"Hello, Dior... my dearest child," the woman said quietly, arms raised in surrender in front of the truck.

Dior scowls at the woman.

"You have no right to call me that, mother."

She spits out the honorific as if it was poison, her eyes filled with rage.