Man was the root of all evil.

Men had started the war that demanded the creation of this factory. Men who dominated the world and scarcely allowed women to breathe. Women would have no wars. Women were reasonable.

Marilyn descended the stairs to a factory floor bustling with activity. Men in coveralls were everywhere, running the machines, delivering parts, and supervising the production.

These actors were nothing more than a part of the plot to keep all women in the dirt. She pushed past the men, shoving them out of the way roughly. No more was Marilyn going to allow men to dominate.

Reaching the center aisle, Marilyn leaned against a wooden box filled with small hunks of copper, her arms shaking as she held herself up, the blood on her hands vivid red.

The fury would not leave her, the rage burning so deep in her heart that it was a physical pain. Tilting her head aloft, Marilyn let loose a shriek of anguish, then locked her gaze on the actors.

Pulling a copper slug from the box, she hurtled it with all her strength at the nearest person then reached for more ammunition.

The noise in the room subsided as she threw slug after slug without care. Every person in the room was part of the plot designed to humble Marilyn, and she was not about to let them succeed.

She threw dozens of slugs in an almost mechanical sequence of motion until her arm was tired and unable to move. With a savage cry, she beat against the box with her foot then leaned against it for support.

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The silence of the building was oppressive. It was the silence she noticed first. Looking up, Marilyn saw hundreds of people staring at her, none of them showing signs of her attack.

They walked towards her, bunching close, until she could see their faces despite the rage.

So many women stood around Marilyn that her legs buckled and she dropped to her knees with a look of astonishment. All the women had their hair tied back with kerchiefs, wore bulky coveralls, and most of them were thin from the lack of food during wartime. They watched Marilyn with disapproval and disgust. In their eyes, she could see the judgement of women dead all these years. She could see where greed and pride had taken Marilyn. She could see how less a person she was for her actions, how hurtling rocks at fate was the act of a selfish child.

The crowd around the woman transformed, growing bloody and torn by the force of a blast. In this building, the bodies had driven many of the recovery soldiers mad. In this building, they had found the remains of women who only wanted to support their men and earn money to feed their children. The legacy of dedicated love was too much for Marilyn, but that was not the end of the vision.

Presented before the weeping woman was a man dressed in black, brought from the second floor with the magic of the dead. He was alive through sheer luck, the blood on him thick from the wounds Marilyn had delivered.

He was the victim; the ghosts seemed to say, not this woman who could see no further than her own base desires and allowed her children to come into this valley.

The blood tormented Marilyn, slipped into her mind, and raked across her sanity until she no longer could think.

With a scream, Marilyn ran from the building seeking shelter.

Chris Korman was lowered gently to the floor as the ghosts returned to work and a world long since gone. Help was coming for the man and would arrive soon.

Unfortunately, the men would never make it out of the valley before the past arrived.