His left arm had been grabbed and bent at an impossible angle, and he heard the crack! of bone breaking but didn’t feel it. Somehow he fell on one knee, then both, and a hand seized his throat before the grip became a forearm pressed against his neck, searching for and finding a hold that refused to yield.
“You shouldn’t have come,” they said inside his head.
“But we knew you would…”
“…knew you would.”
“They’ll be the death of you…”
“…again.”
“They’re only human…”
“They were made for this…”
“…destined…”
“They’re chattel…”
“…meat…”
“…storage…”
“Let it go.”
“Stop fighting.”
“Why are you still fighting?”
“You have no idea how long…”
“…he’s been planning this…”
“It’s all part of the plan.”
“Accept it.”
“Accept it!”
He somehow ended up staring at the sky. It was a strangely bright night, and the wind was cool against his flesh. He closed his mind from the pain as two of them pulled at his arms while a third, behind him, put pressure on his head until his neck was straining and he could feel the muscles stretching beyond their limits, hear the tendons tearing one by one, by one…
“It’s over,” they said.
“This is how it ends.”
“She wasted her life to turn you…”
“…such a mistake…”
“…remedied, now…”
“Thank her when you see her again.”
He refused to think of her. She was gone. Dead (again). Outside a gas station somewhere unimportant. Ironic that his last breaths would also happen on the rooftop of a building somewhere unimportant.
But he didn’t give in. It wasn’t in his nature.
“Still fighting,” they said.
“Give in…”
“…this is the end…”
“…inevitable.”
“It’s all part of the plan…”
“His plan…”
“…give in!”
Lara, he thought, his mind’s eye filling with memories of her. Images and sounds and sensations that he had held onto even though doing so weakened him and kept him unsure and hesitant. But he couldn’t let go because it was her. It was Lara. The natural and crystal blue of her eyes, always so full of life even at her lowest moments. The smooth touch of her skin and the warmth of her breath against his neck as they lay together.
The best nights of his life.
The best days.
Because she was there.
Lara.
Lara…
I’ve failed you.
Again.
Forgive me.
Forgive me…
Then something strange — a sudden uptick in the cold followed by the loud scream of metal piercing air.
Then something heavy falling from the sky.
Plummeting faster, faster, faster.
“No,” they said inside his head. “No!”
Yes, he thought, and closed his eyes as the heat of the expanding blast absorbed the buildings around him and the solid rooftop under him disintegrated and he tumbled, out of control, into a black void as his skin burned and peeled and screams from a hundred — a thousand—creatures filled his mind in a tsunami of pain and horror and, oddly enough, sweet release…
Blue eyes peered at him, but the shape was all wrong. Everything about it was wrong. It wasn’t thin enough and the smell coming off it was sweaty, dirty, and greasy, but not the chaos of cold and heat coexisting. Warm air flowed forth as it breathed in and out with some difficulty, the weapon clutched in one hand and draped over its knee almost too casually.
“Man, talk about dropping in without calling first,” it said.
No, not an it.
A he.
“Good thing we were in the other room when you showed up. Of course, you guys made a real mess, but I’ll let that one slide since I don’t think it was you that dropped the bomb. Or da bomb, as the kids say. On the plus side, you also buried all the corpses we had piling up in here, so thanks for that. They were becoming a real eyesore.”
It was a man and his voice was…familiar.
“It wasn’t easy, you know. I was this close to putting a bullet in your head and calling it a day,” the man said, pinching his forefinger and thumb together. “That trench coat — or what’s left of it — saved your life. Where do you do your shopping anyway, and do you get a discount if the stuff is only thirty — excuse me, I meant, ten — percent intact?”
The part of him that still recognized pain had shut down. It was an automatic response by his mind to spare the rest of him so he could keep functioning. He couldn’t turn his head, but he could sense the other blue eyes around him. Two of them. Except there was no cold or warmth coming from their skins, and their accusing voices had quieted inside his head.
They were gone. Dead. (Again?)
Thick, coagulated black blood covered the parts of his body that he was still able to retrieve sensations from. He was gashed and bleeding, even in the areas that he couldn’t see, and partially buried in rubble from the stomach down. Only the top half of him had been spared the crushing weight of the building as it came tumbling down after the concussive force of the blast took apart its roof. Massive blocks of concrete made a prisoner out of him, and he was certain his arms were no longer connected to his pulverized shoulder joints. His legs…no, he would have to turn the pain receptors back on to find out what had happened to them.
He couldn’t turn his head because it was twisted to one side, his chin resting against a drooping shoulder. The muscles and tendons along his neck had been severed, pulled until they snapped.
He was hurt. Badly.
The man crouched in front of him was gesturing with the gun. “Bullet to the head. Kind of a gyp, don’t you think? You’re faster, stronger, all kinds of crazy comic book supervillain shit, but all it takes is one little ol’ bullet to the ol’ noggin and you’re kaput. Doesn’t even have to be silver.”
He was alive. Why was he still alive? Because the man had chosen not to end him, even though he could with a simple (so simple) pull of the trigger. A slight pressure and it would be over, along with all the nights of stalking Mabry, finding his weaknesses, looking for the perfect angle to attack.
“In case you were wondering, yes, it looks like you’ve seen better days,” the man said. “I’d say you look like shit, but that would be an insult to poop everywhere.”
The man had mischievous blue eyes, and blond hair matted with dirt and sweat stuck to his forehead. Streaks of dried blood stretched from his right temple to his chin and curved around cracked lips. There was blood in the air. A lot of it. Old and fresh. The man was bleeding from multiple wounds. Painful, but not life-threatening. At least, not anymore. Medical ointment tingled his nostrils.