[spoiler]Another story, this time in Errol’s perspective. I wanted to describe his thought process about this whole situation with Skye a little more. Criticisms and suggestions are absolutely and always welcome![/spoiler] A bright light flickered from above, casting away the darkness that once filled the first room of the laboratory in the mountain. Errol’s hand slipped off the heavy switch on the cold stone wall to drop to his side wearily. A relieved sigh escaped his chapped lips. Yes, the feeling was finally soaking through: he was home. He had escaped that wretched land of Offtopic. No, the land itself wasn’t completely unbearable. It was the people, always getting in his way and seeming to be unfazed by the corruption that sat right under their noses. As much is it irritated him, Errol quickly set the thought aside. He had to focus on his next course of action. Offtopic was no longer any concern of his, at least for the time being. He walked to the other side of the room, a slight limp in his step. His gloves were stained with his own blood, and the disks on one were severely cracked. As he made his way through the many halls and chambers of the laboratory, his brown gaze scanned his surroundings. Nothing had changed since he left, which meant he could proceed to complete his work easily. But then he was met with the sight of a large and damaged machine connected to a platform of steel and glass. Its computer console was smashed in, and the platform’s frame was scorched black. Flashbacks of his first confrontation with Skye crossed over his mind, and he frowned. It was a shame she couldn’t see what he did, and further tried to stop him from carrying out his goals, yet he had to do what was necessary to keep the path he chose clear of obstacles. His first attempt was interrupted by a malfunction in an old piece of technology, and his second by one of those Offtopics—Offtopicans—Offtopickles—[i]whatever[/i] they called themselves. It amazed him how someone like Skye, always struggling to fit in, could make an ally so quickly. He never wanted to hurt her, not really. He never forgot the close relationship they shared as siblings. Her cries and pleas from their second battle in Offtopic still echoed in his head. [i]“It doesn’t have to be this way.” “That’s not what father would have wanted! He raised us better than that!” “Don’t make me do this, Errol! Don’t make me do this again! Please!” “Take care of your sister, son.”[/i] That final voice was far too different to be Skye’s. It was warm, deep, assertive, familiar, and yet so far away. Errol raised the fist of his damaged glove and smacked it against a wall. The disks flickered red until their cracks sparked in protest and the glow died away. His tense shoulders rose and fell with every breath he took. It was the promise he made to his father as he was handed that pistol the day they discovered the laboratory: to take care of and protect his little sister, the one that he had loved since she joined their family as a three-year-old bundle of nerves. He suddenly felt his anger being replaced by guilt; a guilt that maybe this wasn’t the way to honor his father like he thought it was. He had tried to [i]kill[/i] Skye, and she said that the other lives he had taken, some supposedly “innocent,” were done so out of cold blood. Was she right all along? Were those who had tried to convince him of another path right all along? Was this really what his father would have wanted? Should he stop what he was doing and turn back? After a moment’s silence, Errol let his fist fall to his side once more, and he stormed past the machine. [i]No.[/i] No, he would not let this brief doubting of his duty cause him to change course when he was so close. Perhaps he had lost his temper a little too much in Offtopic, frustrated with the constant interruptions and obstacles in his way, but that didn’t matter anymore. His father was an honest, hardworking, virtuous man who made a living off of the land and through the work of his hands. He never should have died, and the men who took his life never should have escaped so easily. He had to be avenged, and all of the crime, wrongdoing and corruption in his homeland had to be put to an end. And he would be the one to do it. Skye’s pursuit of him was inevitable. She was stubborn, and proved that with the invention of her hybrid weapon in spite of how impossible it seemed to be. However, her injuries would slow her down. He had more time. Errol sat on a stool at a workbench, and removed his damaged glove to reveal a tightly bound bandage. His other still-covered hand rose, and his fingers twitched. The disks glowed faintly, and a single Atom rolled out of one of the pouches on his belt. He could sense it hit the ground and crawl up the leg of the bench and across its surface to halt before him. He picked it up between the tips of his finger and thumb and examined its minuscule details beneath a magnifier. These Atoms were merely prototypes, and weren’t originally meant to be used in combat so soon, but his encounters in Offtopic showed him what needed improvement. It would take time to finish these improvements, and even more to repair his glove, but he would eventually be able to begin his work. Once the city was cleaned of its corruption, he could find his father’s murderers. “I’m so close, father,” he whispered under his breath. “I’m so close.”