Eliza Victoria

Rebecca woke up with her knees hurting and her fingers ice-cold, and the specifics of her life returned to her as the dream disappeared: weekend, hotel room, Baguio, memory, memory, memory.

Weren__ all __oung_ people the same? Disillusioned, world-weary, bored out of their minds? The constant need for adventure, that constant need to ridicule suburban life and jobs that keep you desk bound and microwavable food and comfort.Everything was fake and every day had to be a day closer to the genuine. They were always single, these __oung_ people, childless, unattached, maybe rich. Selfish. He remembered being 'young_ and being horribly, horribly selfish. How infinite he felt. Now he found comfort in the predictability of the train. But he didn__ miss his old self. Even then he knew he was lost.

Justice can only be delivered by someone who doesn't care to about how much he's paid, or where he is in the chain of command. Someone who's ego won't be inflated by grandeur or power. Someone who won't be influenced by this guy's being the CEO of this or his being the Mayor of that. And let's face it: that someone couldn't be human.

Did he bleed?Well, of course. He took on a human form. That always makes them vulnerable, becoming human.