Lucas quietly excuses himself from the jeep. He keeps his eyes on the ground in front of him. He pushes open the double doors, looking around inside the empty inn. He heads upstairs. Looks around an empty room.
Would've been big enough for a full size bed. This should do it.
He sees the others parking the jeep inside. Good. They're smart enough to keep themselves alive. He knew he could trust them. They didn't need orders. Never did. They would be okay. He pulls Polybius's gun out of the holster. Fishes a small coin out of his pocket. Yeah. Lucky Lucas, huh? What a load of bullshit. A new city every year for the past 10 years, and then the Worksite. And then Mark. And then Karol. and then Kairos. And Marina. One by one, anyone who knew anything about who he was or what it was like to do the things he has to do. Brooklyn screaming at him in the medbay. Schwarzkopf yelling at him as Sven swings a chair into his side. Arthur yelling at him and storming off. Chance shooting Nora.
And Demi-- Oh, Demi--
He flips the coin. Watches it flutter through the air, end over end, catching the light in the most beautiful and mundane way.
This moment... this last heartbeat... This could be it.
One last light in a dark room and then he would never have to think of everyone he got killed ever again.
If it comes down heads, that would be mercy.
They would hear the gunshot. Find him. Maybe bury him if they all didn't hate him for fucking everything up.
He wouldn't have to see the crater he put in her body every time he closed his eyes.
Wouldn't hear the softest, most terrible and gentle sound that the gunshot forced out of her every time he took a breath.
It was falling now. His right hand, outstretched, palm-facing up, awaited the verdict.
Please, if he's wrong, if there is a god out there, please for the love of everything that is right and good and beautiful in this world, please let it be heads. He killed her. He killed her and he deserved to die for it. Please let it be heads.
The coin lands in his palm.
He looks down.
Tails.
No gunshot rings out. Footsteps recede from an empty room that would've been big enough for two.
Would've been big enough for a full size bed. This should do it.
He sees the others parking the jeep inside. Good. They're smart enough to keep themselves alive. He knew he could trust them. They didn't need orders. Never did. They would be okay. He pulls Polybius's gun out of the holster. Fishes a small coin out of his pocket. Yeah. Lucky Lucas, huh? What a load of bullshit. A new city every year for the past 10 years, and then the Worksite. And then Mark. And then Karol. and then Kairos. And Marina. One by one, anyone who knew anything about who he was or what it was like to do the things he has to do. Brooklyn screaming at him in the medbay. Schwarzkopf yelling at him as Sven swings a chair into his side. Arthur yelling at him and storming off. Chance shooting Nora.
And Demi-- Oh, Demi--
He flips the coin. Watches it flutter through the air, end over end, catching the light in the most beautiful and mundane way.
This moment... this last heartbeat... This could be it.
One last light in a dark room and then he would never have to think of everyone he got killed ever again.
If it comes down heads, that would be mercy.
They would hear the gunshot. Find him. Maybe bury him if they all didn't hate him for fucking everything up.
He wouldn't have to see the crater he put in her body every time he closed his eyes.
Wouldn't hear the softest, most terrible and gentle sound that the gunshot forced out of her every time he took a breath.
It was falling now. His right hand, outstretched, palm-facing up, awaited the verdict.
Please, if he's wrong, if there is a god out there, please for the love of everything that is right and good and beautiful in this world, please let it be heads. He killed her. He killed her and he deserved to die for it. Please let it be heads.
The coin lands in his palm.
He looks down.
Tails.
No gunshot rings out. Footsteps recede from an empty room that would've been big enough for two.
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