#017 ignores the surprised stares in her direction as she reaches Mr. Wilkins happily standing on the table, where he had been left at. Refusing to take a seat, #017 scans the area and at last, locates her target. Mr. Wilkins noticing he is being ignored, loudly coughs, “That was a very robust dance.”

“Not really, I’m not out of breath,” #017 matter-of-factly stated without removing her eyes from her target.

“Okay……but that wasn’t exactly the dance of a non-sexually-experienced young woman’s either,” Mr. Wilkins pointedly remarked.

“I’m not, but physically I am,” #017 drily retorted. Mr. Wilkins opens his mouth but is unable to voice the question in lieu of his understanding of this girl’s circumstances. Tactfully he chooses to remain silent and not ask further questions regarding that delicate subject. Because after all, his girl for being most unfeminine was still a girl at heart.

*

Hunter discreetly remains in silence as Diane glares at Gareth for an explanation. Not wanting to intrude on a private discussion, Albert forcefully drags Jonathan away. Hunter smiles gratefully at Albert for his actions, remaining dutifully behind to grab his sister if necessary lest she throws herself in a jealous rage at a certain gray-haired individual.

Albert makes his way to a table where a group of their friends waits. Jonathan tries to escape, but Albert firmly says, “It’s a private discussion, Jonathan. Besides, remember who is supposed to be watching who.” Jonathan stiffly ceases his struggles. Furious, but cold faced, Jonathan remains in angry agreement.

Albert tiredly smiles as Jonathan stiffly remains at his side in heavy silence. Before he can reach his friends a group of young women approaches him with a familiar wavy-haired young woman as their leader, Sally Rider. Sally Rider looked quite pretty with her wavy hair elegantly pulled back in a semi-updo. She is wearing a light rose colored ballroom dress that matched well against her skin and highlighted her bottle-like silhouette.

Sally Rider flutters her fan calmly before them and says, “Mr. Cross, I believe you still owe me a dance as an apology.” Her friends all stare pointedly at Albert daring him to refuse.

Albert winces in embarrassment and replies, “It will be my pleasure, Miss Rider. But are you fine with the fact, the dance has yet to officially start?”

“What of it? The dance already started in my opinion and everyone else’s. After all, the opening dancers were Miss Starr and Gareth Lockhart, why else do you think there are their dancers already on the floor?” Sally replied as she gestured with her fan to the ballroom floor filled with waltzing dancers, some experts, and others new and clumsy.

Albert is unable to think to respond and other than reply, “Miss Rider, it will be my utmost pleasure, may I have this dance?” Albert extended his hand as Sally gently placed her gloved hand on his hand. Her fan was neatly handed over to a friend as Albert gracefully led her onto the dancefloor. And to the pleasure of all, the two began to waltz perfectly in unison.

*

#017 stiffens as the skin of her neck begins to prickle and wrenches her gaze away from the target and his dance partner waltzing on the ballroom floor. #017 narrows her eyes and with owl-like intensity stares at the ballroom staircase entrance. Mr. Wilkins fails to notice his girl’s actions as he waltzes on the table with an invisible partner. Of course, his fan club had noticed his actions and swiftly mobilized around the table letting out loud oh’s and ah’s at the adorable actions.

#017 without warning reaches through the crowd of fans and yanks the teddy bear off the table to the immediate dismay of Wilkins adoring fans. Mr. Wilkins lets out an indignant sound of protest as #017 smoothly makes her way across the ballroom through the crowds. Mr. Wilkins opens his mouth to demand an explanation from his girl, but #017 interjects, “Once, the waltz is over remove the target from the ballroom by any means possible.”

Mr. Wilkins alertly glances around the room failing to spot anything wrong. “What about the students?” Mr. Wilkins suddenly asked.

“They are not a priority nor our current objective, Wilkins,” #017 declared without any hesitation. Mr. Wilkins ears twitch displeased with the answer, but he is unable to refuse his girl’s objective. Placing Wilkins on the ground, #017 murmurs, “I’ll be back,” before darting up the stairs and disappearing into the hallway. Mr. Wilkins is left grumbling to himself as he waits for the waltz to end.

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#017 follows her instincts down the hallway that is still filled with footsteps and the rustle of students making their way to the ballroom. Glancing at the VEX watch, #017 sees the time 5:50 p.m. ten more minutes left until 6 p.m. the official opening of the ball.

The sense of peril only grew causing #017 to hasten her pace to a run. Darting between the students #017 skids to a stop at a hallway intersection. #017 glances both ways for a moment, before counting down the left. The urgency in her chest causes #017 to sprint as her heartbeat begins to fill her ears. With ease, #017 forcefully calms her breath to allow her to hear over the thundering beat in her ears and listen to the nearby sounds. A soft cry further ahead causes her to cease running and become still.

The soft cry does not reappear, but #017 slowly and soundlessly slinks forward. An empty rooms door is slightly ajar further ahead. Creeping forward the last few feet, #017 reaches slowly for a hidden weapon at her waist, bursting forward, #017 kicks the door open and enters with her weapon armed and ready.

A white-haired young man with arrogant beige eyes and stark white hair is dressed in an elegant and rather expensive tailored white suit. Wearing white leather gloves, Lucius Faye or better known as #32 holds a loaded handgun against the temple of a terrified student tied to a chair, George. Tears stream down the sixteen-year old’s face as George desperately pleads with his gaze for Miss Starr to save him.

#32 eyes are strangely filled with an eerie light and a stiff smile on his face. To the surprise of everyone including that of #32, #32 spontaneously begins to sing their song, “I was made for lovin' you baby, You were made for lovin' me, And I can't get enough of you baby, Can you get enough of me?” The last words trail off in a pleading question directed towards #017.

#017 hand unconsciously moves a few centimeters lower as the familiar ache in her heart that had been reawakened since their meeting pulls her into a heart-wrenching remembrance. The boy with the stark white hair and beige eyes, who laughed and cried with her as they held hands all the while being forcibly tied down and reinserted into virtual reality. The boy who she fell in love with countless times and lived countless lives together.

Seeing #017’s hesitation, #32’s eyes fill with a desperate hope. #32 desperately croons a classic poem, “When we two parted, In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted, To sever for years-; In secret we meet-, In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, and forgive me, I beseech thee.” #017 visibly flinches as the rest of his words turn into a blur and fade away.

The physical trials changed everything. The more they killed, the more they grew apart until she could no longer recognize the boy/the man she had loved for so long, across countless lifetimes. And when that final testing day came, she had hesitated to pull the trigger, but he hadn’t. He had clearly tried to stab her through the heart and having missed the intended target, nonetheless left her severely wounded. Hurt and broken-hearted, she slit his throat in turn. It’s always first loves that leave you fucked up.

“Sweet Lady! speak those words again: Zoë mou, sas agapo,” #032’s last words frantically begged and implored with all his might.

#017’s hand in immediate reply tightens her grip on her handgun and straightens her arm. The young man before her bore little physical resemblance to the man and boy she had loved; Lucius Faye’s face had been surgically altered. No, the boy she had loved with all her heart was dead. She had been the one to kill her lover with her own two hands her hand. #017 hardens her heart against the pleading voice of #32, Lucius Faye. Eyes firm and cold, #017 raises her gaze forward towards her enemy.

#32 eyes widen with pain at recognizing the changes in his ex-lover’s demeanor. “A wise man once said, Love me or hate me, both are in my favour. If you love me, I will always be in your heart, and if you hate me, I will always be in your mind,” #32 sagely mused as a cold glare from #017 stops him from adding anything furthermore. A pained expression crosses his face as #32’s hand trembles at the unexpected soul-crushing heartbreak.

Trying to be humorous, but failing too, #32 murmurs, “Shall we play a game, my dear, just for old times’ sake?” #017’s hand doesn’t waver in response and remains firmly pointed at #32. Not seeing a change in her demeanor, #032 smile disappears as his eyes glitter icily in hurt feelings. “Fine be such a stiff. But we are going to play a simple game of great historical value, Russian Roulette.”

Seeing the cold unwavering gaze of his beloved Al, #32 adds, “You’re going to want to play, my dear.” #017 raises an eyebrow in apparent disbelief. “I thought you would say that, so let me reveal what is behind curtain #1!” #32 reaches for the black curtains behind him and pulls. The curtains falter to the floor to reveal a ticking bomb with a timer, the denotator had only 5 minutes left.

“Now, you can choose to run back and warn them, but I doubt you will reach them in time. You can choose to disable the bomb, but I will kill this boy and flee. Or you can even choose to engage in combat and ignore your self-inflicted responsibilities. Or maybe you will choose to play? Which will it be, my beloved, Al?” #32 asked.

#017 takes a step forward as the room suddenly plunges into darkness, the electricity had been shut off.