Driving one-handed always looked easy in the movies.

Oscar quickly found out it wasn't. Though, he figured his bleeding arm—courtesy of a javelin nearly ripping through his forearm—had something to do with it. Blood was getting all over the cream-colored seats, which had previously been in mint condition. Sister Maria must've paid a fortune for the whole thing. He still wondered how she had gotten it.

He wouldn't be able to ask her, though. He'd never know how she was able to afford that beautiful, crimson Mustang. He couldn't ask her about her life before she became a nun. There would be no more pozole after Sunday Service or annoying words of wisdom whenever he messed up.

There wouldn't be anything from her. She was gone.

Atlas took her from him. Just like they took everything else.

A snarl grabbed his mouth and twisted his lips. His long hair fell into his paling face as he continued down the street.

He hoped Stella whoever that Prime with her was got killed in the blast. Though, he had a feeling they were still alive. That didn't matter, though. He would see them again. And when he did, they wouldn't survive.

He would make sure of it.

Above him, the sun was beginning to come up. He felt the early morning rays tickling his clammy skin. Night was long gone, the only remnants of that dark period being the fading, midnight blue veil in the sky. He could already feel the Californian heat beginning to set in around him. The state didn't seem to know what winter was.

He glanced at the seat beside him. Xiomara was fast asleep, her head resting against the passenger side window.

She had been crucial in their escape from the motel. After he blasted a hole in the wall of their rented room, they had been stopped by some girl with weather powers. Oscar figured she was one of Atlas' new recruits. He wasn't sure how, but Xiomara had used her powers to heat up the air around them, rendering the weather girl's storm cloud useless.

He didn't even know that was an ability she had. Up until now, he had been operating under the notion they shared the same powers. It was clear that wasn't the case. As he peered down at her, he wondered what other secrets she held within.

As he straightened the steering wheel in his grasp, he winced. A shooting pain ravaged his arm. He had a piece of cloth he found in the glove compartment tied around his wound, but his blood had soaked through it ages ago. The feeling was beginning to disappear; pins and needles scaled up the appendage.

He feared too much blood had been lost.

Wiggling his fingers weakly, he let out a breath of relief. He hadn't lost total control of his arm. Not yet, at least.

He needed to get to a gas station. Perhaps he could find a first aid kit there.

Grimacing, he continued driving down the road.

He still couldn't believe it.

A spear? Seriously, cabron?

He couldn't fathom why a Prime who could fly at the speed of sound and catch a semi-truck with his bare hands would need to fight with any type of weapon.

When he first saw the guy stop that truck in the middle of the street, he couldn't believe his eyes. He had seen Chase lift plenty of heavy objects, but he hadn't quite seen anything like that before.

That Prime, whatever his name was, was the real deal. Had it not been for his lucky diversion, he wasn't sure how he and Xiomara were going to get away.

But they did. That was all that mattered.

After the truck exploded, Stella's squad didn't follow them as they made their way down the desolate highway. Oscar didn't stop checking his rearview mirror for any sign of their continued pursuit for at least an hour after they fled the scene.

His drive up north gave him plenty of time to reflect on what he did.

It was never his intention to kill the driver of that truck. Had there been another way, he would've done it. But there wasn't. He did what he had to do. If he had the chance to do it again, he would. If it meant saving himself and Xiomara, he wouldn't have thought twice about it. He wouldn't let them get captured by Atlas.

He still had a mission to complete.

Though, it would have to be put on the back burner for now. His arm was starting to go numb and his eyelids felt like someone was trying to press them together. Xiomara certainly couldn't drive—at least, he figured she couldn't. He would have to stop somewhere soon to patch himself up.

Luckily, the sign he just passed told him there was a gas station approaching within the next mile.

Breathing heavily, he kept driving until he spotted the lone gas station in the middle of the California desert. Tumbleweeds rolled along the sand as if they were in an old western film. A few cars were parked in and around the gas station and the convenience store attached to it.

Oscar studied them all before parking in front of a pump.

As soon as he cut the engine off, Xiomara jolted awake.

Her bright eyes widened with fear as she jumped in her seat. Chest heaving, she raised her fists. Smoke poured from her knuckles, a small fire building within the base of her palm. He quickly placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her to calm down.

"It's alright, Xiomara," he told her in Spanish. "We're just at the gas station."

She lowered her hands and grumbled an apology. Rubbing her eyes, she looked around. "We escaped?"

"Looks like it."

She nodded. Her lips pursed. "I have to pee." Her stomach growled. "And I'm hungry."

Oscar rolled his eyes. "Of course you are." He stuck a hand in his pocket. A few dollar bills, a stick of gum, and his old lighter. It would be enough for gas and a snack, but not much else.

It would have to do.

He fished out a few ones. She reached for them and he pulled them away at the last second. The girl furrowed a brow at him.

"What?"

"Get us something we both can eat, okay? We're short on money, in case you haven't notice. That motel wiped us clean."

She nodded and snatched the dollars out of his hand. Without another word, she hopped out of the car and bolted for the convenience store. Rubbing his temples, Oscar exited the vehicle as well and paid for about a half tank's worth of gas. While filling up the car, he took another look around the gas station.

An old man was reading a newspaper outside the store, a middle-aged woman with two kids sitting in her dingy station wagon, and a man in sunglasses sitting on top of a wicked-looking motorcycle. None of them seemed to be paying Oscar any mind.

Good.

He didn't need any unwanted attention. Atlas surely had agents—and possibly Jaegers—hunting him down. Keeping his head down and out of sight was key to maintaining his freedom.

His eyes searched the area for any security cameras. Eventually, he spotted one near the entrance of the snack shop. Remaining next to his car, he discreetly held his hand out. If Xiomara could heat air particles, who was the say he couldn't do the same.

After a few seconds, he realized that wasn't an ability he had in his arsenal.

Scowling, he turned away from the camera's field of view and tried his best to keep his head low. If he showed up on any screens, Atlas would be able to find and track them down.

The gas pump clicked, startling him.

Clearing his throat, he docked it at the pump and returned to the driver's seat. Xiomara exited the store a few minutes later with a few snacks in her hand. He arched an eyebrow at her.

"I only gave you five dollars. How'd you get all this stuff?"

She grinned but didn't answer. After dumping the snacks into his lap, she hurried into the passenger's seat and tapped his shoulder. "Drive!"

"Huh? What did you—"

"Hey!" someone shouted. A sloppy-looking man wearing a huge, white shirt covered in stains and floppy sandals burst from the store. Their face was red and puffy as if they just finished running a marathon. "Get back here, you little thief!"

"Arriba!" Xiomara shouted again.

"Someone call the police!" the man cried. "I've just been robbed!"

Grinning, Oscar turned the key in the ignition. The Mustang roared to life and he quickly pulled out of the gas station, sending them speeding down the highway. Through the rearview mirror, he could see the man attempting to chase them down but getting too tired to bother after a few steps.

As he faded from view, both Oscar and Xiomara exploded with laughter. He wiped tears from his eyes, the image of the man's fat belly flopping around burned into his memory.

#

Once they were far away enough from the gas station Xiomara robbed, they began chowing down on their snacks.

"You know," he began while sticking a powdered donut into his mouth, "you shouldn't steal."

Xiomara looked up from her bag of chips, her expression skeptical. "You've never stole?"

"I didn't say that."

"So why tell me not to?"

He squinted at her. "You got a smart mouth, you know that?"

She smiled sweetly at him before stuffing her mouth with hot chips.

Rolling his eyes, Oscar continued down the street. The feeling in his arm was almost completely gone now. A faint, tingling sensation coursed through his muscles. He cursed under his breath.

They forgot to buy—or, rather, steal—a first aid kit from the gas station.

After peeking at his injured arm, he grimaced.

Xiomara noticed and pulled something out of her pocket. It was a small, white box with a red cross in the middle. She opened it and pulled out a packet of gauze and the small vial of antiseptic alcohol inside.

Oscar's eyes widened. Smiling, he ruffled her hair with his weak arm.

"Thank you," he said. "I owe you one."

Nodding, she peeled back the makeshift bandage wrapped around his bicep. The girl gagged as she turned her head away from the wound. Congealed blood had collected around the cut and the skin in the area was a dark purple. And the smell...

Oscar nearly gagged himself.

"I put alcohol now," Xiomara told him. She poured a bit of the clear liquid onto a piece of gauze and prepared to press it against his arm.

He nearly swerved into a ditch after seeing what she was trying to do.

His entire body tensed as he side-eyed the girl.

"You're gonna do what?!"

"Alcohol," she repeated. "Clean."

"Yeah, I know that," he mumbled. "But while I'm driving? Let me pull over first, would you?"

She rolled her eyes and gestured for him to do so.

After he safely pulled them onto the shoulder of the highway, letting cars pass them by on their way up north, he let out a shaky breath. The pain in his arm had almost gone away—but that was because he could barely feel it anymore. Once Xiomara put the alcohol on his wound, it would feel like she just poured lighter fluid and tossed a match on it.

It was safe to say he wasn't looking forward to it.

Gritting his teeth, he gripped the side of his door and turned away from her.

"Go on then," he said through his teeth. "Get it over with."

An intense pain, followed by what felt like a sizzling feeling, engulfed his arm. His fingernails dug into the leather entire of the car, tears welling in his eyes. Xiomara pressed the alcohol-soaked piece of gauze to his arm again, wiping the dried blood away. He slammed his hand onto the horn, the noise shrilling through the air. Black spots littered his vision as his head swam.

"Jesus Christ..." He wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Are you almost done?"

"Almost."

More pain. Luckily for him, it was getting slightly more bearable. It still hurt, though.

After a few more minutes of cleaning, Xiomara wrapped him up with a new bandage and tossed the bloodied one into the backseat. Breathing heavily, Oscar threw his head back and stared at the ceiling of the car.

"Crybaby," Xiomara said dryly.

He glanced at her out the side of his eye. "Oh yeah? How about I cut your arm and do the same thing to you? We'll see who's crying then."

She laughed.

Shaking his head, he cursed at her in Spanish. Her laughter continued until she could barely breathe. Eventually, he joined in. It was helping to distract him from the discomfort in his arm.

As the two of them sat there on the side of the road, laughing at nothing in particular, Oscar couldn't help but realize how much she looked like Isabella. Had his younger sister lived to be a preteen, Xiomara is what she would've looked like. They had the same hair color, facial features, and even their voices were similar.

The only thing that differentiated them was Xiomara's bright, amber eyes.

Oscar's smile faded. A sorrowful frown took its place.

The rage inside caused by Isabella's death his chest was a small fire; a spark, at best. When his sister and uncle first died, it had been a raging wildfire, capable of destroying any and everything in its path. For the first few months after his exile from Atlas, that fire controlled him. He could see anything outside of the smoke swallowing him, clouding his vision and judgment. Over time, he managed to control that flame. He used it to his advantage, growing and understanding his abilities.

He realized they responded directly to his emotions. So he learned how to control them instead of his emotions controlling him. Once mastered them, he went to war with Atlas.

But it didn't matter how many Atlas convoys he set on fire or how many agents he killed, the void inside him never went away. The hole in his heart never got fixed. His quest for revenge had gotten him nowhere. And he never let anyone close enough to help.

Not until Xiomara.

She was the answer to his problems. She was his apprentice, his friend.

His savior.

But no matter how many Atlas convoys he hit or Jaegers he killed, the void never went away. There was a hole in his heart that the violence couldn't patch. His quest for revenge had gotten him nowhere. And he never let anyone close enough to help.

With her help, she would help him bring down Atlas—and, hopefully, some sense of completion.

But after the fight at the motel, he wasn't so sure.

"What's wrong?" Xiomara's soft voice gently pulled him out of his thoughts. She carefully placed her hand on top of his.

Smiling, he shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong."

She pointed at his face. "You're crying."

Sure enough, tears had spilled down his cheeks. He hadn't even noticed. Chuckling to himself, he wiped them away.

"You know," Xiomara started, "I know nothing about you."

"You don't need to know anything about me."

"We are partners."

Oscar looked away from her.

"I want to know," she pressed. "I want to know you."

He kept his eyes on the road outside his window. With his jaw clenched, he fought the urge to burst into tears.

Where would he even start? From the beginning? From the end? His story was a complicated and painful one. He feared if he told her, she would see him differently. In fact, he knew she would see him differently.

He was afraid she would leave.

But the girl was right. They were partners. And partners deserved the truth.

"I used to work for Atlas," he started, his voice low. He saw her eyes widened, but he continued. "I was Fuego—the team's resident clown and pyromaniac. We were a family, at least for the first two years. After that..." He blew air from his nose. "Who knows what we were? The PRA was the beginning of the end."

"Why aren't you with Atlas anymore?"

Shifting his eyes to the road outside, he chewed on his bottom lip pensively. He didn't want to tell her. He hadn't told anyone what he did since he left.

But he knew he had to.

His hands shook as he tried to work up the courage to complete his story. He wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel to steady them.

"These people...they threatened my family. I had to keep them safe. They were..." He wiped his nose. "My parents died when I was young. My uncle and sister were all I had left. I had to keep them safe."

"What did they make you do?" Xiomara inquired.

He sighed. "In exchange for my parent's safety, I became their snitch. I was the mole in the group, funneling information about our team members and missions to the enemy."

His brain traveled back to their mission at one of Crane's rallies. The day Circuit blew up the electrical grid. The day Holly died.

It had been one of the worst days of his life.

"One of my friends got killed during a battle," he continued. "It was my fault. It was all my fault and I never told them. But I couldn't live with the guilt, so I eventually told them I was the mole." He dropped his eyes to the floor. "I'm sure you can figure out what happened after that."

"But why are you here?" Xiomara tilted her head at him. "Why not with your family?"

"They were killed the day I confessed."

She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes going wide.

"I couldn't stay in Oregon," he told her, his voice cracking. "I just couldn't. I had to get out."

Xiomara grabbed both of his hands and squeezed them softly. He cautiously lifted his head. He felt nothing but shame as he looked into her warm gaze.

"We will destroy them," the young girl whispered firmly. "Atlas. We will destroy them."

He stayed silent.

"Ellos pagarán por sus pecados."

She let go of his hands and sat back in her seat. Her bright eyes stared forward, her jaw clenched. "They will pay for their sins."

Oscar saw the same fire that grew within him inside of her. It was there in her face, in her eyes, in her demeanor.

She was just as angry at him. After all, Atlas had taken everything away from too. Her home, her parents, and Sister Maria.

"We'll make them pay. Together."

Xiomara nodded. The two of them shared a smile.

Oscar then pulled back onto the highway, recommencing their journey to Oregon.