Chapter Five: The Dying Light

The feeling of raindrops shattering and splintering against my face pulls me out of the abyss of my subconscious. I blink several times, attempting to clear my vision, caressing my left eye, which is already throbbing and swollen from Cheever’s surprise attack. How long have I been out? My strength is fleeting; I can barely muster the power necessary to roll onto my hands and knees. I try to judge my condition, determining whether my equilibrium is stable enough to stand, but I can’t seem to focus on anything but the sound of the blood rushing through my veins. Everything feels numb, with only the wet ground keeping me anchored to reality. The sound of a distant voice echoes in my ear, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Then someone grabs me by the collar and yanks me to my feet. It’s Jurin, and he is yelling something, but I can't seem to register what he’s saying. I feel as though I’m in a trance as if I’m in shock. Several pulse rounds fly past his head, and he crouches a little before smacking me.

"John, what the hell?! We need to go!" he yells, shaking me frantically.

I feel my dulled senses begin to sharpen. "I’m—here, I’m good." A look of relief pours over him. He pulls my arm over his shoulder, and we make our way toward the skip and hopefully toward salvation.

Several more pulse rounds pass us as we reach the landing where the tattered skip was warming its engines and getting ready to take off. Jurin drops me and runs ahead, waving his hands, desperately trying to catch the pilot's attention, but to no avail, the skip jets upward at surprising speeds. Jurin turns to me, his expression resembling one of a man with nothing left. I had seen that look before, but only on people who were broken—people who had given up. He looks to my left, quickly pulling the revolver from his waistband just as two pulse rounds pierce his chest and upper leg. Blood sprays across the pavement as the force of the impact makes him spin around on one leg like a dancer. I rush to catch him as he starts to fall, supporting his weight with my body. I gently roll him on his back, his eyes looking all around, trying to make sense of what just happened. A cascade of emotions flows across his face: fear, shock, regret, and anger are just a few that I can discern. I put pressure on his chest in a futile attempt to slow the bleeding, but it is already too late. I know it, and so does he.

I can feel him slipping away, almost like he is getting lighter in my arms. “No!” I demand. “Hold on, Jurin!”

He attempts to grin, probably trying to make me feel better, lifting his hand to cup my face. "I’m—sorry." His hand goes limp and falls to his chest, and I can almost see the light leave his body.

Tears of regret and agony overwhelm me. I’m alone—there is no one left to take, no one left to lose. And then a realization hits me: at this moment, this insignificant moment in the grand scheme of all existence, I am truly nothing. Not Cheever or Tumbler and even all of New Horizon can hurt me because there is nothing to wound. I don't care anymore. I wipe the tears away and let out a long, sobering sigh, closing Jurin's eyes. I feel Cheever’s presence stooping over me. He grabs me by the cusp of my jacket and pulls me to my feet, causing Jurin’s lifeless body to roll face-first into a puddle.

"It’s just you and me now, boy!” he says viciously, caressing my face with the barrel of his pistol. “I must say. You surprised me with your clever trick." He wears a sadistic grin.

Trick? "What are you talking about?" I ask flatly.

Cheever glares at me. "Don't act stupid, boy. That stunt you pulled cost me a lot of good men."

"There are no good men anymore," I say plainly, staring Cheever dead in the eyes. "Just kill me and get it over with or leave me the hell alone." I can see the rage boiling in his eyes. He really would love to squeeze the life out of me.

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"You know, you got quite the mouth—" he responds. "Maybe I'll cut out your tongue and force it down your throat. How does that sound?" He forces the barrel of his pistol into my mouth.

He searches my face for a reaction, fear, or anything that lets him know that he has the upper hand. The sick bastard probably gets off to it, but I don't indulge him. Instead, I continue to stare him in the eyes, and for a moment, I can see that he is the one afraid, but of who? It couldn't be me. I have done nothing to him. But now that I see hints of fear, I see other things as well: confusion and anxiety. Something really crazy must have happened after he knocked me out. Jurin must have really kicked ass before he—

Cheever removes the gun from my mouth. "You don’t scare me anymore, Cheever," I say with an emotionless tone. “Just get it over with damn-it!” I demand.

He grimaces at my lack of enthusiasm, forcing me onto my knees and placing the pistol against my head. "You know," he says bluntly. "I’m going to enjoy this.”

The micro-vibrations from the pulse gun course through my body. In an odd way, they relax me. Other than an annoying ache radiating in the back of my head, I find myself strangely calm. I had thought I'd be scared of dying, though I'd fight or resist until my last breath. But now, all I wish is for the pain to stop.

Cheever pushes the pistol hard against my head until I brace myself with my hands. Jurin’s blood is starting to spread and mix with the water, making the ground a dark shade of crimson. I take a deep breath as Cheever pulls the hammer back on the pistol. I’m ready. I close my eyes, listening to the pounding of my heart.

"Cheever West!" a voice shouts over a loudspeaker filling the atmosphere around us. "Drop your weapon and lay face down on the ground!"

I look up at Cheever, studying his ruined suit that had been so perfectly kept just a few hours earlier. It makes me think about how everything eventually falls apart. How I have lost my best friend and how I had done so little for Jurin in return. Cheever's eyes don’t hide his apprehension as a dozen marines in Heavy Armor Combat Suits step out of the shadows as if they were conjured from thin air.

"So what are you going to do now, Cheever?" I mock him with a low voice, so low that only he could hear me.

"Shut up!" he barks, thrusting the gun painfully against my head. "I'll kill you before they can stop me!" he adds.

"Cheever, it’s over!" one of the marines says. "This is your last warning!"

Cheever turns toward the closest marine. "Do you know who I am? I'm the Baron of New Horizon. You can't touch me. None of you can touch me! You need—"

Cheever freezes in midsentence and falls to the ground. Two marines approach his body, kicking the gun away from his arm and cuffing his hands behind his back. "This is Delta Zero Two; the suspect has been shocked and apprehended, request further orders," a third marine says into the radio while two others lift and drag Cheever's stunned body away. "Understood, Sir," the marine continues before turning his attention to me. "Are you injured?" he asks while shining his pulse rifle’s light into my eyes.

I glance at Jurin’s still body and shake my head. Something seems familiar about him. I take a closer look at his name tag, Miller, one of the marines we paid off using Cheever's creds. "So what now?" I ask cynically.

Miller helps me to my feet, placing his hand on my shoulder while looking down at Jurin's body. "I'm sorry about your loss, but I need you to show me your papers." He extends his hand.

I reach out and grasp his forearm, and just as before, there’s a buzzing sensation followed by the holographic display. He reads for a bit; a look of discontent comes over his face as he breaks hand contact and engages his radio. "This is Delta Zero Two, I've reviewed the kid, and he checks out."

The words reverberate in my mind, and I stammer, "But—" The marine holds his hand up, stopping me.

"Your friend wanted you to leave this place,” Miller says, “It would be a disservice if I, let alone you, allowed his sacrifice to go to waste." He turns and walks away, disappearing into the dark.

I fall to my knees. What the hell just happened? I look over at Jurin’s lifeless body, half hoping that he’d jump up and say something sarcastically witty, but he doesn't. I feel myself begin to cry, but I repress the urge long enough to recall some of the few good memories we shared. The rain finally stops, and I can hear sirens in the distance, probably coming to clean up Jurin’s remains.

I know I have to leave, that if I stay, I risk being caught again. But it’s too hard to say all the things I want to say when nothing comes out every time I try. I finally gather the courage to stand up and walk away, taking one last look at Jurin and whispering, "Thank you. I’ll miss you. But now I gotta go."