Epilogue

Inside the endless void Leigh San Deigo watched as the tiny fire burnt. The fire they had worked furiously to make from the reminants of the wooden parts of their weapons as the light faded. Boote and Holly's faces glowed in the dim orange light. The blackness that surrounded them felt cold, even if in actuality it had no temperature either way.

"The flame is dieing." Boote pointed out.
"This is the last thing we'll ever see." Leigh almost smirked. "After this, it's blackness."
"And then we starve to death." Holly muttered. "There's no escape."
"Maybe." Leigh commented. "But we saved the world, didn't we? That's got to count for something."
"That we did." Boote said happily. "That we did."

Five years had passed since that flame had died. Five years exactly. Peter Garraghan wondered to the door of his small cottage, sat out in the country. He had to move. He had to get away. He couldn't stand the city anymore, every person marching around like their life was the only one that mattered, everybody being entirely self centred. Yet these were the people so many of his friends had died for. He sighed. A small letter lay on the doormat. He opened it, and sighed, defeated. He scrunched it up in his hand and thrust it in his pocket. There was only one place he could visit when he felt like this.

Cooper stood over a specific gravestone. It was made from white stone, but carried no phrase upon it. No "Rest in Peace", no "In memory of," no "In loving memory", not even the name was full. There was just one inscription. One thing that meant more to Cooper than anything else could.

San Deigo.

It was a blessing and a curse. A memory of the sacrafice made, and the thought that nobody was left. He heard Pete's footsteps approaching.

Cooper turned, and the two faced each other.
"I got it to." Peter said to Cooper.
"I thought you would have." Cooper replied, unfolding the same scrumpled note. Written upon it was a simple reminder.

"There will always be Sam."

Peter looked away painfully.
"There deaths were in vain." Peter commented.
"Maybe. Maybe not. But at least we can remember them for who they were." Cooper scrunched up the note, and dropped it to the ground.
"Hey, you inscribed something new on the tombstone. I thought we vowed to leave it like that." Pete pointed to new words upon the top of the gravestone. He couldn't quite make them out.
"I didn't do anything. It's blank." Cooper looked down. "No it's not." He suddenly cried. New words had formed on the tombstone, combining to make a new sentance. A sentance that read simply:

"And there will always be a San Deigo."