Midnight Roses

This was it for Midnight.

This was how her life would be ending.

Tied to a metal chair, with an ugly, fat, and nonchalant policeman asking her for any last requests before the policeman told the doctor to pull the lever that would end Midnight's life.

The station, upon her arrival, had taken Midnight's mask, revealing her face for the first time. Midnight had looked at her father with a smirk and daring eyes, not at all bothered by the horrified look on his face as she passed him. Nor had Midnight felt any guilt when she swore she heard him choke back what might have been a sob. But that was almost twenty-three hours ago, and Midnight knew that if her father had gotten sad enough, he would be to drunk to care now.

"Just one," Midnight says, chin high and a smirk radiating on her pale face, she stares fearlessly at the wimpy doctor who has his hand on the lever, making the doctor let out a terrified squeak and turn his gaze to the ground. It was obvious the man didn't want to be the one to pull the lever, let alone be in the same room as her, and it made Midnight's smirk go just a little wider, pride shines in her hazel eyes. Her adrenaline was soaring, even though her hopes of getting out of this were low, very low.

Had the last two years of Midnight's life not happened, she might have felt sorry for him. But her sorrow and almost all good emotion was stripped from her the day she died.

With her death, she birthed a blood-thirsty animal, who, in the end, did everything needed to avenge her murder - taking up a mask and donning a new name in the process.

"Just make sure to put a new rose on her grave for me. Her favorite color was red..." Midnight says the last sentence like she's in a dream.

That's what it seems like to her anyway, a dream. As if, when the man pulls the lever, she will just wake up and find that she is alive and it was all just one big bad dream, then cuddle back into Grey's arms after he whispers something calming to her. Midnight's chest let out an ache.

'Never fold, even in the arms of death,' she thinks over and over again, willing the phrase to give her strength while also trying to ignore the ache in her chest, instead choosing to focus on keeping her face from cracking it's fearless facade.

The policeman snorts, rolling his dark eyes. "Is that all," the cocky tone in his voice sends Midnight's blood boiling, her smirk turning into a frown, but she lets the remark pass without a threat. She knows her days of killing are over.

Granted, Midnight's days of anything were over.

Midnight takes in a deep breath to calm her anxious nerves, deciding to take her time with her answer.

Midnight knew that the government had been trying to kill her for months, so she wondered what another minute meant to them? Another second knowing that the person who sent the whole world into a rave was caught, but they couldn't be here to witness her death. Releasing her long held breath Midnight leaned back in the cold metal chair, happily thinking of how all the big leagues and politicians were biting their nails and holding their breath in anticipation.

She almost wanted to say something sarcastic, go down with a joke to show that she wasn't at all scared. But, in all truth, Midnight was scared. So she stayed silent. Silence, after all, was the best camouflage.

Besides while it seemed there was nothing Midnight could do, in reality there was nothing else in life that she wanted to do. If Midnight was going to allow herself to be saved again, it would have happened already, nonetheless she couldn't blame Nick for not trying to save her. The way Midnight and Nick had ended things...

Midnight shook my head, and took it upon herself to get off the subject of Nick. Midnight found herself looking at the reflective tile floor as if it were a mirror. Midnight stared at her slightly blurry reflection, the place where her eyes should have been where shadowed, Midnight's lips a smeared light pink against her pale complexion. There was no time for regrets now. What was said, was said, and what was done, was done.

Midnight knew her purpose was done and this was it for her.

The policeman nodded after getting sick of waiting for a response, he waved to the sweating man, and the sweaty, bumbling man grabbed the lever with two shaking hands-

Midnight's world slowed as she felt her adrenaline soar and her body's survival instinct trying to boost her thinking and save her from her pending death. Midnight could tell her body wanted to get out of the chair, throw the weird metal helmet off of her head. Her arms were twitching against the arm straps - ready for action. \

But Midnight's conscious tells her body to relax, there was no need to fight it, not anymore. 'My time was done, it was over. Relax, it will all be over soon.' Midnight closed her eyes, hoping to calm down.

But her thoughts don't stop her heart rate from increasing, they don't remove the hands from the lever, nor do they stop Midnight's fingers and toes from curling, or her jaw from clenching in hopes of preventing a pain induced roar from escaping scarred body. Midnight's thoughts do nothing to help her in my last moments.

But the memories of her bring Midnight the strength to not cry, and help Midnight take note that what she did in these past years to earn my spot in this chair was not only to avenge a lost soul, but also to protect many others, too.

-and pulled it down.

A/N: First non-fan fiction story, yay!