There was no more sun, no more wind, no more people. So agent C boarded her ship and went up. Up and up and up past the disease and the filth and the orange clouds so thick with guilt that they held her and cried as she barely pierced their fat. When she reached the black of space a weight was lifted and she wept. Looking down at earth one final time, C decided that her home was no longer her home but a cabin in the woods of regret. Somewhere far away a space port called to her and begged for her to arrive. The silence sounded like rage, but the weapon would be ready when she awoke from her 30 year slumber. 432 days into the sleep she would dream again and she prayed for a good dream. This is her dream, this is our dream… the danger is big but we’d rather have a broken skull than a broken heart. One day we will be there, until that day we will think only about being there.