I kneel there, before Leo Malkin’s corpse. I feel hollow, and used, and full of pain. All the Russians are dead. Everybody is avenged. But my friends are all still dead too. Jasmine. Clyde. Felicity.
This is the world I fought for.
I’m barely a yard from the Chronometer. From the source of all this fuss. Its protective case has been broken. Maybe in the explosion I caused, maybe a stray shot, a stray sword stroke. I don’t know. I don’t really care. For something meant to be essential, for something so fundamental to the regulation of the world, it seems a lot like a tacky piece of shit to me.
There are sounds of violence to my left. Kayla still fighting the guards. Unaware that we’ve won. Unaware that it’s all over except for the copious bleeding.
I try to build the will to shout to her, to tell her to stop. But I can’t.
Soldiers are breaking from the main group, are running toward me. Guns out and trained. They bellow at me.
I don’t pay them much heed. I keep watching Kayla. Still fighting. Always fighting. I remember Devon in Chernobyl asking if it ever got any better. I remember lying to her.
Kayla’s blade knocks a man’s helmet flying. She skips around a muzzle flare, slices a gun in two.
It’s never a case of winning. Never. Just a case of how well we lose.
“Stop!” I finally find the strength to yell at her. “Just stop.” Be defeated, I want to tell her. There’s no point struggling anymore.
Felicity is dead.
Kayla looks over at me. I swear she even smiles.
The soldier’s gun goes off in her face.
Even Kayla can’t dodge that. I see her body arc one last time. I see the spray of bone and blood and brain sailing out the back of her head.
Jesus. Oh Jesus.
We put the world back… we put it back… Jesus.
Kayla’s dead. She can’t be dead. She can’t die. But she’s dead.
Did I just kill Kayla? Was that me?
Oh Jesus.
Soldiers swarm about me. Everything is dark. Shadowed figures. Dull shouts barely breaking through into consciousness. Everything sludgy and distant.
This is what we saved? And who’s left? Tabitha and me. That’s MI37 now. Aiko and Malcolm. Devon. How long before they’re dead too?
Jasmine’s dead.
Clyde’s dead.
Kayla’s dead.
Felicity’s dead.
I stare at the Chronometer. I want to smash it. I’d be shot as soon as I moved. I wish I’d let Malkin win.
Its second hand moves mercilessly on. Tick. Tick. Tick. Time—unrelenting in its march. Leaving all the might-have-beens in its dust.
Jesus.
And then it hits me.
No… No… It’s too big. The thought. The audacity—it’s not mine.
But this doesn’t have to be the world I fought for. Not this time. Not here. Not now. Malkin was wrong. There’s still time. Time itself staring me in the face, and asking for a do over.
I look at the Chronometer. At its ticking hands. So close to my own.
There’s probably a better chance I’ll be killed and all this will be for naught.
But… God, what the hell am I fighting for anyway? Not this. Never this.
Kayla lies on the floor, twenty yards away, what’s left of her mind pooling on the floor.
Felicity lies on the ground far below, blackened and burned.
Soldiers scream at me to put my hands behind my head. To put my head on the floor.
Sorry guys, but fuck you.
I lunge at the Chronometer.