Psylocke laid on the top bunk bed, hands behind her head, and stared at the ceiling. She'd been on Tattooine for way too long now. She had estimated about a month by the growth of her own hair. She was bored, tired, and malnourished.
"I want to fight again," she muttered aloud.
Quil, the man who slept on the upper bunk next to her turned over and stared at her wide eyed. "Are you crazy, girl? You gotta death wish or something?"
"No," she replied, unmoving. "Just the opposite. I want to get off this forsaken planet and get on with my life. The sooner I get my ten battles done, the better. Seeing that I've only had two in the last month, I'll be here for a while."
"Oh yeah? And what makes you think you're gonna survive?"
"My destiny isn't to die here."
Quil guffawed. "How can you know what your destiny is?"
"I just do. I'm a warrior. The day I die, I will die in battle, either to save or revolutionize a world. My death will have a purpose."
"Yuh huh, 'Revolutionary Girl Psylocke.' What next, gonna dress like a boy and wear a white rose?"
Psylocke turned and flashed him a puzzled look. "What the heck are you talking about?"
Quil turned back over. "Never mind."
Psylocke turned back to her meditation upon the ceiling. "Dress like a boy....?"
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