Rochelle quickened her pace, but only slightly. Running would be foolish; it would attract too much attention, would create a stir and coming from where she was, she couldn't have that. She held her breath, trying to pacify the surging of her lungs, and focused on the paved streets ahead.

Run.

She thought, but still she walked. Briskly, but she walked.

The town around her was buzzing with energy. She had always enjoyed watching the townsfolk go about their lives, she had found the people lively and joyful, but today they felt different, almost threatening.

They're watching me.

Anxiously, she scanned the street vendors, shopkeepers, and passersby, searching for someone, anyone that could help her and her unborn baby. Yet she wasn't even sure what that would look like, not being the class of citizen she was.

She tugged at her frizzy black hair, pulling it closer to her face as she had a hundred times already, though nothing could keep her from feeling utterly exposed.

Run.

Rochelle wanted to, but she couldn't. No matter how tempting it was.

Her throat tightened; the path ahead was dense, tightly packed with way too many bodies. With her jaw clenched, she plunged into the thick of people, forcing her way through as if her body were a battering ram.

Hands brushed against her, elbows jabbed at her, and every movement and touch sent her rigid. The journey seemed long and menacing, and she instinctively rested her hand on her belly, just for a moment before pulling away. That's when she saw it.

Twoson hospital.

Rochelle jogged through the calming intersection, slowly staggering, and suddenly collapsing at the automatic doors. Rochelle knew that she'd pushed herself too hard. No matter how much she tried to force her being from the planet, she couldn't go anymore, the hormones were too much for her. If what she learned was correct they'd kill her soon and she knew it. She placed a hand on her stomach and prayed for the future before her vision blurred and only the fuzzy silhouettes of doctors and nurses rushing towards the door were available.

Then she clenched the small piece of paper in her hands for the last time.

~~~

"Do you know what you're doing?"

"Yes." A young, beautiful girl's eyes flitted across the surgery room. "Does anyone have a blade? A scalpel, preferably?"

"We're letting her do this?!" A surgeon shouted.

"We need to move quickly," the girl said, her gaze serious but gentle.

Short, big eyed, pretty and not a day beyond adolescence to the naked eye. Her flowing pink hair spilled over her shoulders and framed her soft, dimpled cheeks. Even in a grave situation like this, her aura of peaceful innocence was glowing. "We need to deliver the baby."

"You're seriously going to let some pink haired girl cut open her open?!" a man hissed.

"You can't," another cried. "You don't know what you're doing!"

"She's already DEAD," the lass barked. "I can truthfully state in full confidence that you literally have no idea who or what I am. Regardless, we need to deliver the baby. And we need to do it now."

"That thing in her stomach?! Based on what you say, it's probably an abomination!"

"Would you have her son die?" she spat. "Is that what you all want?"

It was then that her eyes turned towards a note in the woman's hand, wrinkled and crushed but still legible. The girl snatched it and scanned the messy writing, nodding in agreement and honor to the deceased woman's wishes.

She grabbed the blade sitting on the table next to her and pressed it against the woman's flesh with a surge of conviction; softly at first, then hard, maneuvering the edge with force and skill.

Blood pooled at the tip of her blade, and she dragged it across the stomach, creating a long, thick line of red. She pried apart the flaps of flesh, exposing the yellow fat within, and slicing through it, working quickly, roughly.

There wasn't time for precision, nor was there a need. Rochelle was dead, but the baby was maybe, possibly still alive. She cut through the muscle, then the serous membrane, her hands now coated with blood and trembling with adrenaline.

Panic was ensuing behind her, but she paid no mind to it. She focused on the task at hand; on the Woman torn apart in front of her.

She could hear the crowd of nurses and trained medical professionals of all sorts expanding behind her, hovering like the sweat lining her brow, but still she worked.

Delicately, she made an incision in the womb, her hands moving artfully, and then it was done. With a deep breath, she plunged her hands deep into the Woman's belly, and pulled out a tiny wet baby.

"Thomas..."