During my four-hour coach ride, I observed a lot. For starters, they drove on the right side of the road here. Next, the average house in this country was at least twice the size of the average U.K. home. And along my prolonged en route, I witnessed at least six marches. Interesting place.

However, I soon came to realise, it wasn't what I was going to see on to the way to LA, but rather what I was going to see in LA, that I should have prepared myself for.

Me.

I saw myself. Everywhere.

Let me explain. In the heart of Los Angeles, as soon as I set foot out of that coach, I saw myself. On an enormous screen. On a stage. In front of a crowd – one which was relieved I wasn't in.

My initial thought was, what the hell? But reading the words under my picture, I understood.

202 discovered, but are we to buy our way out of cancer?

The image changed.

Make a stand for our corrupt health care system, before it takes its burden on our children.

So that was what this was about. It was a protest. America didn't have a free healthcare system. That meant when (and if) 202 released... they would have to buy it. And that meant, clinic owners would be given the chance to exploit patients, which in turn would mean that most citizens wouldn't be able to afford 202.

Damn. Americans had never dodged a bullet so good.

For a moment, I was marvelled by their perfect timing of this protest – it screamed coincidence from miles away. But then I rethinking this idea, I laughed, and even Everest's glare didn't stop me.

It wasn't a coincidence, it was a motive. A scheme. They'd planned it.

"Don't you see?" I chuckled. "They were expecting us to be here! I knew someone would spill!" Come on, only everyone in the train station, a part of London, the airport and Vegas saw us. Hoping no one would recognise me at the rate those newspapers were being printed out, was a tad too hopeful.

"Stop drawing attention," Everest growled.

But it was too late, someone had already noticed me. I knew this, because they yelled my name. Both '202' and 'Emerald'. This caused at least a dozen people to turn around.

"It's her!" Someone from the crowd shouted. "She's come!"

A woman ran to me. "Oh my– thank God, you're here! You-you need to speak for us! We're here to listen! You need to speak!"

Speak for them? I looked over at the crowd. In front of that? About what? Oh, hi! I know you guys are pretty bummed about the cure not being free in the US due to your crap healthcare system, but on the bright side, 202 was made wrong and will kill you like it's going to kill me, so ya'll should be thanking your lucky stars, right now. Peace!

Yeah... no.

But then again, I couldn't do nothing. As far as the world knew, the cure was real, and despite knowing the truth, we were going to keep it that way until we got Gemma's cure.

Besides—

"Speak out for us!" Someone else shouted.

—these people seemed desperate.

"Please!" Another man pleaded. Okay, now that was an offer I couldn't refuse.

"We need to get out of here," Everest said, grabbing my wrist.

I'll be honest: I had no idea what I was supposed to do. Give in to Everest's cold glare, or follow the people and stand up for humanity?

Then, like a bathtub filling up with water, one by one, my name echoed in their mouths. They were chanting my name. They were actually chanting my name!

I went with the second option.

"No." I pulled back.

"No?" He shot icicles at me.

"No. This has to end. We can't keep running from the Front."

He stepped towards me. "You're not going to run anywhere when you're dead!"

"Oh, come off it. They already know we've come here!" I was talking about the Front. "There's no point in running anymore."

"202..."

I turned, walking in the direction of the podium.

"202!" I heard him call after me, but ignored it with all the force I can muster, and that was hard, trust me – he sounded as though he was ready to kill me there and then.

Cheers reverberated from within the sea of people as I walked to the stage with artificial confidence. Before I knew it, I was standing above the very audience that I'd feared showing myself to. I had expected to only see politically engrossed, middle-aged people in the crowd, but to my surprise, I was met with all sorts of age groups. I waited, as their cheers slowly quietened.

There was a formally dressed man on the stage with me, who offered a small smile. There were many cameras in front and several microphones on the podium. Media. Just the thing I'd been avoiding, this past week or so. Awesome.

Everything about this reminded me of the evening we launched 202. I always found myself wondering why on earth they would launch a drug that they got wrong. There had to be more to it than money. And every time, it all came back to him. Back to the guy with the glacial blue eyes, so dark that you'd have look at them in the perfect lighting just to make out that they were blue. The same eyes that were penetrating through my own eyes from the front row, as I took the podium. It was because of him that they launched 202. It was because they launched 202, that nobody targeted him, nobody chanted 'Everest' even though he was the real cure. Because he was the only one they wanted to protect. But he defied it, that was the only reason he was standing there right – and for what?

The formally dressed man approached me. "Hello, Miss Reese," he said into my ear, "my name is–" I so wasn't listening to what his name was or who he said he was. "...so you don't have to do or say anything you don't want to. We understand that you didn't come prepared, so just answer the questions they ask you."

"Who?"

"The audience, the press, anyone."

I nodded, ignoring the small stomach drop I felt at this.

"She looks sixteen! She should be in high school!"

That was the first shout, it sounded like it came from a middle aged woman.

Nineteen.

"She could be in my high school," said another younger looking boy all flirtatious.

"Shut up, dude," the friend next to him, said.

"She's alright," added another.

"I thought this was going to be political," I hissed to the man next to me.

"Daaaaamn! That's an accent!" Another member yelled. Apparently the numerous microphones in front of me picked up on what I had said.

I brought the mic close to my lips, looking at that guy dead in the eyes. "Okay, you know what? Shut up... but thanks!"

The man in the suit quickly took over.
"Good afternoon Ladies and Gentleman–" Gentlemen! "We are extremely privileged to have Emerald Reese with us, today." The man sort of paraphrased every Traitor Director had said in the launch evening but at a much faster pace. He turned to me. "Thank for being here with us, would you mind answering a few questions?"

What choice do I have, I almost said. Instead, I nodded – a tad too vigorously due to all that adrenaline pooling in body.

Silence lapsed over the audience. Then, a member of the press who had brought along an assistant with a camera the size of a vacuum cleaner, put their hand up. I answered it.

"If the cure was discovered when you were born. Why hasn't it been released until nineteen years later?"

There. A sensible question. And one which I didn't have an answer for.

"Safety precautions," I lied, raking my eyes over the series of microphones laid before me on the podium, unsure of which one to speak into.

The pressman spoke again. "But isn't nineteen years overdoing it little?"

Ah, screw it, I'll just speak into the air.

"You'd be surprised." –at how they still managed to get it wrong, I thought.

"But, imagine all the lives you could have already saved if it had been released earlier," he challenged.

Maybe it was the fact that I knew what I was about to say would be broadcast all over the world that provoked me to say: "And if they got it wrong? Imagine all the lives lost, then. Imagine all the hope we would have given. 202 isn't a drug that fights off a short-term illness like the tradition cold. It fights cancer, and well, malignant cancer stays for life. They had to monitor me throughout my entire life to ensure the drug was efficient all the way; to ensure that it didn't just..." I looked directly into the camera, "wear off." Enjoy the show, Director.

"How does it feel to be given such responsibility and recognition for something so serious at such a young age? At an age where you'd rather be, say, partying than attending political talks."

This one I had an easy answer for. "I mean, that depends on how you look at it. The recognition is something that I've just received recently. But the responsibility? It's always been there. Ever since I was young, knowing that this was my parents' legacy, it's been nothing but a huge responsibility for me." This wasn't a lie – after all, they did create the Original Cure. "It's what keeps me going... even if I don't act all too responsible at times." As I said this, I was speaking to one person in the audience in particular. "Some people my age would probably prefer to be off partying, but that's not me."

Someone else raised their hand. "How do you think the world would turn around after the cure is released?"

I had to think about this question before answering it. "At this precise point of time where we stand, cancer is a deadly, lethal, merciless disease that is often too simply referred to as a 'terminal disease'," I made air speeches. "But I think it's so much more that. It strikes fear into the hearts of innocents. It grips faith and crushes it under its hand. If a war, that kills millions, is man-made evil, then cancer – which also kills millions – is natural evil." My eyes flickered to Everest. "But, I think if we can pull this off," I choose my words purposefully, "we could save the world from this natural evil. We can end the war between man and nature. And we will win."

I didn't expect it to happen, but the crowd erupted into a storm of cheers just as I said the last word.

"Let's talk about the release of the 202 drug and how our national healthcare organisation is going to deal with it," the man in the suit  announced. "I'm sure you are aware, that in the US, we are not privileged to free health care as other nations are. What are your views on this?"

Wow, now I really had to think carefully about what I was going to say if I didn't want to piss off a bunch of Americans.

"It's a tragedy that the health care system is so biased in this country, so much that it takes protests like these for your voices to be heard. And personally, I don't think there's much I can do about the system. However, in terms of 202, I'm sure I can get them to negotiate vaccination fees with clinic owners. I don't want anyone in any country to feel as though they have to buy their way out of cancer," I referred to the one-liner on the screen. "There are many ways to make profit. Medicine is not one of them."

I could only wish to be this mature all the time.

There was a whole minute worth of cheers later, and then another question was asked:

"Speaking of your parents, we hear that at least forty percent of profits made post-release of 202 is actually theirs, but due to their passing, the money will go to you."

Huh. Hadn't put much thought into that. "I guess."

"202 is estimated to make seventy billion US dollars worldwide–"
Oh damn, no wonder why Director was so keen to release it. "–that means you will receive around ten-point-four billion dollars, as part of your share," Oh. "Even with this much money, what do you aspire to become? What ambitions do you strive for? Any career pathways?"

They were asking me what occupation I was planning to take up when in the future.

"Um... I want to be a..." I'd thought about this same question many times. When I was younger, I had this childish dream to be a teacher. And then, when I was in my early teens, physics caught my attention. I was abnormally and unnaturally intelligent; if I wanted to, I could have become a physics professor, or a surgeon, or maybe, due to my like for literature, a writer. However, recently the idea of becoming a businesswoman seemed most suitable. I didn't really have a passion for it or anything, but the idea worked well. It was simple – the Front was a multibillionaire company, and everyone always spoke of the figures I'd make after 202 was released, as a result of my parents' work. So business worked fine. But with everything that had been going on since the launch evening, I came to know the dark side of the business industry. It wasn't something that I was ready to involve medicine into. Not out of people's miseries.

I wasn't looking at the crowd anymore. I was looking into the distance, at the famous hills of Los Angles, when I said, "A humanitarian."

"A humanitarian?" His eyebrows arched up. "All due respect, Miss Reese, that– that isn't exactly an occupation."

"It isn't," I agreed, focussing my attention back onto the stranger. "But I figured, with ten-point-four billion US dollars, I wouldn't need one."

The man straightened his tie. "Uh, would you mind elaborating?

"I don't want to sound like a beauty pageant contestant here, but... free healthcare should be available in all countries. You know what, forget free healthcare – healthcare in general should be available everywhere. In every country. You might complain about having to pay health insurance, but I can assure you that there is a child out there on the other side of the world, who can only pray that such facilities even existed in their third world country. I want to gift something to the world. When I'm older, I want to build schools, and hospitals, and better shelter for the people in those nations. I want to visit sick patients and make it known to advanced nations how different life would be, had they lived in a different location. I want to be a philanthropist, if you will. So I guess... I wish to be a humanitarian."

For a while, everything muted. My ears had muted. All I saw were opened mouths and raised hands of the members of the audience. Then, it hit me. The sound. The ear-splitting sound of cheers.

I was so infatuated with it, that it was only when I glanced at the grandfather clock at the very end that I was brought back to reality. The day had bled into the afternoon.

I had to get to Gemma. If I wanted any of those things I wanted to happen, I needed to get to her. I needed to live, first of all.

I tapped on the guy's shoulder. "Hey man, thank you for the opportunity," which went completely divergent to the train wreck I had anticipated it to be. "But I really need to be somewhere else right now."

"Don't thank me, thank you! Thank you for coming out and speaking out, today." Yes, that was so what I was planning. "And," he winked at me. "Best of luck." He took my hand and raised it in the air. "Emerald Reese, everyone."

You know how Elvis Presley probably felt whenever he finished performing on stage? The support that exploded from the crowd then, came close to that feeling. Oh, who am I kidding, I murdered that stage.

I was about to leave when the man's hand stopped me. He handed me something.

"It's a hard drive containing your speech from today. Thank you."

I turned the small object in my hand, and smiled at the man. Climbing off the stage, I sheepishly dragged my feet towards Everest, who waited for me with his arms crossed.

I am so dead.

On the bright side, if he killed me, at least I wouldn't have to speak with Gemma. Good, right?

I either expected him to scold me without missing a beat, or to begin walking off before I caught up to him like he always did – and when I say always, I meant: Every. Goddamn. Time.

But he didn't. He waited until I had fully caught up to him, and even then, he didn't start walking. He was so going to kill me!

Then he spoke. "If you can act that mature up there," his eyes flickered to the stage. "Do you choose to annoy the hell out of me deliberately?"

Blinking, I opened my mouth. Then closed it. And then I opened it again. And closed it. When I opened it a third time, some sound came out. Yes! Finally! "Did I miss something?" I frowned, perplexed. "What? No, you are going to get yourself killed? No, we need to move? No, you're an idiot? Where are the bossy orders, the snappy responses? Come on, let's hear them."

His jaw clenched. I was flirting with danger.

"Not this time," he replied curtly. Then after a while, "Your responses were... reasonable."

I blinked again. A few times, actually. "You just complimented me," I gaped. "You've never complimented me! You've never even come close—"

"I get the point."

"Oh," I stopped. "Sorry."

"Don't be," he said flatly. "What you did was stupid."

"You just said it was reasonable!" I gasped. "Make your mind up, mister!"

"I said your answers were reasonable. But going up there? That was stupidity speaking."

"Hey, hey, this is America! It's a free country! I can go up there if I want! Besides..." I looked over at the podium, longingly. "...for a moment, for just a short moment, it was nice. When they asked about humanitarianism, it felt like I had this whole picturesque life just waiting to be lived. I forgot about 202, I forgot about the Front, I forgot about Reynolds Corporation... I forgot about everything for a moment."

His eyes lingered on me for a while after I finished. Then:

"So did I."

***

Author's note:

Yo, Evs, wanna tell us anything?

P.s. This chapter's all about Emerald because it's the 19th chapter and she's 19. Okay, I lied, it was just a coincidence.

Thanks for reading!

-Ruth