The group carried on down the former mountain road for some time until the sun started to set. They stopped and set up camp along the cliff face of the mountains, using a small lantern instead of burning firewood.

Angela kneeled her machine low near the wall beside the camp and did her best to ignore the sounds of cheer from the chat below. Considering everything that had happened, she did not know how they could make those sorts of tones.

If she was to leave, it would have to be soon. An odd feeling gnawed at her and suggested there would be no going back if she didn’t get moving. Old faces entered the forefront of her mind, and she pressed a shaky hand to her head—it must have looked like she had a migraine—until the images dissipated. She wished she could forget as well as the group below seemed to. When the faces finally faded from the forefront of her mind, Coat’s grave took their place.

It was too much trouble to remember, and Angela shuddered as old and new thoughts wrapped around her—like a python ready to squeeze all the air from her lungs. A hand appearing at the hole's edge finally freed her from torment.

Helmet pulled himself into the chassis with one arm while the other hand firmly supported a bowl of hot soup. She accepted the meal without a word and dug in.

“Glad to see our cooking is still delicious!” Helmet said with a laugh. Angela wiped her face and grunted.

“It’s passable.”

“Those are hardly the words of someone who was just eating as ravenously as you were.”

“I was…just hungry. “

“I see! Well, the others are doing alright. Now that we’re settled, I checked for a concussion and all that sort of thing.”

“I don’t care,” Angela said as she shifted slightly in her seat. She felt her shoulders loosen, and a cramp in her neck faded. The girl held out the empty bowl to Helmet. “More…please.”

“That’s a whole other trip back down and up!”

“Please,” she whispered.

Helmet chuckled and took the bowl while Angela waited alone. She looked around at the inside of the familiar mech until the older man popped back up with a fresh bowl. No time was wasted as she snatched the bowl; the red-eyed woman prepared to dig in again but took notice of Helmet and settled on eating quickly, but in a more “civilized” manner—her back straight and chewing with her mouth closed like her parents had taught her.

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When the bowl was empty again, Angela held back her urge to ask for another helping. She set the dish on her lap and avoided looking directly at Helmet.

“I need to thank you, by the way. We would have been in quite the predicament if you had not been able to save us there.”

“It's fine… don’t get reliant on my saving you.”

“Because you plan to leave? Or because you think you will fail?”

Angela bit her lip and turned her head away from Helmet. He always seemed like he was trying to stab her with his words, and she hated it.

“I’m done talking about this.” She muttered while crossing her arms. The fabric of the coat felt uncomfortable pressed against her skin; she had grown very used to it feeling bare.

“Boss, the lantern is lit,” Bandana shouted from below, “but we still need your help to prep the medical kit!”

“Just a moment!” the older man shouted back down.

“Why does he talk like that?” Angela asked. Her red eyes grew wide in shock the moment after she spoke; she had not expected the words to escape the confines of her mind.

“Ah, you probably don’t know. The Worms have a bit of an aversion to rhyme. We’re not sure why, and he’s internalized it a bit.”

“I… don’t understand.” Angela’s defenses fell as genuine confusion overtook her. She didn’t get any clarification as Helmet shrugged.

“I don’t either.”

They stared at each other a moment—Helmet with a smile and Angela with confusion—until the young woman noticed she had opened up. Her expression became a scowl, and she crossed her arms while turning, as much as the wires in her back would allow, in the pilot’s chair.

“That’s stupid.”

“Maybe a little, but it has saved us on a couple of occasions, though it is only really good enough to run away considering our weapons. Guns and rhyme don’t mix so well on a battlefield.”

“How would you even figure that out?”

“Happenstance,” Helmet replied softly as he stared past Angela to the smooth wall of the mech chassis. She sighed and closed her red eyes. After shaking her head several times, the girl finally looked back at the older man.

They stayed silent for a long while, each waiting for the other. Helmet's gentle expression and eyes seemed to say Angela should speak first. She responded with a sour look, crossed her arms, and looked around for something that might distract, but she was already so familiar with the inside that nothing stood out.

“I’m leaving tonight,” Angela suddenly said.

“It’s already ‘tonight.’ Do you mean right now or later on?”

“Right now, if you continue to pester me.”

Helmet chuckled.

“Fair enough. We will miss you once you’re gone.”

“I doubt that highly,” she muttered.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to make one last request before you go?”

Angela frowned and shifted in her seat.

“If it is within reason.”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing your story—however much you wish to share—but what brought you here, to this place and time?”

If she could have run away, Angela would surely have broken into a sprint. She pulled her crossed arms closer and looked at her lap.

“I’d rather not talk about that.”

“I won’t force you, but I suspect talking about it might relieve a burden you’ve been carrying for years. Perhaps you might as well share with someone you’ll never see again?”

Angela pushed further back into the chair to where her spine ached. Realizing she was hurting, she loosened and took a deep breath.

“If it will get you off my back,” she said before beginning her story.