Witch Hunt

A strong, acrid scent, not dissimilar to my laboratory on its worst days hits my nostrils like a punch to the face. I startle to consciousness, failing to properly sit up, twisting at awkward angles by way of constricting ropes. "Wakey-wakey", says a mocking voice. Dressed in a smart suit and hat combo, a man stands from his crouched position. He scratches at his dark beard, and I catch sight of his visibly broken nose, bandage over the bridge. The mobster from before, the one with the amulet... I suppose they healed him up.

He holds a vial of sal ammoniac in his hand; smelling salts to rouse me of my slumber.

I can't tell yet if we're the only ones here. From my position on the chair I'm tied to, I just see the back half of the room.

No larger than a standard parlor, tacky, pale pink wallpaper peels at the corners, and the hardwood floor is partially-covered by a burgundy rug, that fails to fully hide the water damaged spot beneath. To my right, a vase of wilting flowers, and a framed photo of Marble City's skyline are the only bits of decoration atop the wooden vanity in the corner; superficial signs of dwelling without the little idiosyncrasies that a person actually brings. No grime or trash or misplaced effects. To my left, a three-panel dressing screen, folded out to divide away its corner of the room.

At least I have a window view. The curtains pulled aside, Marble City unfurls before and below me. The rooftops of shorter buildings and tiny specks of factory smoke in the distance are geographic indicators that we've been ferried to the inner city, likely the western-most edge, if I can even still see Grennard at all. What I can't see is the street level this building connects to; we're far too high up. But it does seem we're at the head of a t-intersection, as dead-on from my perspective, a road stretches far into the distance, winding into the heart of the outer city. If I count the floors of a skyscraper down the road until the windows are parallel, we're likely 16 or 17 stories up. Who knows how close to the top that puts us. Westward-looking, past the edges of the city sprawl, the sun begins its descent, its primordial light reflecting gold off a thousand panes of glass.

The vanity's mirror gives me easy sight to the front half of the room. A queen-sized bed, made recently, or unsullied by regular sleep at all, lies just behind me. A simple little desk with a typewriter atop matches the vanity, and an outcropped section of wall to the side of the doorway sections away a small separate room, probably a washroom or closet. A chandelier hangs low over my head, lightbulbs shining yellow-white.

It's a hotel room... and what's more, I'm not alone with the broken-nosed thug. My chair is tied back-to-back with another. Leafy-green hair and a black suit... Alabastra, still in disguise. She rolls her head in stirring recovery, perhaps having just received the same treatment as myself. I have a clear view to the back of her head, thanks to my own unmirrored form; the ropes tied around me create an absurd floating circle of twine over my chair.

And standing in the doorway, eyes level with the seated Alabastra, Ma Cozzo purses her lips. She's changed out of her homely attire, and now wears a finely tailored suit, shoulder-pads accentuating her figure. Wild hair tied back and face clear of glasses, she cuts as imposing a figure as I've ever seen a halfling manage. Displayed proudly overtop her glad-rags, the stone talisman set with a red gem the other mobster was holding now sits just above her clavicle. And her rifle is slung over her arm, a deadly reminder of how we've ended up here.

It is strange... I half-expected to not wake at all. The dawning horror is still sinking in... we've been kidnapped, and now we're at their mercy. No sign of Faylie or Tegan, no way out of this room, and never mind the vanishing daylight... either I am soon dead, or everyone is.

"Nngh", Alabastra groans. "Mornin', Sunshine." And perhaps it shouldn't surprise me that despite it all, Alabastra remains the same as she ever was.

Cozzo slaps her hard across the face. Alabastra's head jerks to the side, her illusory hair failing over her mirrored face. My eyes sting at the sight. "Don't play cute", the halfling says.

"Gonna be a lil' hard..." Alabastra's voice is groggy and low, an out of tune strum of her expected sardonic tone, dipping and skimming into her pre-feminine pitch. "I'm adorable."

"You're deluded."

Alabastra shrugs. "I get that a lot."

The head of her hierarchy, I'd expect this Ma Cozzo to not be so easily rankled. Instead her face sours, the same way it had in the basement of her shop, when I'd spoken to her. "You're one of those, huh? You're not gonna get so much as a lick a' pity from me."

"Usually takes longer than a day for people to stop pitying me. You're a savvy lady, Coz."

She stands up straight. "And just how do you know who I am?"

"Little bird told me." Alabastra cuts off Ma Cozzo's next question. "Hey, I got a question; why is an Iron Syndicate head runnin' some antique shop? I know the job market's bad, but..."

"Everyone needs a hobby."

A hopeless little chuckle escapes Alabastra. "S'fair. I like to read." The mob boss crosses her arms, unimpressed. As skilled as she is at it, I don't think Alabastra is going to pester her way out of this situation.

Ma Cozzo casts a curious glance over the vanity. "Mind telling me my why your friend doesn't show up in a mirror?" I'd be more annoyed at an errant piece of silver potentially giving the game away, if it wasn't practically already over.

For the briefest moment, Alabastra snaps to attention, before laxing again. But at the back of the chair, she flops a tied hand over to graze against my own fingers. A tiny nudge across the spark wheel, but enough to reignite my dwindling hope.

"It's a medical condition", she says.

Cozzo leans in close. "You think you're hilarious, don't you?"

"Your buddy thinks so."

I turn from the mirror to Broken-Nose. He is, indeed, stifling a chuckle, before the drawn attention wipes the grin from his face. He snaps straight, pulled taut like a rope, and coughs into his fist.

Nonchalant and decisive, Ma Cozzo slings the rifle off her shoulder, pointing it at Alabastra's head. "Do you think if I shot through your skull, it'd come out through your friend's forehead?", she says. My throat seizes. Every hair stands on my body like I'm caught in a thunderstorm.

"Maybe." Alabastra doesn't move an inch. "But you fire that thing, cops'll be all over this place before you can blink. Your whole operation gets thrown down a well because you wanted to see some blood fly. You're smarter than that."

For a moment, I wonder if Ma Cozzo will call Alabastra's bluff. End us both here and now, forever chained and doomed to die together. In some ways, that would be Alabastra getting the last laugh, tying me to her even in our collective final breaths.

Instead, she lowers the gun. "And you're smarter than you look." And then she slams Alabastra across the cheek with the butt of the repeater. A splatter of blood drips onto the rug below. I catch Alabastra's eyes in the mirror under the tangle of hair; wide and dazed and searching. "Of course... that's not really what you look like, is it?"

Alabastra exerts heaving sighs of pain, lips vaguely shaping the words 'what are you talking about', but it comes out as a garbled, scrambled mess.

"Four strangers stop through my store the day before, matching your heights, looking over the artifact you lifted?" She leans back, balanced on her boots. "I may not see through those disguised of yours, but I see past them."

"Getsher... seein' check...", Alabastra struggles to say, still pulling her knocked brain cells together.

Ma Cozzo jingles her talisman along her neck. "It's too bad I keep my eyes on my prize, or you might have had a clean sneak." She begins to strut around the bound chairs, to our collective side. "Clever trick, by the way. The illusion in the box, avoiding the Clockwatch. I have to know how you pulled it off." She completes her jaunt, now on my side of room, eyes locked with mine.

She's... asking me? This dangerous psychopath, with who knows how much blood on her hands, and money lining her pockets, wants to know how I foiled her magic trick.

The memory of the watch discarded on the floor before me flashes through my head. We were so close. And this... charlatan, this fraudster. She ripped our victory from us. I was nearly cured, but instead I'll die here, and die knowing I brought that same death to the three women who I want it for least. Who were more patient than I deserved, who wanted to help me rebuild. Strive for something more. On the first step up the staircase toward the rest of my life, and this crook pulls me right back down again.

My stomach throbs with hunger, and I let myself indulge. Ma Cozzo plasters a smug smile on her face, gloating in her triumph. I've never hated anyone more.

I should be terrified. Say nothing, wait for her interest to pass from me as it does for everyone. But lacing through my fingers, Alabastra's hand intertwines with my own, gentle feelers of warmth pulling me close. She's not gone yet. We're still here. And despite the dire straits, I'm full to bursting with resolve. "It was a dichloromethane solution."

Cozzo raises a brow. "A what?"

"A dichloro- ah, my apologies." I narrow my eyes. "I thought you were asking how I got through your case. Let me rephrase... if you were as smart as you think you are, you would have hired sentient security."

Her backhand strikes like bee stings against my face. The world spins, my cheek burns, and the wind quickly evacuates my lungs. "And you're the little deviant. Fancy words don't scare me coming from a nance." She rests on her gun like a walking stick. "Especially from where you're sitting."

Glasses jostled and hair fallen over my face, I turn back to see her unchanged grin. Worthless swine. I'll rip your mocking smile from your skull.

She backs up, her sneering face falling graven and bug-eyed. Did I... say that out loud? Ma Cozzo calculates an unseen equation. Mulling over the new variable: me. She looks to Broken-Nose, communicating with a look. He nods, and pulls a dagger from a belted sheathe, nonchalantly balancing it between his fingers. What a cruel piece of irony it would be, if the threat of my unconscious mind got me killed after all.

Alabastra speaks up, voice still slurred from blunt trauma, "They're not the one you want, Coz. Just a lacky. I was the brains."

Cozzo raises a brow. "Oh...? Now there's our angle." She steps back around to Alabastra. Angle... what is she getting at? "Well, if you're the brains, than I suppose we can speed this along. No more preamble."

She palms Alabastra roughly by the hair, forcing her to look at the halfling like a poorly treated doll. Ma Cozzo practically spits the words into Alabastra's face, "You're going to answer a few questions for us. The two most important being: do you truly work for this... ugh, 'faery mob'?" She throws Alabastra's head back, almost knocking her into mine. The halfling reaches into her coat pocket, and pulls free our fumbled prize. The brass watch hangs from its chain, swaying with momentum. "And. What do you want with this?"

"Would you believe...", says Alabastra, "That we're clock enthusiasts?" She lets loose a breathy little laugh to herself.

Cozzo rolls her eyes, ignoring the rogue's comments. "How is it that such a peculiar trinket sits in our vaults for so long, completely forgotten, and now suddenly, it seems like everybody wants it."

"It's a competitive market. I thought you loved those here on Ruem."

"Indeed we do. But we've already made a deal, you see."

Oh. They're dealing with our foes. Directly. At least, I assume so. Not that it matters anymore, but I allow myself some small petty grievance that Alabastra was right all along.

I swat lightly at Alabastra's hand, the only indication I can give to keep following this trail. She says, "Who was it that beat us to the punch, then?"

"You mean you don't know?" Cozzo rubs her chin, absentmindedly swinging the watch with her other hand. "Then, you're not in competition with them so directly... A shame we didn't know this before, we might've still made a deal."

"Yea, I'm feelin' like a real respected business partner here."

Cozzo hrmms. "That was before you thought to rob my store and concuss my boys." The way Ma Cozzo says boys, makes me think Ma isn't just a figurative part of her name. "But don't think I haven't noticed how you're dancing around my questions."

"Can't help it. We're fae, whimsy's kinda our thing." She laughs.

She stares down at the rogue, a prideful and knowing glint in her eye. "Joke all you want. You've revealed yourself." Ma Cozzo spools up the watch chain, depositing The Timekeeper back within the folds of her coat. "You care for your underlings."

Alabastra isn't laughing any more. "You've got me wrong..."

The mob boss crosses her arms, a smile full of pearly teeth and malice haunting her like a phantasm's masque. "Ohh, no. It's more than that, isn't it? You don't just care for them, you cherish them. Maybe even... love them?" She cackles, exactly like a play depiction of a witch. "I don't know how you do things in the Faewilds, if that's even where you're from, but here in Anily, love is bad for business."

She still believes we might be from the Faewilds... All isn't entirely lost, then. Yet. And she must be mistaken, too, about Alabastra. No to say she doesn't love Faylie; she clearly does, and Tegan as well. But neither of them are here, so how would Cozzo have picked that up? Alabastra must be setting up some kind of feint.

That's why she hasn't said anything. Why she's shaking wildly. A ruse, I'm sure.

Cozzo says, "So, I'm going to give you one more chance to tell me the truth. And then I'm going to go to the others, and ask them the same questions. And when they lie to me too, I will start breaking them. Piece by piece, I'll take them apart. And then I'll come back here, and show you what I've severed, and do the same to you. Back and forth, until I get the answers I want, from both halves. And if you're very good, I may even let you walk away when we're done." She stands up straight, making for the door. "That is, if you still have legs to stand on... Last chance!"

The choppy, storm churned waters of Alabastra's voice rush through her throat like a current. "Lay one finger on any of them, and every one of your boys dies." She spits. "That's a promise, bitch."

"Maybe I'll start with the little one's hands." Ma Cozzo leaves the room.

* * *

Alabastra heaves like a sick cat behind me.

With my hands tied to each other, legs to the chair, and my body to Alabastra's, her situation like mine, there's not much we can do. Not obviously, anyways. Broken-Nose stands in the corner, leaned against the door, watching us casually... at least, whenever he looks up from picking the underside of his nails with the tip of the dagger. That can't be sanitary...

We have to act. I rack my brain, trying to think of a plan. The physical constriction leaves us with few options, and the thug's eye makes any of those options risky. We could try to break the chairs, but if he catches wind, he'll stick that knife in one or both of us. Alabastra could certainly take him, if she weren't so tied down. And separated from my equipment, there's nothing I can do to contribute.

I curse myself. I'm as useless as I ever was. If I was anyone else... Faylie, with her disarming pep and keen sense for unseen solutions, or Tegan, resolute and mighty and braver than even she knows, or Alabastra, quick-witted and clever, a natural leader, fiery as the sun... then I might have some answer. But I'm not any of those things. And worse, not only do I add nothing; I am a blight. A walking calamity. A bad luck charm. This is my fault. All of it.

I feel something brush against my hand again. Alabastra's fingers grazing against mine. Right. My brooding won't help anything. We don't have long before Cozzo starts hurting Faylie and Tegan... Even if I can't do anything, I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try.

Now, what to...

Oh. I look in the mirror. Alabastra isn't holding my hand in some gesture of comfort. The ropes binding my hands, floating on nothing from the mirror's perspective, are coming undone. She's untying me.

With the guard watching, we cannot communicate. I'm not sure what she expects me to do from there... and she knows this. She's trusting me.

I can't let her down.

My wrists fall from each other, granted some breathing room. I could take it from here; something she seems to pick up on, as she pulls her hands away. But not before gesturing a small thumbs up behind her back. A little sign, just for me. An unseen burden within me lifts, and I feel briefly light as air.

And then she whistles. A short little diddy, to the tune of a ballgame anthem.

Broken-Nose steps forward. "The fuck?", he says, brandishing his knife. "What are you whistlin' for?"

Alabastra shrugs. "Can't a girl enjoy herself a lil' before her horrific torture?"

"Pretty sure that defeats the fuckin' point."

"No, no. Y'gotta think bigger picture. See, for the torture to be really horrific, there needs to be a bright spot first, ya feel me? Give me enough hope-rope to hang from." Behind her back, Alabastra waves her hands, then points to herself. She... wants me to do her's! And she's keeping him talking. Why did I ever doubt her?

The thug groans. "Are all you Faewilds types like this, or do you just got an extra few screws loose?"

I start to shift my hands upward, uncomfortably and awkwardly, bending just past the point of typical acceptability. This is wildly outside of my wheelhouse; not a lot of time for contortionist lessons on an alchemical learning path.

She says, "Little column A, little column B?" Her tongue clicks. "All I'm sayin' is, can't be all blood and torture and guts and stabbing. You need the light to make the dark, darker. Hell, I'm basically doin' your job for you! You should be payin' me."

My hands graze against the knot, pawing at it. Thank the Gods she untied me first; I'd have cracked an ulna by now. After a few grasping attempts, feeling like I'm playing with a ball of yarn like some ridiculous kitt-uh, cat, I manage to maneuver my hands in position, firmly pulling at either end of the knot. The mirror view is certainly helping... so long as the mobster doesn't grow a brain, and stays distracted.

Instead he says, "Yea, that's pretty much the dumbest fuckin' thing I ever heard. You really might be from some wacko plane." A thought I know I've had before. No, Broken-Nose, she's just like that.

"We Wackos take offense to that, you know." She has stopped making any sense at all. I should hurry. Pull, pull... Got it! The knot loosens, and I watch as her hands begin to wriggle free. But not before she feels around for my own, and... squeezes tight. I am grateful the murderous mobster cannot see my face right now.

He holds his dagger out. "I'm gettin' real sick of your-"

TAP-TAP-TAP. A sound from the window, knocking against the glass. From sixteen stories up. Please don't be-

Paella the raven taps at the window door.

On second thought, perhaps I should let the man stab me after all.

"... What in the godsdamn?", says Broken-Nose, arms dropping to his side.

CAW, cries the bird, muffled from the outside by the glass. It beats its wings against the windowpane, and taps it a few more times with its beak for good measure.

The thug steps forward. "Fuckin'... bird?" He moves past the two of us, past the vanity's angle at our forms. And as soon as he does, Alabastra springs into silent action, pulling the rope off her hands, and using said hands to liberate herself from under the main thread. Begrudgingly, I force myself to reckon that Paella was part of her plan. I feel like I need a mental bath.

I start to do the same, untying my hands. By the time that's done, Alabastra's out, leaving the rope slack around me. She bends down to work on her legs.

"Gotta lay off the blackroot...", says Broken-Nose. He waves his arms wildly at the window. "Shoo! Go! Get!"

I untie one of my legs, but as I move to free the other one... the chair skrrts beneath me. Broken-Nose turns, locks eyes with me, realization striking him in a flash.

Alabastra sails across the room, chair in hand, and smashes it over his head. The wooden legs splinter off in a crack, and the thug crumples harshly to the floor. For the second time today, she knocks the man unconscious.

Letting the remnants of the chair fall to her side, Alabastra steps over the defeated man to the window. She lifts it open with a rush of cold autumn air, and says, "Paella! Nice timin'!"

The raven hops onto the other side of the window sill, twitching its head around, bizarre creature that it is. I reach down, undoing the other leg and unshackling myself from the chair. Dusting myself off, as if it would also rid me of the gathered sweat stench, I stand. "Was that your plan the entire time?"

"What plan?" She at least makes her grin cheeky enough that I know she's joking, this time. I think. She steps around, pacing across the room. Paella flits onto her shoulder as she goes. "Right, okay. Gotta grab our gear, find our girls, and get out. One, two, three. Shh, shh, quiet Paella, they're still out there." She scritches under the bird's beak as she speaks, casting a hush over its croaking.

"Oh, is that all then?", I ask. "Maybe we should also grab the watch, and dispatch the mob leader, and then purloin her treasures and riches, while we're at it."

Her face turns coy, eyes swelling with wonder. If I didn't know better, I'd almost think she's bashful. "You don't even know you're doing it, do you?"

"...What?" Employ sarcasm?

She shakes her head. "Nevermind. Later. We've got other business." Alabastra struts back across the room, pacing in thought. She mumbles under her breath, "Alright. Can't slap on a disguise, thanks to the illusions, unless we drop 'em, but we might need 'em..."

"You could try growing wings", I deadpan.

Alabastra snaps her fingers, bringing her fist down into her palm. "That's it! M, you're a genius!"

"I was joking."

She turns to the window, bidding Paella hop onto her hand. "Alright, Pae. Fly around the building, make as much noise as you possibly can along the northern edge." Oh gods, she's seriously going to continue employing the bird. "Just be careful, alright? These guys are dangerous, so fly outta here if it gets too hot."

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "There is... so much wrong with that plan. And you." The bird CAWs once more, then wingbeats into the darkening dusky sky. "Why the north?"

"They didn't bother knockin' me out on the trip over. Saw 'em stash our gear in a south-facin' room. I think." Alabastra massages one arm. "It's... kinda a blur. Wasn't exactly a joy ride. I'd show you the bruises, but..." She motions over her form, the fey illusion clinging at this point like a bag caught on a fence, starting to sizzle and drift at the edges.

My chest seizes hearing that. My mouth feels dry and clammy. They'll pay for that.

I shake my head. Not yet. Please... The hungers are tamed, but I don't have long now. Every second from here is an uphill battle. I move to the hotel door, pressing my head against the wood to listen for movement. It doesn't sound like there's anyone on the immediate other side, but I think I hear talking in the distance.

"Hear anything?", she asks, audibly sifting through the hotel drawers.

I turn to respond, and notice immediately the danger at her back. Broken-Nose, not so unconscious as we thought, has crawled to his feet, knife in hand, reared back to stab. "Look out!", I yell.

Alabastra turns on a dime, dodging the blow meant for her back, but the angle and close range are still a recipe for disaster. The dagger slashes deep across her outer arm, blood splashing from the illusion like a stone dropped into a pond. She lets out a muffled scream, and grabs the man by the wrist, bending his hand over to force him to drop the knife, then throwing him forward like a dog on a leash.

He stumbles forward, and Alabastra capitalizes, grabbing him from the back, arm under throat. "HEY-", he tries to yell, before the rogue covers his mouth with her entire forearm, wincing as he bites into her skin. He struggles against her grip, fighting back, successfully. She's wounded, her hold will soon slip.

There's no time to think. Even behind her disguise, Alabastra's eyes communicate everything I need to know. Dread. She's losing. He'll call for help, and then it will all be over.

She needs me.

My hands move on instinct I didn't know I had. In my hands, the knife handle finds the practiced grip of an old friend.

I stab the man deep in the chest.

This close, I can see the flecks of blood still staining his beard, the edges where the bandage has begun to curl off his face, the glistening wetness in the white of his eye, meeting mine, knowing it's the end.

He tries to say something. Blood pours from his mouth. And he falls dead on the floor.

I stare down at the man. The corpse of the man, glassy eyes still staring. My sight blurs and distorts, my breathing grows heavy and fraught, and I am doused in a cold sweat. I killed someone. I killed him. I'm a murderer.

And I suppose I always was. My bloodthirsty side was never innocent; but now even my waking mind is stained with crimson guilt. I could tell myself he forced my hand, that I had no choice. Lies, of course. I'm in no mood for lying. My hand shakes to shuck free the sin, to no avail. This was a step I never wanted to take. A closing of the gap between my iniquitous halves. I was supposed to be the coward, the fretful and joyless loner, the morose warden of the monster's jail. Slaughter is not supposed to be my purview. But if I'm a killer, if I am capable of taking life... where is the line?

Now where do I stop, and where does it begin? Not at bloodletting. Not anymore.

I've lost something I'll never get back.

I can feel Alabastra's hand on my shoulder, her words beating against my ears. But I can't stand to look at her. No. I can't stand her looking at me. I don't want to be perceived at all, I need... I need to get away. I push her off of me. She needs to get away, too.

And there's the thing inside. Although it still starves, where I would expect it to claw at the walls of my stomach, instead it poisons my thoughts with far worse. It is satisfied. A warmth spreads through me, and my conscious mind can't bear the contradiction. I vomit onto the wood floor, insides spilled like it might excise the demon.

The taste of bile is what brings me back to reality at last. The strange acrid taste remining me that I'm still here. In this hotel, owned by other murderers.

Alabastra's words finally break through the dam. "Marlowe, it's okay. It's alright. I'm here."

I'm too tired to dissect the particular words. They feel like scattered puzzle pieces, that I don't have the picture to complete. But something about them feels nice. Like a fireplace after a rainstorm. I follow that warmth, not entirely dissimilar, but just different enough from the pleasure my haunting phantasm laid at my feet, back to my senses. I look up, into her eyes. Glowing green under the illusion, but comforting all the same.

"Alabastra?", I say. My voice sounds smaller than I expect.

"I've got you." She pulls me in close. I'm not sure why people keep hugging me lately. But I don't have the energy to refuse. Then she pulls back, almost too soon. "Listen. We're still in the shit. I gotta get moving if I'm gonna save Faylie n' Tegan."

I think I nod. My stomach rumbles. It already wants more. Insatiable pervert. "The Subduant...", I manage.

She squeezes her eyes shut, forcing herself to reckon with the reality. "Alright. That first. Better hurry then."

Alabastra leans over Broken-Nose's corpse. I'll never even know his name... Did he have a family? She fishes through his pockets, purloining a set of keys. Then, she wrenches the knife free from his ribcage, a trail of blood dribbling down the man's suit. My stomach twists into knots.

She marches across the room. "Moodie." I turn to face her. She stands at the door, crouched in a low position. "Three knocks on the door means I'm back. Anybody else, and..."

"Okay", I say. Obviously I don't know what I'll do. But no reason to worry her.

The rogue, who so often straddles the line between bravery and stupidity, firmly crosses it, as she steps into the hallway of the crime family's hotel.

* * *

Murderer.

I can't get the word out of my mind. A cruel and violent killer. That's the vision of myself I fought so hard against. So hard, in fact, that I've completed the loop, and ended right back where I started. A snake eating its tail.

This must be why I was led so long down this path of false hope. It was all leading to this. A corpse at my feet, a life taken not by the monster in my soul, but the alchemist in my head. It's all I can do to focus on that feeling, that awful, crushing weight, to not fall unconscious to the tide of blood-hunger.

If we collect the watch tonight; if somehow despite everything, we emerge victorious... will I even deserve it anymore? Did I ever?

The sun has disappeared past the horizon now, its exit painting the sky in roses and golds. The sun will never know how lucky it is; its exit is beautiful, every night. Most of us will never leave so poetically. We'll fall into a gutter, or step off a bridge. Succumb to illness. Or choke on our own blood, stabbed by a thieving stranger. Messy and crude and random. Unfair.

My eyelids yearn to shut. I wish I had caffeine.

I chuckle bitterly at the banality of the thought, the lack of poignancy. I've just killed a man, and now I want coffee. Absurd.

I'm not sure how long I sit like this, fighting the fatigue in wordless battle, but if I convince myself victory is always around the corner, I might believe I could go forever.

A scrapping sound pulls me from the brink. I look to the door. Someone's coming in.

No knocks.

I stand, grabbing a piece of wooden chair leg, holding it like a bat, and creep to the inside crook of the door. I don't expect to win, but the girls would be disappointed if I didn't at least try.

The knob begins to turn, and I hold my breath.

THWACK. A muffled pummeling sound on the other side of the door.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.

Alabastra opens up, her back to the room as she hauls a body inside. "Closeit-closeit-closeit", she whispers. As soon as she, and the man's feet, are clear of the door, I swing it closed, and cringe to myself at the louder-than-expected slam.

Learning from mistakes, Alabastra wastes no time gathering up the discarded rope, tying the near-intruding thug to himself in an admittedly impressive display. Perhaps she worked on a boat? She shuts the man into the washroom.

The last bit of excitement drained, I'm out for the count. I shamble towards the bed, too tired to think.

"Woah, hey, where ya goin'?"

"Subduant. Do it."

Alabastra nods once, fishing through one of the two satchels around her torso for a syringe. A moment's search later, and she pulls the needle free, looking over the metal tube. She starts to walk toward me... and stops, arrested by some mental force or internal diatribe. An inscrutable look crosses her, sullen, but resolved.

I drop onto the bed, looking toward her. "What are you waiting for?"

Her arm drops to one side. "Moodie...", she says, voice graven as a pallbearer's, "I need you to listen to me."

What is she doing? I don't have the time to mull about, my hungers will come calling any second. Doesn't she remember how much danger she's in? "Alabastra..."

"I can't..." Her voice breaks. "I can't do it..."

"What do you mean?", I mumble. I'm starting to have trouble understanding her. Starting... did I ever stop?

She starts to pace. "Fuck. Moodie, if I leave you here, fucking, asleep, they're gonna find you, and kill you." She pulls her fingers through her hair, poised to tear through her own scalp. "I can't protect you and save them at the same time!"

Forcing myself to understand, to not drift off just yet... I pull myself up to face her, resting on my arms. She's, she's leaving me to die, then? I suppose I understand. She shouldn't take it personally, it's the obvious choice to make. "You... you did your best."

Alabastra looks down at me with piteous eyes. "No, no you don't understand." Her hand motions grow erratic, like she's trying to catch her next words out of the ether. "They almost spotted me twice back there, getting our stuff, and that was just down the hall. There's a building full of them. I don't... I don't know if any of us are gonna make it."

She must be catastrophizing. She does the impossible every day; how is this different? Yet, she looks terrified. All the better.

No! Any words I have are pulled from my throat, as I concentrate shove the thoughts down once more. She needs me awake.

"But there's still something you can do." She drops the syringe back into the bag.

The weight of what she's asking slams me like a sledgehammer. No. No, no, no. She can't be... "You promised", I lament.

"I know what I promised." She looks to one side, barreling through her visibly building hesitation at her own thoughts. "I said you wouldn't hurt anyone that didn't deserve it. Moodie..."

She's playing games with my words now, of all times?  It takes the last reminder of my waning strength to retort, "You know what I meant." My arms collapse from under me.

Alabastra stumbles forward, taking the blow with a guilty snarl. "I do. I'm so sorry."

This is a nightmare. She's asking me to surrender. Worse than death.

Except, it's not just me that dies if I stay defiant, is it? Faylie, Tegan, Alabastra... I can accept my own doom. Would I accept theirs? But, no, that's a fool's notion. Whatever these criminals will do to them, the monster will certainly unleash worse. There is no surviving, if Alabastra is so sure they won't make it. Only a poison to pick.

She grabs an arm, guilty, pained breathes heavy on her tongue. "I can't take the choice from you. Say the word, and I'll do it", she says. She takes another step forward, standing over the bed like a hospice nurse. And then she puts a hand on my shoulder. "But... we need you. I need you. Please."

I can't think straight. Conflicting desires war on the fleeting and vanishing battlefield of my mind. There's no time to adjudicate a victor. To weigh out the pros, to measure the cons, to balance the scales of my soul. There's nothing left in me but to follow that fading feeling, the falling remnants of my conscience.

There never was a choice.

My head bobs in some vague direction. I say something, but I'm not sure what.

And then there is only darkness.