Philip had never been strong. While he was average height, a mere five foot six that, when standing fully straight, could pass as a five foot seven, Philip just wasn't the muscular type of person. In a fight with a skinny guy, sure, he'd win. But Philip wasn't strong and when looking in the mirror at his semi-attractive, mostly plain face, he couldn't muster up any strength. Puffing out his chest did nothing. I don't know why I'm here, he thought with a sigh. I'm just...me. Then he braved a smile and turned away from the mirror, heading out of the bathroom. In their disguises they looked like party goers. Philip's hair had been brushed down despite his cowlicks best intentions and his body had been mostly sculpted out in a suit that was just a bit tight on him. Maybe if I were more muscular...no, no. I need to look like an everyday person. I can't stand out. He adjusted the black glasses on his nose before leaving them to settle wherever they would. Heavens, I feel like I've aged six years in a week.

His back pocket must have had a hole burned through it. There, several guns had been glued against his thigh and covered with a hollow sheet of metal. Metal leg. I lost it in a fire. Prosthetic. Leaving the bathroom, he looked down at himself, then back up to the world. Gray walls cut the way of his path, leading him back to the main area where everyone gathered. The Food Givens Place. Philip put on a smile as he passed by the others left there. So many of their original group were gone. There's more of us there, in other bases...we won't die out. Tonight is the night we take down Queen Elaine.

Strength came from within, that's what his parents told him. "Don't mistake outside appearances for what's on the inside. Look at your mother—she doesn't look graceful, does she? Yet watch her dance, see the way her feet leap off the ground with ease...your mother is gentle. Look at you, Philip," his dad would say, pushing a finger into the young boy's chest, "look at how strong you are inside." That it wasn't just muscle mass but rather heart mass. But that didn't ease his stomach, with quivered at every movement. His tie felt too tight against his neck. He couldn't breathe.

It'll be okay.

Out of their entire base, only seven of those Nixes were stable, including Nicholas and Colette. Everyone congregated around in their outfits. Philip's job was to get in on the guest list, hidden like a normal guy, and bring the weapons in. With him, dressed up like a beauty, was Una Moreau, a model from rogue who had managed to get all of their outfits together for the attack. Three others were dressed up as royal guards—Kim, a chef from Juane; Arava, a strategist and genius from Viridis; and lastly, Achlys, from Argent, the smartest girl Philip ever had the pleasure of talking to. A young girl from Purpureus, by the name of Vilola if he remembered correctly, also was dressed up as a goer to the ball like Philip and Una. So young, joined in with the rest of us. She's barely a wisp of a girl. Philip sighed as he approached the table where everyone was at, picking up his masquerade mask. Is it ironic that we show up, masquerading to this masquerade ball?

The vivid colors were almost as bright and shocking as the highlights in Achlys hair, though much more varied. Instead of black and white it was deep blue, violets and reds mixing in such close hues, and a silver strand that weaved through the entire thing, just so barely tinted with a golden hue. It'd hide his plain eyes, covering his plain face, drawing mystery to a man plain to read. His wasn't like that of Una's, which was plain black, with a darkly colored dress that held tight around her bodice and flowed freely around her legs, and just a little fluff around her shoulders for her coiffed hair to fall down upon.

"Everyone ready?" Nicholas asked. Colette was the first to say yes and everyone followed suit nearly at once. "All right. Colette and I will be going with the guards—Una, you and Vilola will go in first at nineteen hundred. You'll need to be on top guard, remember your code names. Philip, you're next, be inside before twenty hundred. Sound good?"

An array of 'yes sir's broke through the room and it was cleared after some more detailing of the plan. Nicholas went into detail of how the night would go down, where each person would be located, when the Queen would arrive. The details went down to the nitty-gritty. It was hardly six when everyone broke off to get everything together.

My name is Elson Pars, the brown haired dentist. I have a wife named Pala and a son named Rodge. Most of Philip's time was spent sitting in the Food Givens Place, just memorizing everything he'd have to know from his new security numbers to credit card files, if need be. Anything that could be important was Philip looked down at his identification card, the picture blurry but very close to a resemblance of him. I'll have to do well, Philip told himself, not to forget that. I have a wife, I have a son. Elson Pars. Son's name is...Rodge. Rodge, because what else would a guy named Elson and a girl named Pala name a child? Goodness, we must be quite a pair. I'm sad that my wife couldn't attend, but she's caught a cold lately.

And Philip Morris, too, had caught something. It was spreading through his body in gentle waves, testing out the area, building slowly as it took over who he was. A cold of excitement, perhaps, that left tingles in his chest and stomach? Or a chill of fear that plagued his mind at what could go wrong, that left his hands twisting together or running through his so neatly fixed hair. I'll need a haircut. It'd grown longer since he initially joined, only to give him more of a look. Whether a good, bad, attractive, or even weathered look Philip could not say. All he knew was that he looked more. Perhaps it was the cold.

It was Elson Pars,not Philip Morris, who took a taxi all the way to the ball. He sat in the backseat and fiddled his hands, worrying them together until the skin felt both hot and cold, little tingles of chills spreading through every inch of his wrists. He wanted to call Nicholas somehow, to speak to the exprince, or to have Colette give him a pep talk, anything. But there wasn't time—he wouldn't be able to, not with everything that had to get done. They all had to be in place at exactly the right time or everything failed. Elson Pars was a very nervous man indeed, one who wasn't certain where or why he was doing what he was, just that it was, and he was, so there it had to be. Elson Pars was, though, certain that what he was doing was right.

Right, the reason why things were done. What was right in the eyes of one, and could be right in the eyes of many. What was right in the eyes of the heart, that which held ideals far too great for the outside world, far too great for war. That was, after all, what Philip Morris had found himself caught in. Philip lived in a war that was greater than anything and finally, he was going to do something worthwhile, something greater than him. That chance came to some several times, to most not at all, but he was going to taste that of life.

Philip Morris was Elson Pars, on his way to a ball, in a journey where the Nixes would, once and for all, eliminate Queen Elaine.

At the time of his arrival, the ball was in full swing. Philip climbed out of the taxi and could hear the gentle strands of music that flowed through the courtyard from the open doors. Before him was a gate, grand in all it's ways, and several men were lined before an open gap in it, a long line of people waiting to enter there. Oh...well, Philip sighed, looks like it's good I arrived early now, isn't it? The line wasn't that long, but it extended down the sidewalk, and walking to the end of it he got to watch several more take what likely would've been his spot. Hurry, hurry. His prayers must've gone unheard because there he waited for the next half hour or so, just standing in place or getting to move forward a step or two.

Time strained and heard his pleas after awhile and soon enough he was there, at the front of the now much longer line, looking up at the guards in their tight uniforms with their big guns.

"What's this?" the guard asked, tapping the butt of his gun against Philip's leg. The metal sounded off loudly, vibrating with every hit. "Huh?"

Each word fumbled through his mouth, the word having trouble before he was eventually able to spit out a simple, "Prosthetic."

"Elson Pars," the guy laughed. He shoved one of the others waiting there. "Look at him! You'd think I threatened to kill him. God, go on in. Next!"

Philip, blinking and trying to form out a thank you, made his way inside the gates. There, he walked through a cemented area, glancing left and right every so often to note the way the grass had been cut and bushes sliced and fixed. Just before he walked in, Philip passed by a royal guard wearing a mask of his own and smiled. Nicholas, looking handsome there I see. It was, of course, Nicholas who had to hide the most. If the Queen saw him, or even lingered, it'd be clear what was up. The man was handsome in ways most couldn't obtain. Perhaps it was because he was a prince, but Nicholas was so much more than that. He was a leader, true in word and form. Someone people looked up to. Someone Philip looked up to.

Inside, the party was in full swing. Lights were turned both high and low, casting shadows and other forms across the open place. The ground was marbled where it could be seen inbetween the ever moving crowd of people dressed in their best. Men and woman of all ages danced, their eyes showing true emotion as they swayed back and forth to the beat of drum and piano. Soft woodwinds joined in, a choir of angelic noise that led Philip forward, his feet hitting the ground and taking lead while his eyes hastily ran from object to object. Tables had been set up where some sat, drinking, eating on hors d'oeuvres and sipping from glasses of the finest quality. Some were rounded and Philip flinched as he watched one girl drop hers on the table, only for it to roll over without spilling any of the wine. That's...quite nice, actually. He'd only ever seen that quality in classy movies. Now, Philip was in a classy movie. Or is this an action?

The music suddenly stopped and everyone stood, walking into the area that Philip had managed to get to. A woman took his arm and led him into line as Philip stammered, trying to explain he just wanted to find his seat, and then suddenly trumpets and the piano picked up, playing a merry dancing tune. Oh, not this!

Dancing wasn't an activity meant for fun, yet it seemed everyone thought it was. Philip knew it wasn't because if it was fun, why did his hands sweat so much just watching them, and why did everyone's smiles only last so long? No one here can be happy—the queen arrives tonight and with her comes her destruction. But, he thought with a small smile, not for much longer. Death wasn't an assurance of happiness, but Philip knew that with this death, happiness would have the chance to grow. They would then nurture it, feed it, do everything that she hadn't done. They would be different. They'd have to be.

"Momma, how do you dance?"

She chuckled, "I'm guessing that little blonde said yes?"

"Mmhmm."

Taking his hand, the two began to move, his feet awkward, hers graceful. Despite her hulking figure, with broad shoulders and little eyes, she had a way about her that couldn't be truly described. Each movement was sure and confident and in her heels, she was taller than most men could ever dare to be. Her face was harshly plain, as though someone had intentionally made her that way, but when Philip looked up at his mother, all he could see was the perfect curve of her cheek, the slight red tint to her skin, and the way her eyes absorbed the light. He could feel her strength when she held him, muscles tightening to pick him up, dancing faster and faster, the two giggling and swaying through their bedroom.

It wasn't much, but he managed to move his feet, and his body, along with the rest of them, though he was terribly out of beat by over a second with every action. Philip found himself laughing a little, enjoying the rush of emotions, almost forgetting why he was there. The lights flickering made his heart skip beats as he gazed at all the people dancing, the young, the old, those beautiful and those not. Everyone looked better under those lights. So peaceful, so happy. Do they not understand the darkness of Queen Elaine's reign? Or do they wish to just forget it, going about their happy days? It was weird to him how perfect everything had been set up, how they were all there, all waiting for the same person to arrive. They waited for their Queen. The Nixes waited for the one kill shot that would end their plight.

Philip took hands with a blonde girl, looking at her light brown eyes, her dark skin, her bright smile. They danced for only a few seconds it seemed before he switched partners again, looking up, finding a man, the two similar but different, and Philip smiled back. Then, just as soon, it was back to the blonde, her forehead leaning in as she spoke to him. "Such a wonderful dance!" she exclaimed.

"That it is," he said. "You come here often?"

"You come here often?" blonde whispered, lips desperately close to his ear. Philip shivered as they danced closer, his arm wrapping around his waist. "Are you scared, Philip?"

"I'm not scared of anything."

A laugh, like bells. "Philip, you're the most scared man I've ever had the pleasure of being with. Tell me, are you too scared to come home with me tonight?" A pause, then Philip nodded, smiling forward. "I'll see you there." He let go, spinning Philip around, and they laughed. That was the night Philip learned more about pitching and catching than he had the entire three years he played baseball.

"I'd say once a year," she said, chuckling. A hand touched over hers, long and slender, a guard's uniform leading from the cuff. "Oh?" The woman laughed. "I'll trade off, hon. He's all yours." With a wink, she left, and Philip was left looking up at Achyls, who looked as awkward as him in her uniform.

"Achyls," he whispered. She nodded. Well, I got the name right. "Time to execute?" His voice was low and drug out, to hide his message from wandering ears.

"Yes. Follow me," she said. Her hand remained on his, fingers gripped tight as she led him through the crowded ballroom. "Nicholas is in there, he'll tell you where to go from there."

"Okay," Philip said. He wanted to say more, to tell her to be careful, not to die, to inspire some words of hope and greatness, but none would come. So they parted ways with a wave and Philip walked to the bathroom, feeling the heavy metal on his leg clink.

Once inside, he again saw the guard with his mask. "Elson," Nicholas said, nodding his head in approval. "Long night?"

"Yep."

"Wife still got that cold?"

Philip laughed, passing by Nicholas and making his way to the stall. There, he locked the door and unzipped his pants. "She's doing somewhat better," Philip said, tearing off the tape as Nicholas turned on the water. "How's that girl you've been seeing?"

"She's a real riot."

Slowly, slowly, Philip took off the first sheet of tin metal, with it removing the first gun and gently placing it on the floor. He did the same for the next three guns, reaching all the way down to his knee before he'd finally pulled out nine guns, four small boxes of ammo, and two grenades. Not much, but in combination with Nicholas and Colette's stashes, they'd make do. Once beginning their assault, there'd be time to get their hands on the guards weapons.

The toilet besides his flushed loudly and Philip remained seated, coughing loudly. Nicholas didn't say another word, just continued to wash his hands in the sink. There was a collective grunt from one man to the other, and then the door opened, closed. Philip's breath evened and he stood up, flushing the toilet out of habit before zipping up his pants and opening the door.

"Close call?"

Nicholas shrugged, reaching over and picking up the weapons. He managed to hide most away in his uniform while Philip picked up two of the smaller guns, sticking them in his waistband. Nicholas looked to the door and then down at his wrist, where a small watch had been placed. "We'll have to start quick, she's due to arrive any minute."

"How long do you think it'll take for us to clear out the area of civilians?" The word felt foreign in his mouth. So many days had passed since Philip, too, was so simple of a man to be a civilian. No true importance, just a figure living daily life.

"Not quick enough."

Philip nodded, swallowing hard as he too glanced to the door. Time was running out. Quickly, both left the bathroom, headed down an east corridor. Soon they met up with the rest of their base, everyone taking a weapon. Even the little one, just a small girl, held a great weapon. Her face was stern, ready for anything. This is the end. We're all coming to the end now. Philip took hold of one of his two, grasping it tightly as they huddled together and whispered of the plan, of what to do. The little one, Vilola, would rush out there and shoot randomly, then hide in one of the open plants. Colette and Una would cover her, the three of them making certain the civilians would get out, while Philip, Achlys, and Nicholas would go and take out the guards. Kim and Arava would be tasked with taking care of those left inside. Then, they'd surround the Queen. Nicholas would be the one to shoot—him or Colette, as decided. They'd take down the empire of hatred spawned by one ruthless tyrant.

Outside, the Queen's vehicle pulled up. A royal procession of music sounded all through the place. Part of him wished he was out there, just an Elson Pars, just a part of the watchers. But Philip knew he'd have to join, that tonight would be the night of all nights. Tonight would be when the Nixes came to win or lose. Nicholas waved his hand and Achlys and Philip stood, following him out of the room as they went around to begin taking care of the guards.

Before the first warning shots would be taken, Nicholas and Achlys each had taken out a guard, leading Philip to do it as well. Philip didn't have the heart to shoot. He didn't have a choice. He leaned against a wall, looking over to where a guard stood straight, her gun held high as she watched the Queen make her way through the area. The first shot of his hit the area right above the girl, and as she looked up to see what went wrong he fired again, hitting her in the throat that time.

One shot, and they were dead. Down. A life taken, their body falling to the floor quietly. Three other guards were shot down by other Nixes but that life was Philips. I don't know her name. Philip couldn't stop from replaying the shot over and over. He couldn't stop seeing her dark hair, lifting up at first, then falling down. The way she fell, as though in tune to the beat of the drum, the way her gun fell with her, one fluid motion. She's...dead. I just killed someone.

Thoughts jumbled as Vilola took out her warning shots and screams filled the area, higher than that of the music. I just killed someone. Philip watched as Nicholas took down two other guards, clearing out the procession, and the guards realized someone was amiss. Shots fired on both ends and Philip quickly began firing again, jumping down to avoid bullets blown his way. Nicholas went left behind a wall and he followed quick, trying to keep up with the exprince's movements. Keep going, keep going! It was too much, the bullets and music and screaming, the noise blaring out everything, and Philip gasped as a guard ran forward, jabbing at him with a knife, only for his gun to take them down too. Two dead but it wasn't the same. Philip was acting yet he had no clue what was happening. Everything came out at once, tearing into him, ripping his mind apart with every second he tried to process what was going on. There wasn't time for him to stop and think.

I took a life. Moving was hard, but he pressured himself to do it. The bruise on his leg was bleeding now—more than the hilt of the blade had hit him. Pinpricks of blood were what drove him forward, following the command of his friends, and they were what made him look back, checking the area before shooting out again, this time hitting a guard in the leg before he rounded the corner. His aim wasn't really improving but the gun was more steady in his hands and his breathing was falling heavier and even. Every movement was pain in some form, both mental and physical attacking his senses and clouding what was left of his mind.

I killed someone.

Philip moved with the rest of them, further in, silently taking down the guards and moving their bodies out of sight. Some were left dead, others just unconscious, all with some form of wound. With each cleared room he felt his body grow colder. Must be that cold, he thought. One shot, two shot, he kept going. None of them were that girl, the one who hadn't known it'd begun yet. None of them were his first kill.

I'm a Nix. It's for the greater good. Maybe, Philip assumed, telling himself that would help the cold, dead feeling leave his mind.