She looked at him; his clothes torn. She tried not to notice his bruised face, nor the blood on the ground. Where were they? His eyes flickered alive as a candle in the wind.

“Elsha?”

He had recognized her at once, yet she still had no idea his name.

“ElshaHawk?” He reiterated.

yes, she thought but came out as an illegible whimper.

“Mighty-Joe,” he said weakly with a thrusting motion to his chest.

A figure moved from the shadows.

“THX” she whispered. And indeed it was.

She had heard the rumors, but never thought them true. He wore a white laboratory coat, and held a syringe. He lanced forward, and quickly injected her in the neck. Her body drooped limp; nothing more than a doll. He then applied the same dosage to Joe.

She and MJ had grown too powerful, and so they were to be recycled. A normal process. It was necessary for maintaining the originality of ficly.

In the end, only one would be left alive. And in a month, two more writers would be invited to the Conference of Submission.