Nurses in white, blue, and pink scrubs mobbed the corridors of Dead End Solutions. At this point, there was more blood than water on the floors.
Since the company had opened its doors to the public—as a shelter—operations had tripled, and with them, the mess. The halls reeked of antiseptic, sweat, and copper.
"How's he doing?" Sabrina asked one of the nurses.
The woman dropped her mop, glancing through the window beside her. Inside, a boy lay on the bed, swaddled in more bandages than clothes.
"Not good," the nurse replied. "He keeps muttering... things like 'sorry' and 'he had no choice.' Still probably feeling guilty because of what he did..."
"Vitals?" Sabrina stepped closer to the glass, eyes locked on Arsenal.
"Relatively stable. At least they aren't flip-flopping anymore," she said. "But he's still in a lot of pain, despite the pain relievers."
"You upped the dose?"
"Like you told me to," the nurse muttered, shaking her head. "I feel for him. Sometimes I even wish he was—" She paused. "Sorry."
"It's fine, Jessa," Sabrina said, brushing past her and into the room.
Outside, the halls echoed with the wet slap of mop heads and the slow drag of feet. Inside, the room was a mechanical symphony of beeps and static hums: ventilators, oximeters, defibrillators, all sorts of machines working just as hard as the body they clung to.
Arsenal lay on the bed, barely conscious, but his eyes found her.
"I... fucked up," he rasped, coughing. "I brought that bastard to you."
"You had to do it to save those civilians," Sabrina said, sitting beside him. She took his hand. "They're the ones who pulled you from the rubble... brought you back to us. It's not your fault, Arsenal. You didn't have a choice."
"How many... exterminators..." Arsenal coughed, "...died?"
Sabrina looked down. Her voice softened. "You did what you had to, I know you didn't—"
"I put the lives of people I didn't know... first." He smiled faintly, blood streaking the bandages across his face. "Just like you... always said."
"Arsenal..."
"For all I said... about realism..." He gave a short, bitter laugh. "I sure didn't... live it."
"You did exactly what I hoped you would. What I knew you'd do." She squeezed his hand. "That's why I brought you in, Arsenal. Because you're a good man, a good person."
"I should be dead. I... wish I was." His voice cracked. "It hurts everywhere... but at the same time... I feel... good," The machine beside him beeped faster. A nurse burst in, swapping IVs quickly.
"But my body..." Arsenal rasped, "...says something else."
"Do you regret saving them?" Sabrina asked quietly, eyes still on the monitor.
"I don't know," he muttered. "Maybe I do. Maybe I don't."
She watched him for a moment, wavering. There was something she had to say, a question she didn't want to ask. She stood instead, her hand slipping from his.
"I'll come back later, okay? I have to go—"
"One of the nurses mentioned my home... that's where he is, right?" Arsenal coughed. "...Is that why you're here?"
"You're too badly hurt," Sabrina said. "I'll find another way. I'll put out a call, maybe someone else from—"
"I'm going to die, right?" he said.
Sabrina stopped, then glanced to the nurse. After a moment, she nodded.
He tried to laugh again, but it came out a bloodied cough. "Yeah... figured. The nurses... don't exactly look at me like I'm coming back."
"That's why you should rest. Live out what time you have left."
"I'm the only one." Arsenal's voice was firmer now. "Winterglaides is a maze. You need someone who knows it... to guide you."
"Arsenal, you can't even sit up without bleeding through your bandages—"
"I want to see that bastard croak." He clenched his jaw. "That's all I want."
Sabrina was already halfway to the door. Whether he wanted to or not, she wouldn't let him. She couldn't.
"If I don't go..." he said. "They'll never find it... they'll die out there."
"And if you go," she snapped, "you will die!"
"That's the thing, isn't it?" Arsenal grunted, pushing himself upright. Blood immediately bled through gauze and cloth.
Both the nurse and Sabrina rushed to catch him, holding his body as it shook. Blood smearing against their palms.
"I don't have the strongest morals... or the best worldview," he breathed, "...but I have things I want too."
She said nothing.
"I want that bastard dead... just like everyone else." He grinned through the pain. "Look what he did to me... to my beautiful ears."
"Didn't exactly leave you with a long list of admirers after that, huh?"
"Not at all." He coughed again, rough and wet. "Let me go, Sabrina. Let me help bury that monster."
"There's no guarantee you'll make it... no guarantee you'll come back."
"As long as I see that bastard... in hell before I do..." Arsenal collapsed back onto the bed, machines screaming as more nurses rushed in.
"That's good enough."
"Ms. Khusanov..." one of the nurses murmured, looking at her before gently shaking her head.
Sabrina understood the look. She saw it on the nurse's face. On Arsenal's. He was going to die, his wounds were too deep. Too final. The only question left was where.
Would he die quietly, in this room... or somewhere in Winterglaides, bleeding out over Knox's corpse?
She was torn. Should she protect Arsenal, honoring her instincts and what the nurses pleaded for? Or should she grant him his final wish... to die on his own terms?
What was the right decision?
As a leader.
As an individual.
As an exterminator.
She turned away, moving toward the door.
One more week. That's what she had. One more week to get everything in order. To make sure the team was prepared, not just equipped, but truly ready. No more rest. No more hesitation. She had work to do.
Her hand went to her ear, tapping the earpiece.
"Sever."
Metal clanked on the other end. The grind of tools. The whirr of a mechanical needle threading through something hard and resistant. Sever was deep in his work.
"What now?" he said, voice rough, like a rusted blade dragged across gravel.
"How far are you on the thing I asked for?"
"You've asked for a lot of things, woman." Sever scoffed. "First it was a scythe. Then a sword. Then a shield. You'll need to be more specific."
"The suits."
From the other end, she could almost hear him grin.
"Reinforced Titanium-Alride," he said. "So dense it could take about ten-thousand pounds of pressure and not even whimper."
"They done?"
"Almost. I've finished eleven. Still working on the last one."
"When can you have it ready?"
"Another month, maybe."
"Can't you speed it up?"
"You made me rush the scythe. Left the last suit behind to finish that. I can't afford to botch the last one, not with how rare Alride is. You don't want to know what it took to get that metal."
"It's fine," Sabrina said. "I'll send someone to pick up the finished ones."
"You sure? Another month and I could—"
"I'm sure," she said, then paused, exhaling. "Thanks, Sever. For everything."
"Anytime."
The line went dead.
Over the past year, Sabrina had gradually commissioned those suits—new extremely durable overcoats for the first grades and a select few seconds. She had plans to equip all of them eventually. But eleven was enough. For now.
Osiris wouldn't wear his even if she begged, so it was more than enough.
She kept walking, the hallway dim and quiet.
One week.
A deadline she'd set for herself, and for everyone under her command.
The clock had started.
And time was already running out.