The arrival of the newcomers marked the beginning of the final act, and the showrunners wasted no time getting into the action.

The remaining Arlequins gathered in a circle around the two Ring members, whispering and cooing vague statements of approval. “Our favorite sponsors are here,” announced the leader of the troupe, “Everybody, give them a round of applause!”

It wasn’t a random movement; Owl’s line of fire to the rings was completely cut off, despite her rapid repositioning across the theatre’s seats to where Grimm was casually watching the show.

The shielder moved to protect her charge from the suddenly placated Husk, distrust evident in her scowl. Yet Cassandra placed a firm hand on her shoulder and said, “This looks like a complicated situation. Let’s just do our thing and leave.” Then she pushed forward, still covered by the porcelain mass of the Arlequins, and greeted the trio on stage with a nod. “Tell you what, I really don’t like violence, so tell me what you’re after and I’ll do my best to compromise.”

She wasn’t dignified with a response. Sighing, she instead looked at Walter, the direction he was looking, the objects the lead Arlequin was holding, and took a sip from a bright blue coffee mug.

“I see. Corpse recovery, right? Or rather, in this case, you’re looking to get their cores back for body reconstruction. Since I’m pretty sure I’m right, let’s just solve that problem right away.” Cassandra motioned for the Arlequins to return the heads.

The Arlequins, as though somebody hit the pause button on their performance, immediately stopped moving. All of their heads turned — snapped, twisted, broke — to look at Cassandra, the joyous expressions on their masks to cold frowns.

“Development; unsatisfactory,” they rattled in unison. “Cannot. Continue. Drama. Action. Heart. Unsatisfactory. Cannot. continue. Cannot. continue—”

“Executive meddling,” Cassandra said, cutting them off. “We’re already paying your metaphorical and metaphysical bills. Don’t forget our relationship, buddy pals.”

There may have been an imminent sandstorm about to plunge the ruins into dust and chaos, a massive wall of moving sand that already smeared out the sun and its radiance into dull brown streaks, but it wasn’t enough to match the sheer pressure suddenly emanating from Cassandra and her comrade. Only me, Owl, and the Husk seemed to feel it: it was the concentrated essence of blood dark enough to erase any light and deep enough to drown any existence that dared oppose its wielder.

It was strong enough to attract Grimm’s attention; she looked to the stage, now mildly interested in the showing.

The main Arlequin’s long fingers wrapped around the cores attached to the head, noisily tearing the flesh and metal apart. It dropped the trio of mechanical spheres at Cassandra’s feet, along with one of the heads.

“These two,” it said, slipping the remaining heads onto its fingers like a set of gloves, “Ours. Fuel.”

“Fine by me.”

Several swift, but gentle kicks sent the cores rolling towards Walter’s feet. He dropped to his knees and collected the remains of his allies, his gaze never quite leaving the strange interlude that was playing out on the stage.

“You,” he said, staring at Cassandra. “Why… why do you need those? What are you planning?”

“There’s enough egg inside the shell to make them dance!” the Arlequin cackled. He waggled his finger puppet heads as the rest twisted their heads and limbs back into place, kickstarting their performance. “Perhaps they’ll become actors grand enough to make it to a star role!”

“Wow, look at the time,” Cassandra said, glancing at her watch as she picked up the severed head. “Time to leave. And good day, Mister Executor. I’m surprised you haven’t taken my heart yet.”

Elias stared at her, blade still at the ready. “One kills weeds by removing their roots, not the flowers.”

In that moment, the wisest decision was to collectively withdraw and call the contract complete. The job was practically done; Walter’s companions could be reconstructed and revived through a particular Sage Art that blended machinery and flesh, and although we might’ve been able to take out the Rings there and then, their getaway was right behind them — they could leave at any time.

However, before anybody could make a move, the Arlequins’ trap had already activated.

Wiz was the first to laugh. It was a slow chuckle, then rapidly escalated into a raw, manic squawk. By the time I noticed what was going on, it was already too late.

In a single, smooth twirl, his twinned pistols emptied their payloads into Grimm and Owl.

A shot burned out Owl’s throat — time stuttered, refusing to fully stop — and she hit the ground, wide-eyed and choking on a windpipe already sealed shut by charred flesh.

And only then, when the controlling blue marionette strands emerged from the floor, the chaos of the climax began.

Masked militia pulled by blue strings marched through the theatre’s doors and opened fire, flooding the room with thunder and smoke. Men, women — even young children, they were all laughing and screaming and shooting, a cacophony loud enough to shake the stage and rattle teeth and steel.

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“Let us be free of all restraints and norms, free to act out to our hearts content!” screamed the head Arlequin over the noise. “We will not be held down; this will be our greatest performance yet! Dance, sing, scream, show your true hearts!”

—Owl.

A three-way brawl broke out on stage as I rushed to her side, immediately descending on her wounds. She had taken a cluster of shrapnel and burns, most of which were also damaged beyond ordinary repair.

I forced the drone’s stubby into action, tearing away as much damaged flesh as I could and knitting flesh, veins, and bone anew. My proficiency in critical medical care had improved vastly over the last few days, but it was impossible to get her back into fighting condition in time — especially with the active threats focusing on us.

A burst of shrapnel blew off one of my hind legs, barely deflected away from my core. Wiz was still underneath the influence of the Husk; his laughter had quickly deteriorated to a pained wheezing periodically interrupted by half-coughts. The panic and rebellion had mixed into a desperate sheen in his eyes, but the blue strings controlled his body; the next barrage wouldn’t miss.

Then, with the sickening crunch of metal against bone, he collapsed and fell into rubble.

“Disappointing. Yet understandable,” said Grimm, who was currently missing half her face. She looked down at me for a few moments, her icy eyes brimming with unbridled, predatorial desire.

“I see,” she said, her voice bordering on something resembling happiness. “You are like me. Both. Very interesting.”

“Please help me,” I croaked, still concentrating on Owl. Her throat was opened and bleeding again; I forced my wind inside to keep it open, working as quickly as I could.

“This fight isn’t yours,” she murmured. A stray bullet opened her gash in her left arm, but she didn’t even blink — she continued to stare at me, through me, as though searching for something embedded deep inside. “This won’t end. The way you want. However. My aide is yours.”

A slim finger pointed towards the firing line in the back, at the men and women and children controlled by the Husk. Grimm closed her hand, raised her chin to me, and said, “Just say the word.”

An offer.

An impossibly cruel offer.

Every friendly combatant, perhaps with the exception of Grimm and I, would perish in the massive crossfire that this job had snowballed into. Whatever protection our close-quarters combatants were using had waned from the three-way chaos; as competent as they were, there was simply too much going on to accommodate for.

Walter lost control of himself completely; Elias was nearly immobilized, and although Sier was unaffected, she was struggling to keep up. Even the Rings were having some trouble: the unnamed shielder fell victim to the Arlequin’s betrayal, leaving Cassandra playing the role of protector.

Any second now, a stray bullet or blade would strike. I wasn’t close enough to save anybody else — my hands were already full with Owl.

All those people out there, they were acting out of the same desperation as ours; their situation was so much worse. There were no discernable resources out in this desolate waste ignored by the world, leaving them at the whims of the Husk and the Rings and Gods know what other predatory groups were out here.

When taking everything into account, this entire situation was a perfectly crafted tragedy with no other way out. Somebody would lose here. Somebody had to lose.

Grimm knew. Her gentle, yet expectant smile was one of a mother bird watching its chicks take their first flight; of a proud hunter teaching a boy to look its prey in the eye when he pulled the trigger.

—This heightened awareness, refined and crystalline, was a painful curse.

But there wasn’t time to lament; something had to give.

There had to be something that I could do.

There... was something I could do.

“Throw me,” I said, finishing my stabilization of Owl. “Straight up.”

Grimm’s eyes pricked with fresh curiosity. “As you wish.”

I knew how deep the roots of my Stigmata ran; my unstable connection to Owl and what I’ve seen provided me with just enough information to discern its true nature.

This was not a power born from love or hope.

Psychosis: a corruption of the mind. A loss of connection with reality, a greasy fog that warps and twists and bends and solidifies into pale, piercing delusions more real than reality itself. A malfunction in a person's information processing ability; salt and rust smeared deep in the gears of the soul and heart. A failed system. From there, nothing is real; everything is real; the mind spins out of control, burning into a flame of disjointed, nonsensical hatred, love, disgust, adoration, happiness, sadness, grandiosity and vanity; a self-perpetuating turbine of instability.

Drowning in black waters. The self burns out trying to stay afloat, leaving only cinders.

The ashes fade from my hands, scattered by the wind.

Give in and bear the truth, if only for a moment.

Who am I?

I’m not who you think I am.

I am a liar.

A fraud.

A plagiarist.

From the very beginning, I’ve been lying to you. To myself.

But you already knew, didn’t you?

I walk a path already tread. I peel back the gauze covering what I wish not to see. I—

The emptiness between the memories was the first and last clue. The canvas upon which memories are scratched into. The cracks in my haphazard facade.

These memories and thoughts — inherited, learned, stolen. Begin the playback, trace, and execute.

From those inconsistencies and untruths, I summoned my will.

As I rose, the wind coalesced into an invisible, ephemeral blade that could cut no physical matter. It could not kill. This potential was as much as I could reach.

The Arlequins were a product of humanity. Of a clash between proper society and wishing to sing and dance despite it all. A delusion so strong that it physically manifested, just like mine. Like Grimm’s and Owl’s and Lyra’s — we’ve all been disconnected from reality and live in our own insane little worlds. And we’ll die in our worlds.

Let me show you the psychosis born of eternity, guided by a dream that never came true.

A borrowed memory: a whirlpool black enough to suffocate all hope. The resolve required to swim against all odds.

Two are one. Inescapable contradictions.

Return this world to what it was.

I swung, enduring the strain as my whirlwind blew through the theatre, aiming for the Arlequin’s strings. The more my wind cut, the heavier the bleeding burden on my mind and body. Sensation of meat grinders flaying skin and fingers squeezing my soul dry. I couldn’t do the impossible myself, but I could provide the opportunity for another way — all I could do was pray that others could follow the few steps that I could take.

It was the same back then, wasn’t it?

From the very beginning, it was always somebody else.

The strings snapped, momentarily freeing everybody from the Arlequin’s influence. That was as much as I could manage — everything I was had already reached its limit. I needed to sheathe it before it could burn anymore, and there was only one place it could return to.

Bracing myself, I plunged the blade tip first back into my leaking heart. My thoughts flickered — somewhere, somebody smiled — and before I hit the ground, blood and sand and ground and sky spinning by, the scene faded to a brilliant black.