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Someone once told her that dancing was like running away while staying in one place. So she spent every waking hour in the studio, running on pointe. Running from three uncles in the Corp that stopped by the farm in Georgia just long enough to take her through another drill. Running from that expectation to fight, to serve. Sometimes the act of moving is enough. Until one faithful day in August when hell itself came out of the ocean. That day Riley stood still until the phone rang and she knew the words on the other end before they were spoken. Three Uncles lost. Three. An insignificant number among thousands. Among tens of thousands. But three was enough to stop running away. Always the impulsive one, a single bag was packed before the last tears were shed. The PPDC may not be the group she headed out the door to join, but Corp is Corp. Oorah.