Molly Sanders paused from brushing her hair to wave goodbye to two of her friends. Her Iowa cheer leading uniform was clean and fresh, despite the tumbles from her cheering at the wrestling match tonight. If it had been a basketball game or a football match, she would have had to go home and change first. But since the wrestling crowds don't go for the cheerleaders, she hardly even broke a sweat. She tied a green ribbon in her hair and fixed her makeup. Internally, she squealed in excitement. She was on her way to see Stephen tonight.

Three hours later, she was sitting in his green car at the edge of the woods listening to Good Charlotte and nervously sipping her beer. Stephen, conversationalist that he was, sat beside her chugging his beer and drumming loudly on the steering wheel. She smoothed out her skirt, wondering how rough the stubble on his cheeks would be when he finally kissed her.

"So'd you like the movie?" he asked suddenly.

"Yeah. It was really good," she started. "I really liked the part when--"

"Yeah, it was really good." Stephen eyed Molly, his eyes lingering over her thighs. "Not as good as you look tonight."

Molly giggled and put her hand on his chest playfully, noticing how hard his heart was beating. "Oh, Stephen. You're a dog."

Stephen growled playfully and grabbed her shoulders roughly. Molly gasped and Stephen took the opportunity to slide his cold tongue into Molly's mouth. He ran his hand up her thigh, reaching under her skirt until she pushed him away.

"Stephen, please… I don't think I'm ready for this." Molly pulled away from him, ruffling out her skirt to cover more of her thighs.

"C'mon girl. Have 'nother beer. It's not good for a guy to get all excited and then nothing. It, like, gets all backed up and *&%." Stephen slid his hand up the back of the scared cheerleader's top.

"Is that even true? I don't think that's true." Molly wriggled away, her back to the passenger window.

"I swear," he replied solemnly. "Cousin'a mine dated a preacher's daughter and now he's in a coma." He placed his hand firmly on her thigh and licked his salty lips. He grabbed her wrist, and began to pull on her leg. "Relax, calm down."

"No! Take me home!"

"Be over 'fore you know it," he said to himself.

"Don't do this, Stephen!" The girl screamed unintelligibly as Stephen Oswald, age 17, lunged on top of her. She felt his heavy weight on her, she felt his rough hand reach under her skirt and tear clumsily at her panties. She kicked at him, and realized she couldn't feel anything anymore but she could distinctly smell copper.

As she regained feeling in her legs, she felt something warm and wet on her. She kicked Stephen's limp body from her; she fumbled with the door and fell out backwards.

"S… Somebody help me…" she cried in a horrified whisper. "I think… I think I hurt someone… Pleeeease…" She crawled backwards from the car, seeing for the first time the blood that stained her uniform. "I think I… cut someone," she sniffed. She looked into the car, and saw Stephen's body, sliced into two pieces, weeping blood. "Help me, somebody!"

She turned to run, finally seeing that her arms were covered in some kind of metal, ending in sharp blades. The blades were covered in blood, Stephen's blood. She stopped running when she saw the soldiers. Unable to think, she turned and asked, "Will you… help me? Want to go home."

She gestured to the car, "I think he…" Her voice rose as the gravity of everything hit her. "He was going to--" Her voice stopped working because her throat filled with horror.

"Please help."

The soldier fired his gun at her head, the bullet whizzing to her head faster than the metal could spill from her pores to shield her from it. The girl's body hit the ground as the soldier pulled out his radio.

"Rat-killer Thomlin reporting 13.0 confirmed dead."