A/N: Okay, so I can imagine some of my regular readers will look at the characters listed on this fic and think, 'Am I reading this right? What the hell is this?'

Well, I'll tell you:

First off, it's a little challenge I've given myself. I've spent the last few years pretty consistently writing for the same characters, and while I have no intention to stop, I'd also like to try going outside my comfort zone a little more. That's why I'm writing this story, which will not include any of my usual characters. So no Jane, no Loki, no Bucky. None of them.

Second of all, there's my buddy Ozhawk, who is pretty much the queen of crack pairings and RumSkye is one of the many that she has created. It's also one that really got my attention, even though I couldn't watch AOS past the pilot (it just wasn't doing it for me) and I never really cared about Rumlow as a character. Reading her fics inspired me to try this pairing out myself, and while I was intending to have this whole thing finished before I posted any of it, it was her birthday just recently, so here's the first part in honor of this momentous occasion.

I hope you all enjoy!

That night, she hadn't been feeling well. Her head was throbbing as early as breakfast, a dull ache behind the eyes working in tandem with the pressure building in her nasal passage. She tried to inhale, but couldn't get air through the blockage. It made her cough instead, and then she sneezed four times in a row, and then the headache got worse.

Phil noticed immediately, but he always did. Thirteen years she'd known him, and never in that time had she been able to hide anything from him. Eventually, she stopped trying. So when he ordered her back to her room to rest and even abandoned his morning coffee to personally escort her, she hadn't complained. Hadn't said a word except 'thank you' when he tucked her in and kissed her forehead. Back when she was twelve, she would've recoiled in disgust at the show of affection. Now, she welcomed it, at least on the inside. Outwardly, she grumbled a complaint, and was met with a chuckle. She really couldn't hide anything from Phil.

After that, she had slept. She slept long and she slept soundly, and when she next opened her eyes, it was late afternoon. Her head still hurt, but she could breath easier. Voices in the hall told her their guests had just arrived. Heavily accented arguing brought a hint of a smile to her face. As did the slightly older, deep female voice beneath their volume. Exactly what was being said, she couldn't tell. Knowing them, it had something to do with what movies they would watch and whether they ordered pizzas or Chinese food.

That, of course, prompted Audrey to chime in, reminding them that dinner was always homecooked in this house and if they wanted take out, they could just go home. It was too late to order out anyway. Commencement was an hour away, and everyone knows businesses closed way in advance on Purge night. They should all just sit down, wait for Phil to finish upgrading the alarm system, and for heaven's sake, stop making such a racket!

"You'll wake Daisy up!" Audrey snapped, like Fitz and Jemma were children and not a pair of scientists hailed as geniuses in their fields. "She was sick this morning and she needs her rest."

Such a mother, Audrey. It was a shame she'd been unable to have kids of her own and had to settle for a foster kid. Not that they ever regretted taking her in. She knew this, had been told by Audrey and Phil multiple times over the years, but she couldn't help but wonder…

Hunter and Bobbi came next. Sounded like their on-off relationship had just gone back to 'off', and she wondered how long it would last this time before the two of them made the walls shake again. Mack would be along soon, if he wasn't there already and just unconscious. He worked too hard in her opinion. He needed to relax a little. Stop to smell the flowers. Maybe find a nice girl and go on a date.

Speaking of which, and a peculiar sort of chill went down her spine as that person came to mind, she really hoped they were the only ones who would be present tonight. Her own love life was kind of a mess right now, and she really didn't want to see him any time soon. Hopefully, he'd found a safe place to wait out the night somewhere else.

She thought about getting up to go greet everyone, but her head was swimming and her body felt like lead. Better to stay where she was and let the fog pass. She drifted off to the sounds of sirens, and the cool female voice wishing America a safe and successful purge.

She awoke to silence, and a darkened room without a hint of starlight. Her first instinct was to fear blindness, but then she remembered what day it was. Those new window guards worked wonders. She didn't think even a blast from a cannon could break them. Feeling around for the light switch, she instead found her phone and settled for the LED light to guide herr. She pressed her ear against the door, listening for the TV or a voice.

That she could hear neither was not necessarily cause for concern, but it was strange. Purge night for her friends was more like movie night. They gathered together in the home of a semi-retired government agent with access to all manner of high tech security. The metal shields over the doors and windows rendered the small, one story house not only impenetrable, but also completely soundproof from the outside. They used it as an excuse to play action movies as loud as they wanted. She had not been woken up by an on-screen explosion or Audrey's shrieking at the sudden appearance of a hideous monster, so she was left with an uneasy feeling.

She couldn't even hear the microwave. No popcorn popping, or dishes clanking. No one was speaking. No one was moving. There was nothing. Nothing at all.

She didn't want to open the door, but she did it anyway. She let her rational side take over, the one that poo-pooed her fears, because of course nothing was wrong. Clearly, everyone had been too tired to watch a movie, so they'd gotten out their sleeping bags and turned in early. Of course everything was fine. Of course nothing had happened. Of course-

The smell hit her like a brick to the face. Overwhelming and acrid like copper. She was nearly knocked back and gasped for fresh air, only to find there was none. Pulling her shirt up over her nose, she walked forward. The smell grew stronger, but she pressed on. She could see a spot on the wall, staining the off-white paint with red. Halfway there, she recognized the handprint, and bile surged forth from her churning stomach. She held it in long enough to reach the living room, but what came out of her mouth at the sight of the blood, and the bodies, and the sheer raw black cloud of death was nothing tangible. It wasn't anything at all.

Phil was hunched over, a knife jutting out of his neck. He lay partially atop Audrey, her lifeless face turned towards the hallway, a tear paused halfway down her cheek. Mack was in the corner, his throat slashed. Hunter and Bobbi could've been sleeping where it not for their insides on the ground. Red pools spread out and joined together, creating a river of blood on Audrey's carpet. The new one she'd just installed last week. She'd been so proud of that carpet. Cost her a fortune.

She heard a gasp and came back to herself. A strangled cry as she tripped and fell at Jemma's side, holding her head up before she choked on her own spit.

"S-Skye- Skye…"

Nobody called her that anymore. She'd discovered her true lineage last year after tirelessly combing over birth records and death certificates, and she'd taken back the name she'd been given at birth. Until today, only one person had ever refused to call her Daisy.

"I'm here," she croaked. She brushed the hair away from Jemma's eyes. It was a tangled mess; her scalp raw like she'd been pulled to the ground by her ponytail. "It'll be okay, Jemma. Stay with me."

"No…" Her head twitched. She was too weak to shake it. "Get out… get out of here… you have to… before he-"

Her breath hitched, all the muscles in her body tensing one final time. Jemma fell limp as the last visages of life left her. Her best friend was left to cradle her corpse, surrounded by the people with whom she'd built a life. A life she'd always believed she couldn't have. Everyone she had ever loved was dead at her feet, here in this house that should've protected them.

Their killer arrived by way of the kitchen, his steps slow and practicer. A true predator. Slowly, he approached. Every step was like a blade in her heart. His hand was ice on her shoulder, turning her to face him. Deceptively handsome features were marred by scratch marks. A second knife was at his side, bigger than the first and red from blade to hilt. He looked into her eyes like he knew her very soul.

"I'm sorry Skye," he said. "I'm so sorry, but I had to do it. For us."

ONE YEAR LATER

The microwave dinged, and Skye removed the plastic tray carefully by the edges. Her finger hit a hot spot and she jerked back. Luckily, the tray was still mostly in the microwave, so her dinner didn't end up on the floor. She grabbed a dishrag off the stove top and tried again. Slowly, painstakingly, it came out. Victory was hers. Heat seeped through the thin cloth, but with the edge taken off, it was as warm as the water she bathed in.

She carried it back to her desk and set it down next to a warm can of soda left over from lunch. Drinking it down, she crumpled the can and threw it across the room at the garbage can. Two or three more were littered around it. Eventually, she'd have to pick them up. This can hit smack on the rim, teetered for a bit, then fell inside.

"Nailed it," she said, pumping a fist.

She tapped the spacebar repeatedly until her laptop came to life. It took three seconds longer than last time, as she was reminded yet again that she needed a new laptop. The one she used for work was so advanced, she was pretty sure it was illegal in some parts of the world. The one time her personal laptop had a problem she couldn't fix, the repair guy snorted at the obsolete system and asked in a condescending voice why she'd even want to fix this 'glorified doorstop'.

If Skye had power over earth, she would've created a massive earthquake that split the ground under him and sent him on a freefall to the earth's core.

"I just like it," she said curtly. "A friend gave it to me."

She didn't think as she typed in the password. It was second nature to her. The first thing she saw when the loading bar disappeared was blackness, and then their faces popped up. The whole group posing in front of the Christmas tree, all whites and reds and greens. Skye wasn't in the photo. She'd been on the other side of the lens because the time delay button on Audrey's ancient clunker of a camera had stopped working.

She still remembered directing everyone to get in close and smile. She remembered the unusable first and second attempts, in which Trip and Hunter competed to see who could make the stupidest face. Then there was the third try, after Audrey had 'Mom Stared' the two overgrown boys into submission, only for Fitz to sneeze and startle Jemma, which in turn made her fall into Bobbi's lap. They finally got it right on the fourth try, and now it was their happy faces that greeted her every time she looked at her desktop.

Like a call from a long lost friend she'd never see again.

"Hey there, guys," she said. "Been up to anything since I was gone?"

If they could answer, Phil would talk about work (as much as he could); Audrey would offer to play the new piece she'd been working on for her next show; Fitz and Jemma would want to show her their latest experiments; Hunter and Bobbi would have two completely different accounts of their day which would inevitably lead to a passionate argument over Bobbi drinking the last soda and Hunter using up all the towels for a shower.

The picture smiled on.

She stuck her fork into thin linguini noodles. Bits of alfredo sauce dribbled down her chin as she sucked them into her mouth. As always, she squirmed at the papery texture and bland flavor of the TV dinner, but by the second bite, she hardly noticed it at all. She crossed her legs in her chair and flipped through a few old email accounts. Mostly they were just coupons and advertisements these days. There was an eighty percent off sale at Bed, Bath and Beyond this week, and if she used the special code, she could get a free two topping pizza at Pizza Hut any time before Friday. She read down the list, deleting everything she didn't need and leaving the rest to maybe be used later.

After an hour and a half of aimless web surfing, her phone buzzed. It was five o'clock. Time to get to work. Skye closed out her facebook page (no updates today), and shut down her laptop.

"Bye guys," she said as the desktop image faded to black. "See you tomorrow."

She only had a few projects to work on today. Some codes needed rewriting and a recent customer had requested a few tweaks for his website's main page. Other than that, today's agenda was mostly administrative stuff, the most wonderfully interesting part of the job. She sent out emails explaining her services to prospective clients; she responded to messages from current customers asking about rates and deadlines; she paid a small fee to keep her ad posted on the front page of her favorite design website; she checked her bank account for a payment that was supposed to come in today.

At a quarter to eight, Skye was in a Skype chat with one of her most recent customers, working hard to look straight ahead and not let her eyes stray to the clock.

"Everything looks great, Skye. Just like I wanted it."

"Glad to hear it, Ms. Hand," Skye said, smiling for the other woman's benefit.

"Sorry if some of my requests were a little particular."

"It was no trouble at all. I've dealt with a lot worse." Skye allowed herself one quick glance at the corner of the screen. Was it already that late? The nearest grocery store would be closing in half an hour. "If you have any other questions or concerns, you can email me anytime or request another Skype chat. Whatever works best for you."

"Well, I-" Someone off-screen interrupted her. Ms. Hand listened to them and nodded along. Skye couldn't make it out, but it must've been important as Ms. Hand almost got up and left before remembering they were still on the line. "Sorry, that was my assistant. I'm late for an emergency meeting with the chairman of the board."

"I understand," said Skye. She checked the clock again. Twenty eight minutes. "I've got some last minute prep work to do myself."

"Okay, Skye. Thanks again. And I will be recommending your services to my colleagues." She adjusted her perfectly coiffed hair and her perfectly pressed white pantsuit. "Stay safe."

"You too, Ms. Hand."

The call disconnected on the first 'you'. Skye didn't have time to stare at the blank screen or take another look at her empty address book. She'd need two minutes to get her jacket on and her purse out and seven to walk the two blocks to the store. That would give her eighteen minutes of shopping time, and she was going to make the most of it.

Her purse was next to the coat rack, cutting the projected two minutes down to one. She pulled on her jacket, slung it over her shoulder, and was out the door in seconds.

"Be back later," she called out to no one.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Baugh."

The old woman had her crossword puzzle out on the only clear section of her desk. Papers, pens, paperclips, and manilla folders made chaos of her tiny office. Seven filing cabinets were crammed against the wall, none of which could be closed for all that was inside them. A battered desk fan that was never used had been sitting on a pile of books since the day Skye moved in. A radio with an antenna sat next to it. Staticky doowop music faded in and out. Mrs. Baugh smacked it on one side, but that only made it worse.

One time, Skye asked why she hadn't implemented a computer system so she wouldn't need those bulky cabinets.

"I don't trust all this new technology," Mrs. Baugh had scoffed. "You know they monitor you with computers now? No thanks. Had enough of that during the Cold War."

Then again, that was exactly why Skye had signed the lease.

"Eight letter word for determination," she murmured though the pen cap clamped between her teeth. "Eight letter word… eight letter word…"

"Tenacity?"

Mrs. Baugh's head shot up. "Oh Mary! Darling, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in."

"It's fine," Skye said tightly. "I was just saying good afternoon."

"Aren't you the sweetest," Mrs. Baugh said. She was a matronly woman of seventy, permed white hair atop her head and kind brown eyes behind thick bifocals. Her cheeks sagged down to her neck, her hands more vein than skin. Her nails were always polished. Bright pink or red, whatever color her granddaughters had gotten ahold of this week. "I hope you're getting all your shopping done before tomorrow."

"Believe me, Mrs. Baugh, as soon as I get back from the store, I'm locking my door and I'm not coming out until Sunday."

Mrs. Baugh sighed and shook her head. "If only everyone was as smart as you. I've tried my hardest, but Billy Felk in 7D insists he's going out hunting tomorrow. Apparently, there's some boy he's been having trouble with."

"I'm sure he'll be fine. Maybe his mother will talk him out of it."

"We can only hope." Mrs. Baugh picked up her pen, writing a T in the first box of twenty seven down. "The NFFA made an announcement earlier. Did you hear it?"

"I don't listen to much political stuff these days."

"You should. Youngster like you needs to be involved. You know the turnout when the NFFA came into power was at a record low? How do you think we ended up here? I- oh, there it goes. There they go again!"

Mrs. Baugh's station had gone to commercial. A soothing acoustic guitar played over a soothing male voice.

'When we purge, we purge not only for ourselves. We purge for those we hold dearest to our hearts.'

'I purge for my children!' said an upbeat female voice.

'I purge because it's my civic duty as an American.' A boy probably fresh out of college.

'Someday, I'll purge with my whole family!' She couldn't have been more than six.

Mrs. Baugh's hand shot out and she flicked the radio off. Skye had never been more grateful since the day the old woman gave her a key with no references or credit checks.

"This country… how did it come to this?" She wiped a tear from her eye. "Now they're indoctrinating children. I swear, Canada is looking better every day."

"Yeah…" Skye played with the straps of her bag, shifting from foot to foot. Her throat buzzed with the need to speak, to give comfort to the poor woman. The sad truth was, Skye couldn't remember a time when the Purge wasn't around. For a woman who lived through the sixties with a dream of world peace and free love for all, what ever be said about the world they now lived in? "So uh… I'd better get going before the store closes."

"Oh, of course," Mrs. Baugh said, brushing herself off. "So sorry dear, you'll have to forgive a sensitive old woman. Thank you for the reminder, by the way. I needed to call to the insurance company."

She got on her phone, the cord dangling to the floor. Skye closed the office door behind her, granting her privacy to argue with the building's provider over rising coverage rates. Like car insurance after an accident, the Purge always sent prices skyrocketing, especially for the people least able to pay. Sometimes, Skye could see those smarmy agents in their offices, rubbing their tentacles together in glee as they fucked over another single mother or small business owner.

The streets were quiet this time of day. Rush hour had passed and most people were at home running last minute checks on their security systems. A few kids were grouped together, drinking and laughing about whatever it was teenagers drank and laughed over these days. Skye lamented having left her headphones at home as she passed them and caught snippets of their conversation.

"...so we set the ax up here and we wait up on the roof. We pull the cord and then, BAM! Some fucker gets his nuts sliced off-"

Skye quickened her pace. She hid her face under her collar, as if that would protect her if they wanted to start something. She felt for the knife in her pocket and turned onto a busier street. The grocery store would be a quick trek from here, and then she could get home, barricade her door, and once again pretend this wasn't reality.

The sun set over the dark silhouette of a man on the roof of a three-story building. He looked down at the street. There was a man peddling masks to random passers-by, most of whom ignored him. In all the time Rumlow watched, he sold one bloody Statue of Liberty mask to a bleach blonde walking with her boyfriend.

Through his binoculars, he could see her hand him a fifty. Her nails were professionally polished and probably fake. Her hair was perfect, not a strand out of place. Her boyfriend examined a realistic Thomas Jefferson mask until she got her change, and then they moved on. Unless they're rich enough to pay some poor bastard to be murdered in the safety of their home, neither would last an hour tomorrow.

Turning away, he caught a glimpse of a face he both loved and loathed seeing. He was in a car with the top down, chatting away on his phone. He wore a suit like this was Wall Street and not some dump in the heart of Queens. He had his tablet out and a few words on his lips indicated he was getting information on someone. Who it was didn't matter. The important thing was that Rumlow had finally found him, and that was one more person on his list accounted for.

He sat down on the ledge, flipping through his battered notebook. The first page was packed with names. Nine in all. The first two were the only ones missing a little check mark next to them. He added one to the second name.

"Rollins…" he growled. One name only would he spew with more venom than that one. He could still see them, running away as he dragged his battered body after them, crying out pathetically for help that wouldn't come. Bakshi was holding the gun he'd filched from him. Rollins laughed at him like the noxious bastard he was.

"Good luck, Commander!"

They were going to need good luck this time. Not that it would do them any good.

He read the top name again, but he refused to remember that face or that smile as that voice announced the team's 'change in management.' When Rumlow was 'thanked' for his many years of service, because it was just 'so sad' that they had to let him go. He'd save it all for the moment that little bitch was half dead at his feet. Then he'd give back every single word.

He put the notebook away and withdrew his gun. He aimed at the metal door.

"Bang."

"Your total today is $21.45," said Ralph the checkout guy with a wink, "but if you agree to go to dinner with me, you might get a discount."

Skye, too tired to be creeped out by the forty year old man's leering smile or crud covered fingernails almost touching her skin, shook her head politely. "That hasn't worked the last few times, Ralph. Not gonna work now."

He pouted. "Why you gotta be so mean?"

"I'm not looking for a date, even if it means five bucks off my grocery order." She pulled a twenty and a five out of her wallet and handed them to him. "I've got far too much to do."

"Like?"

"Work," Skye said, counting off on her fingers. She paused on the second one. "And… well, I have a lot of work."

He took the bills and placed them in the register, taking his sweet time counting out three singles and nine nickels. "You know, it's a big night tomorrow. Any plans?"

"Tons," said Skye as she bagged her groceries. "Most of them involve cowering behind a metal shield over my windows."

"Ah, that's no fun. Purging is a good, clean American sport! Minus the clean part. You know it took me two weeks last year to get all the blood off my shoes?"

Last year…

Blood… so much blood… everywhere…

Phil… Audrey… Jemma… everyone...

Skye clenched her eyes shut. When she opened them again, the mangled bodies of her friends were gone, and Ralph remained, still smiling. Like her mild episode hadn't penetrated his thick skull.

"You know, I just picked up a brand new Remington Model 700. Best hunting rifle on the market. If you're worried about staying safe, you should stick with me."

"I'm more worried about my neighbors on the lower levels." She wrapped three shopping bags around her wrists, holding out her hands for the money. At this point, she was tempted to just let him have it so she could get out of here quicker. "I live on the top floor, so I'm good."

"If you say so." He placed the last five cents on the conveyor belt and slid it over to her. "I just think-"

"See you later, Ralph. Stay safe tomorrow!" Skye jogged out the door, breathing easily now that she was alone. It wasn't that she was scared of Ralph, he just seemed like the kind of guy you shouldn't be alone with if you're a woman with minimal self defense training. The moves she'd learned from Phil would come in handy worst case scenario, but she often wished she'd taken up his offer to learn the more advanced stuff.

Someone barrelling down the street with their hood up and their head down bumped her shoulder, knocking her grocery bag to and froe and not slowing his pace even a little. Even after Skye righted herself and shouted after him:

"Excuse you!"

He had his hands in the pockets of his coat. It was a long, black one that touched the sidewalk. He looked fairly tall, at least compared to her, but other than that, there were no distinguishing features. Best Skye could figure, he was another wannabe gunslinger scoping out the area for a good spot to set up camp.

'That would explain the coat,' she thought to herself.

Around the corner, a mask seller shouted at everyone who would listen that all doll masks were half off, and for an additional two bucks, he'd write whatever message they wanted on it. As if nobody in the world owned a sharpie pen. Skye crossed to the other side of the street and mustered up every bit of indifference she'd learned as a child of New York City to block him out.

"Step right up, Ladies and Gentlemen. The time has come! The Purge is upon us! Tomorrow, we will become our own Gods! Get started right here at Harry's Mask Emporium!"

As the man with the masks continued to yell, Rumlow stepped into the grocery store that woman he'd run into had exited from. He would've stopped to apologize any other time, but today he had a mission. No time for anything that didn't get him what he needed.

Entering the shop, he noted only two registers were open. The first was manned by a decrepit old woman shakily running an item over the scanner, her pace so slow it was a wonder the teenager being checked out hadn't strangled her yet. He'd talk to her last.

He went up to the other cashier, a middle aged man with thinning brown hair and an unpleasant look in his eye. "Pack of Marlboro reds," Rumlow said.

"We're out," said the cashier.

"Could you check?"

The man- name tag said Ralph- glared at him over his brow. He was on the tall side, but if he thought Rumlow would be intimidated by that alone, he'd picked the wrong guy. Slowly, he turned his head. There was indeed one pack of Marlboro reds sitting in the dispenser. "Well I'll be."

Rumlow smiled and gave the man a ten dollar bill. With it was a black and white photograph. "Maybe you can help me out. You seen this guy anywhere?"

Ralph bent over to get a better look. "Nope. Can't say that I have."

Rumlow pursed his lips. He fished another photo out of his pocket. "How about this one?"

"Mack, do you know how many people come through here every week?"

"Just look at the picture, please."

The man grumbled like a child, but took the photo anyway and gave it a once over. He started to give it back, but then he stopped. He scrunched up his eyes and looked at the picture again. "Wait… I did see this guy. He was in here two days ago. Fucker tried to sneak an extra beer out with his six pack. I would've called the cops if his buddy hadn't come in and paid the difference."

"He wasn't alone?"

"He was with some British sounding guy," said Ralph. "Had a weird name. 'Back sheep' or something. I don't know. I don't care as long as I don't get cheated. Man's gotta make a living, you know? I just blew all my spare cash on a new gun. Can't afford to lose any more."

"Maybe you should've gone for a cheaper model."

"Hey, do I tell you how to purge?"

Rumlow took his change and the cigarettes. He put them both in his pocket with the pictures. "No, I guess not. Thanks for the help."

As he left the store, Rumlow wrote down another note. '5th street to Main street are hotspots. Pay close attention when scouting the area.'

If he did everything right, it would all be over by Sunday morning. Every name on his list would be crossed out, everyone who'd betrayed him would be dead, and he would…

He would…

Well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

The sirens started at seven pm the next night. Skye curled up under the heavy quilt Mrs. Baugh made her for Christmas, the only gift she'd received that day. She cried when she got it. Her TV switched from a rerun of Full House to the blood red warning sign with the NFFA seal emblazoned in the center.

"This is not a test. This is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government."

Skye mouthed along the part about restricted weaponry and Government bureaucrats who were safe because money. Already, she could hear gunshots going off. Some people were so trigger happy, they couldn't even wait for the commencement message to finish. Skye would be listening to it all night until she fell asleep. No matter how much she saved up, Mrs. Baugh could never afford soundproof glass.

"Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning until 7 a.m. when The Purge concludes. Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn."

"May God be with you all," Skye said in time with the recording. As the sirens blared and the screams of pain and glee grew louder, she buried herself under the blanket. She put a pillow over her head. If only this thick bit of cloth was made of steel or was bulletproof. If only she'd had something like that a year ago. Maybe she'd still be at home. Maybe she'd still have a family and friends who loved her.

Maybe she'd still be happy.

The metal shields over her windows covered all light from the outside world. Nothing but the glow of the TV, back now to Danny Tanner teaching DJ and Stephanie an important life lesson over saccharine music, kept her from total darkness. Skye changed the channel a few times before shutting it off entirely. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to hear the crescendo of chants rising from the streets below.

"Purge and Purify! Purge and Purify! Purge and Purify!"

It was going to be a long night.