Blood poured from Riza's throat, a slow but never-ending river that soaked her clothes, sticking them to her skin. Her vision swam and it hurt to breathe, but she could not rest. She could hear them behind her, making low, pitiful moans.

The children of Ishbal. Deathless soldiers.

She ran, first through the cave where she died, then through halls she didn't recognize, not noticing the change. Occasionally she would come to dead ends and be forced to fire her pistol. Killing children once again, like Bradley's dog. That they didn't stay dead, that she could shoot one point blank in the skull and it would continue to chase her, didn't matter. She was killing children and running.