TO SAY CARLA FELT ALONE WAS AN UNDERSTATEMENT. She walked towards Griddy's in silence, Walkman left at the Academy, combat boots feeling far too heavy on her feet.

     She was worried about Klaus, to say the least. She had faith in him, of course she did, but she was also worried about how far he would push himself. And what had Klaus been anticipating that he didn't want her to see?

     Carla had helped him through thick and thin; had comforted him through breakdowns, supported him through the low points in his life. She had seen it all.

     Hadn't she?

     Carla pursed her lips, turning a corner and seeing Griddy's Donuts come into view, a sight that Carla found vaguely comforting.

     From experience, she knew they did good coffee there, and that had to be a plus. She opened the door to the diner, sitting down in a booth by the window, giving her a view of the parking lot.

     Her arms were clasped on the table, and in no time a waitress came over, the same one from before, with her baby pink uniform and greying hair tied back. The woman smiled warmly upon seeing Carla, seemingly recognising her, "Hello again, young lady."

     "Hi," Carla said.

     "What can I get for you?" the woman asked, drawing out a notepad and pen.

     However, her eyes seemed to be shifting towards the window often, scanning the various cars. It didn't take a genius to work out that she was waiting for someone.

     "A black coffee, and..." she hesitated, eyes drifting to the board by the counter, "a sprinkled doughnut, please."

     "Of course. I'll bring it over in a second," the woman smiled again, scribbling down an order and walking away, not before looking at the window once more, a blend of hopeful and wistful.

     The teenager stared out of the window, watching the occasional car pull into the parking lot, people walking in and sometimes out.

     She had always been fascinated by people. Just watching them go about their day-to-day lives. There was a mother with her son, icing sugar around his mouth as he happily ate a doughnut, an old man sat outside the diner on a bench, reading a paper. None of these people knew they had days left to live.

     The thought made her shudder, and she briefly shut her eyes.

     Things were happening so fast, and Carla felt as though she were drowning in it all. Days were passing her by, and the apocalypse was drawing closer and closer.

     She was supposed to survive it, and that meant that she would be the only one. There would be no Five this time around, or anyone else, for that matter, and she would be stuck.

     Her heart was pounding, her gloved fingers trembling slightly. Everything was snowballing, and she could do nothing to help-

     "One black coffee and sprinkled doughnut," a voice snapped Carla out of her thoughts, and she glanced up at the waitress, doing her best to muster a smile.

     "Thank you," her voice was quiet, too quiet, and it wavered slightly. She went to take out the money, but the waitress stopped her.

     "Don't worry about it," she said, clearly sensing Carla was going through something, "It's on the house."

     Carla wanted to cry, "Thank you. Again."

     The waitress just shot her a sympathetic smile, before something caught her eye through the window, and her face lit up. Seemingly forgetting Carla, the woman hurried towards the back door, quickly leaving, and Carla looked outside.

     In the parking lot was a blue car, a burly man getting out, the kindly waitress rushing out to greet him, pulling him towards the side wall Carla managed to get a decent view of if she craned her neck. She frowned slightly, eyes drifting over his navy suit and large frame.

     Shit.

     It was Hazel.

     Shit, shit, shit-

     Carla's eyes went wide, breath hitching in her throat, and she quickly looked around. Shit, this was bad. If she tried to exit through the front, he would spot her. The side exit was out of the question; he would be able to see her there too.

     The only other option was the exit through the kitchen and out the back.

     Her breath was coming out in short bursts, and she looked around the diner, before snapping her gaze back to the assassin and the waitress. What the fuck were those two doing together anyway?

     His arms were now wrapped around her waist, and Carla realised that he seemed thoroughly distracted. Now was the time to run.

     Slipping out of the booth, leaving her steaming coffee and uneaten doughnut behind, she moved towards the kitchen, making sure there was no-one looking, before she darted to the back, running out the back door.

     Carla made a break for it, rushing straight around the corner and crashing into another body, falling to the floor with a thud.

     "Oh, I'm sorry-"

     "My bad-"

     Carla looked up and froze, heart stopping, panic rising like a tidal wave inside her. As if her luck wasn't bad enough already.

     Because, on the floor as well, was Cha-Cha.

     "Wait a sec..." Cha-Cha's eyes narrowed, "It's you!"

     Carla crawled back, scrambling to her feet, as Cha-Cha rose too, anger blazing inside her eyes, "You're the crazy fire bitch!"

     Instantly, Carla moved back a few steps.

      "Where's the briefcase?" the woman snarled.

     "I don't know," Carla snapped, as she and Cha-Cha eyed each other for a few seconds that felt like an eternity.

     The teen was wary, her fight-or-flight response activated, and as she looked at Cha-Cha, she realised the woman was hungry for revenge, it burned bright and unforgiving in her eyes.

     Cha-Cha lunged for Carla, right arm swinging towards the teen in a hook, but the redhead parried it with her left arm, lifting her right hand to her mouth and wrenching off the pink glove.

     Right hand now burning a bright orange, Carla reached for Cha-Cha's face, but the woman ducked just in time.

     However, Carla's hand burned through the shoulder of her navy suit, almost instantly scalding the skin, causing Cha-Cha to let out a hiss of pain. Cha-Cha staggered back a few steps, staring at Carla in rage as she pulled off her other glove.

     Where was everyone? Why did the back of the diner have to be so fucking quiet?

     "Where's the briefcase, kid?" Cha-Cha asked again.

     Carla looked at her, "Nunya."

     The woman frowned, looking momentarily confused, "What?"

     "Nunya business, you bitch," Carla said, voice a snarl, knowing that if Klaus were there he would most definitely approve of her wit.

     Cha-Cha let out a growl of frustration, lunging for Carla, and they fought, fairly equally matched, the teen getting in some jabs, the woman managing to avoid most to the fiery punches.

     Then, suddenly, Cha-Cha kicked Carla in the chest, sending her sprawling to the floor all too quick.

     Carla hit the ground with a thud, her ribs feeling as though they were on fire, and she let out a grunt of pain. She lay there helplessly, trying to catch her breath as best as possible, lungs seemingly refusing to take in any air.

     Cha-Cha towered over the teen, pressing the heel of her shoe into Carla's chest, just under the centre of the ribcage, where the diaphragm was, and pulling out a gun, pointing it at the teen's skull. 

     "I'm going to give you one more chance," Cha-Cha said calmly, cocking the gun with a click, "Then that's it."

     Carla tried to go through her options. She couldn't use her powers to burn Cha-Cha's ankle, because then the woman could just pull the trigger. She was in no position to fight; her ribs were practically screaming out in pain.

     Carla was royally fucked.

     "Where is the briefcase?" Cha-Cha demanded.

     She wished someone was going to turn up in the nick of time and save her, but she knew she was just being delusional.

     It was unlikely anyone would even notice she was gone.

      Carla looked up at Cha-Cha, refusing to let the tears spill over her lashes, and promptly spat at the elder woman. There was the flash of anger in Cha-Cha's eyes, the cold satisfaction and lack of remorse for what was going to come.

     She was never a religious person, to say the least, but in that moment, Carla Jenkins prayed.

     She prayed that Klaus would be okay, that he would receive guidance through all his struggles. She prayed that Five would be okay and return safely. She prayed for the Umbrella Academy, that they would pull together and prevent the apocalypse.

     She didn't want to die. Not yet.

     Her blood roared through her body, and the teen felt everything at once: anger, denial, sadness, desperation, regret.

     Then there was a bang, and Carla felt nothing at all.