[ Nebula does not need to look over her shoulder to know she is there. There is no question the figure she'd seen is not far away. She knew her well and if there was a target she wanted to kill, she would not let it go far from her grasps. She would savior victory, because victory wasn't something she knew — especially for one she would think to be weak. ]

[ It wouldn't matter that the one who was weak was her. ]

[ Nebula knows she's there and feels no desire to meet her. It's not fear that keeps her one step ahead, but knowledge. If this was who she thought it was, there was only one way for it to end. The way it had ended before or something new, something this place twists and knots in ways to make you feel lost. Aside from their current location, it's the first time in her life she's not felt lost. ]

[ About who she is. What she is. Who she wants to be and the purpose she has. Had. It's had now, because this god-forsaken city stripped everything and the only thing she has is steel will and iron purpose. Both, she refuses to be shaken by a ghost of the past. ]

[ So she doesn't run from this one exactly, but she keeps her guard up - Never too close. A constant eye on the distance, even as others come and go. This is one she doesn't want to meet soon and so she won't. Bides her time until finally something flicks on in her and it's her turn to chase - to meet. And the woman she does isn't so different, but the few differences are stark. ]

We meet again.

[ Her voice is cold and dry, not like meeting an old friend. Not like meeting a foe either. It's understanding met with a steel gaze while the other - the other her smiles viciously and lunges. ]

(TW: Minor fight scene, links and elaborates on a scene from Endgame resulting in past Nebula death)

You are weak.

I am you.

[ The response is growled out, met with a scoff of irony as the other aims for a hit and she dodges. She's reminded so much of how much power she wanted then. That this figment's first thing is to remind her - just as the same self had back then. She's weak. She's always been weak, it's a fact she won't accept of herself. ]

[ And yet, that does not mean she'll accept this one calling her as much. Even if there's a long ache of understanding in her chest as hands finally grip others. No gun, but a hand to the throat is just enough and then, like the flashbang of a bomb, she's sent spiraling back in time. This is a memory she knows. It's one (1) she's replayed (2) a dozen times or more before. ]

[ It hits hard and fast. The one she comes across a twisted, bitter thing. Someone that's been tortured and knows failure will mean her death - someone who has to survive, must survive. To prove herself. (In her secret hopes, in the mind no one else could read: to find a way to free herself one day). But in that moment she sees no escape, sees no hope - It does not matter she can change. He will not let her. ]

[ And so she shoots. A second too late, because she knew as well as the other her intent. She would not want to kill her sister, the sister she always had wanted and - so. She fired a second too late. This would be the Nebula that had died before she found herself, or her freedom. ]

[ In another time she would die in that twisted misery. She knows it well, even if in the present the current Nebula swallows hard. Stares at the mannequin who's neck now remains gripped between her fingers.]

[ And then she kicks it, hard, until it scatters and breaks into the ground. Noise be damned. ]

You cannot break me.

[ She says it with venom. ]