Buster ran towards the mech as fast as his short, stocky legs could carry him. All he had was his multitool, but this was a patchwork Hydra that had been inexpertly repaired and upgraded over the years. He wouldn't need to melt through an inch of industrial sealant to get into this one.

He ran up to the now-empty turret, looking back at the flamethrower nozzle mounted underneath.

He followed the hose up along the back where it vanished into a hatch. The hatch was held shut with two screws. There were holes for six.

He pulled out the multitool and unfolded it in two quick flicks of his wrist.

He grabbed the big star-shaped head from the neat little row of security bits and slipped it into the screwdriver.

He jammed it into one screw and loosened it as quickly as he could, trying not to let his focus waver. As tall as he was, he could barely reach.

He didn't even wait for the first screw to fall to the ground before he moved onto the second.

The hatch fell open, revealing the fuel tank for the flamethrower. It was bright red and covered in warning stickers.

For the second time in as many days, Buster was glad he had been a gamer. In the world of vidcons, red fuel tanks blowing up real good was the one universal language.

He reached across his belly to pull the grenade out of his left pants pocket. Gripped it. Pulled out the stopper. Chucked it into the open hatch, where it clanked against the rim and rolled to a stop right under the flamethrower fuel tank.

Then he turned and ran.

His legs pumped as hard and fast as they could. The panda focused all his attention and energy on running. Outpacing the looming terror that at any second he could be shot in the back of the head or immolated.

He kept running, away from the Hydra, not daring to look back. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, sweat pooling under his fur. Weren't you supposed to count down when you threw a grenade? Well, he hadn't and now he couldn't guess if it had been five seconds or five minutes. So he just kept running.

If Buster had found a regular fragmentation grenade, the Hydra might have survived. Since he found an infiltration grenade specifically designed for high-powered subterfuge, even the reinforced flamethrower tank buckled and ruptured from the heat and force of the explosion.

In an instant, the entire payload ignited and blew up.

Buster finally whirled around at the deafening explosion, without meaning to. He only saw it for a split second, but he would never forget.

The Hydra's chassis remained intact around the exploding tank, routing its force upwards and outwards to the cockpit. The explosion shattered the cockpit window, and as Buster turned around he saw what was unmistakably Mirabelle being launched high into the air out of the cockpit window.

She was completely enveloped in flames the same bright shade of magenta as her dyed feathers. As if she really were a phoenix taking flight.

It only lasted that one beautiful instant. Then the Mirabelle-shaped fireball dissolved into ash as she was consumed completely by the fire she had so coveted.

All that remained of the gryphoness he had loved was a cloud of soot and smoke slowly dissipating into the atmosphere of Baldwin's Fall.

When he had beaten Lance, he felt electric. This time he felt only a hollowness.

There had been so much good in Mirabelle Blackburn. The gryphon had shown so much kindness and compassion over the years.

She had made him laugh and opened his eyes. So many of the personal breakthroughs he had made in his life happened with her help. All the triumphs of his old life had been celebrated with her, and in his moments of despair she had comforted him. She had delighted him with her art, and challenged him with her intellect.

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She could have gotten better. She could have left him behind and never looked back. Instead, she would never make the movies she wanted to make. She would never bring joy and inspiration to another person.

The lichen would feast on her ashes tonight.

Buster looked down at the Hydra itself. It was consumed in a raging maelstrom of magenta, the air waving and shimmering from the heat.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the handgun, flipping off the safety. He knew Mirabelle was gone, but he couldn't rule out Kincade.

The panda was still panting and shaking from his panicked running. He struggled to catch his breath as he walked back to the Hydra. He couldn't get close, the air was so hot and the smoke was so thick. So he circled around, eyes sweeping back and forth.

He found Kincade crumpled in a pile on the ground. The grizzly bear's entire side had been horrifically burned, exposed muscle and glistening yellow fat under crisp charred skin and burned fur. The rest of him looked pathetic, the heat had singed off most of his fur and his eyes were swelled shut from bruising.

"Damn. I hope you're not alive, that looks painful." Buster said to Kincade, surprised when he heard an anguished whimper in response.

"Crazy bird...tried to set me on fire...couldn't shoot her, too close...tried to escape..." the grizzly bear wheezed, no longer sounding the fearsome Freelancer. This was the nervous pharmacist he had known all those years ago.

"Yeah, looks like the explosion sent you flying. Don't think you're walking away from this one, buddy." the panda said, that sadistic edge creeping into his voice but tempered by sadness. Buster didn't sound triumphant this time.

Kincade moaned, trying to move and crying out from his many broken bones.

"I'm guessing you lost your sidearm in the fight or the explosion, but even if you had it both your arms are shattered. You look so pathetic, I can't believe you almost got me. Hope you didn't pay too much for that hunk of junk, didn't help much." He gestured to the flaming wreck of the Hydra with his thumb before holding a paw over his mouth in mock surprise, "Oh, that's right, you can't see now. For the best, I suppose."

Kincade was humiliated. "Please, just kill me. It hurts so fucking bad, man."

"I bet it does!" Buster agreed, sidling over to Kincade and kneeling down next to him, "Tell me, how many people have you used that thing on before me? You think it hurt them more or less than this is hurting you now?"

The panda callously began roughly pawing at Kincade's body, searching the grizzly bear. "Just making sure you don't have any tricks up your sleeve. Don't worry, shock should be setting in soon. This won't hurt much longer." he cooed.

Kincade Vandermewe was weeping from the pain, tears oozing out of his puffy eyelids and streaming down his bruised and swollen cheeks and muzzle. They were dark with blood.

"You know, there's a reason I didn't push back when Mirabelle didn't want me to be friends with you: I just didn't like you very much. It's so funny that you've been carrying a torch for me all these years and I didn't even remember you. You were just this annoying guy I lost interest in. Well, the good news is I'm never going to forget you now!" he talked with a firm, measured tone before letting the last word come out in a vicious snarl as he furiously kicked the grizzly bear in the side with an audible crack as the panda's steel-toed combat boots shattered broken ribs.

Whatever part of him enjoyed toying with Lance had atrophied. Instead of feeling good, he just felt disgusted with himself. He imagined how Petro would look at him right now if he could see this. If Farmer Carbuncle would welcome him on their couch if they were watching. How keen the orderlies would be to get him lifting weights if they saw what he was using his strength for.

How long has he been like this? This isn't my Buster.

He didn't want to be this person. He wouldn't be this person. Even if he had to dive into the deep end head-first to escape it. He was afraid of so many things, but in that moment nothing scared him more than the thought of disappointing his friends.

He didn't know what he was giving up last time. He should have known better now.

Buster lifted the pistol and aimed it down at Kincade. For a moment he considered shooting him in the knee, one last explosive burst of pain to send him off on a high note. But only for a moment. He was getting better.

He also considered just walking away. There was an appeal in the cruelty of indifference. It would be easy to let him bleed out and die in agony. But it would be wrong.

"I have to admit, I didn't think I was going to walk away from this one. So I didn't think of anything cool to say before I kill you. Sorry about that." he apologized, pressing the barrel right to Kincade's forehead and pulling the trigger.

The entire upper half of Kincade Vandermewe's skull vanished. Buster's pink scrubs were splattered all over in red droplets of blood spray. His ears were still ringing from the explosion but the gunshot was utterly deafening. The panda roared and grabbed his ears with his paws, falling to his knees in pain and shock.

When it stopped hurting enough to move, Buster Harkness rose unsteadily to his feet and turned away. Walking back to his Jerboa. He didn't look back, didn't want to look back.

He was alive and they were dead. That was what mattered. Everything else was just details.

No point in getting sad about it when there was so much work to do. He would have the rest of his life to regret how today played out.\

He missed her so much.