MARVEL DISCOVERED A box of broken chalks in the debris of their house and asked his mother for permission to color the walls.

She hummed for a while, playfully posing as if she was thinking about it, then said that she preferred them vandalizing the walls in silence instead of running around, causing a ruckus.

So Marvel promised that they both would play with it in silence, and permission was granted.

Marla took her time in choosing her weapon —there were red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and purple. Her brother told her it was the colors of the rainbow.

She chose yellow and marked it as hers.

Marvel took the red one.

"What are you drawing?"

"I'm drawing the sun," Marla replied, "You?"

"Robots. Cars. Big buildings."

"I'm drawing flowers, too. By the sea."

"You can't draw the sea with that!" Marvel slapped his sister's hand, "The sea is blue, don't you remember?"

"No."

"We went to a beach once, with Mum and Dad!" Marvel sighed dramatically, "I guess you're too small to remember. I was four."

"Why can't I draw it yellow?" Marla furrowed her eyebrows. She brought her chalk back to the wall and continued drawing the pointy waves.

Marvel slapped her hand again. This time, it caused the chalk to form an unwanted line as by accident. "Here! Use blue. You can use yellow for the sand."

Marla looked menacingly at Marvel and scratched a long, yellow line through her brother's two-dimensional city.

"Marla! You ruined it!"

"You ruined mine first!"

Soon, the siblings were engaged in an intense brawl.

"Marla! Marvel!" Their mother stomped out of their bedroom, "What is this mess?! Can't you take care of your own sister? Hug it off, shake your hands and apologi—"

The door to their secret hideout burst open with a loud bang.

Marvel let his grip on Marla's hair go and they paused the catfight.

She wiped her teary eyes with the back of her hands. Now with a clearer vision, she could see the figure of a sweaty, panting boy.

It was one of the two neighbour brothers she talked about before. The younger, fatter, and weepier one. He was a year older than her while his brother introduced himself as five years older than Marvel.

Marla stood up, still sniffling.

"Why are you here?" Marvel asked.

The boy hurriedly ran down the stairs. He reached Marla's mother and cried, "Ma'am, Gabe told me to go here. They got us. They wanted to take me with them."

"Who? Who got you?" Marla's mother asked frantically. She wasn't one who dealt with stress that well.

"I don't know! But they— they got guns! He said he'll come here later."

"Okay. Okay," Marla's mother took several deep breaths to calm herself, "Hide inside the cabinet. Marvel, go."

"In here!" Marvel took his sister's hand and dragged her forward to the sink, beside the family's queen size bed. He opened the door of the cabinet under it.

They had stuffed some food in the small space and there was also the sink's iron pipe jutting out with dripping water, but the two youngest kids could fit in there just fine.

Marvel stretched out his hand to Marla, "I'm sorry."

Marla pursed her lips. He had ruined her artwork. It wasn't something she should forgive so easily.

"I'll draw you a beach later, okay?"

Marla nodded. Her tiny hand reached out and shook her brother's. "Okay."

"Be quiet, okay?"

The neighbour boy nodded, "Okay."

〰️

FRANKIE WOKE UP a few hours later, feeling completely disoriented, sore, and completely alone.

Using her elbows, she supported herself back to the sitting position and looked around the Berg. Everything seemed awfully quiet and eerie now that she was alone. There was no light shining through the windows, indicating that it was already nightfall.

"Shuck, Newt," she cussed.

Without the guy, every shred of will and urge within her to do anything diminished.

It took probably half an hour for her to force herself to move. Leaning against the wall, she pulled herself up onto her feet and limped over to the bathroom's sink, flipping the light switch on.

The girl in the mirror was ghostly pale. Dried blood streaks were left on her upper lip, indicating that she had a nose bleed. A launcher grenade was still stuck on her chest.

Frankie reached up to pluck it off and threw it carelessly somewhere.

Newt shot it.

Newt shot it to save me.

Sluggishly, she washed her face and combed her hair with her fingers. There was nothing she could do about the different colored bruises. She checked on her reflection to make sure that she was presentable enough, so she wouldn't cause her friends to worry over nothing when they return. Then she washed the remnants of blood from the bullet graze on her left palm.

With another sigh, she closed the tap and went out to the common area.

Frankie took the Berg's first aid kit that Brenda had kindly pointed out before her departure. She slid down onto the floor, leaning back onto the wall, and unhooked the straps of her KAFO.

Two bullets rolled onto the floor as she took her orthotics off and tossed it nearby.

They only left two cuts on her leg, since their projectiles were blocked by the metallic contraption.

As she swiped her wounds with an alcohol swab, Frankie tried to keep her mind and eyes solely on the lesions.

But it wasn't working.

She couldn't help wondering where Newt was taken. What he was doing right now. What kind of injuries was inflicted to him along the way. Was he alone? Where would he sleep? Did he have something to eat there? He didn't even have any money in his pockets.

And where was Minho? Where was everyone?

Maybe Hans isn't that easy to find, Frankie thought, I hope they're okay. I hope they'll be back soon.

Tears blurred her vision —a few treacherous ones fell down her cheeks. She gave up trying to tend herself and buried her face in her hands.

Frankie understood Newt's heart and intention —if she was him, she would want her friends to remember her at her best, as someone strong and courageous. Not as another far gone Crank.

But understanding didn't make parting less painful.

He didn't even let her say goodbye.

〰️

"LET'S HURRY AND get to the shuck airport," Minho muttered, "This place is giving me the creep."

They had been walking down the street since eight in the morning, and just passed by a shirtless man with his back to them.

The man was hunched over something, digging with his hands in jerky, desperate moves.

Without warning, the man sprang up and turned towards them. Blood covered his mouth and nose, and he held up his bloody hands as if showing them off.

"That guy's sick," Reggie whispered, "How's he loose like this?"

"Let's just go," Thomas whispered back.

"He was eating a person. I just know it," Minho commented when they were far enough.

"Maybe... Maybe it was just a stray dog," Brenda began. "Not like that'd be okay, either."

It took another half hour before they found a cab, but they were finally on their way.

Reggie was the first to speak during the ride. "Dude, I'm a little freaked right now. I'm scared of what we're gonna find with Frances and Newt."

"Don't worry. I'm sure they're fine for now," Thomas said, though he wasn't seemed convinced himself.

"Good that," Minho snorted. He couldn't shake off any dreadful feeling he got swimming around in his stomach. "And I'm gonna be the next WICKED's shucking president."

Thomas irritatingly sighed, "Look, we can't do anything until we get there and see them."

"Thanks for the pep talk."

They stayed silent the rest of the way to the airport.