There, at the end of the street. That's where the trail ends, where my path ends. A nondescript warehouse in the north of Queens. Nobody left to help me, but I can walk a single block, I hope. And nobody else will have to die.
I can feel my life leaving, dripping down my arms and legs to the street. Normally I'd be concerned about having to clean that up. A futile gesture, now. Others may at least find it difficult to isolate my blood from the rest coating my body.
Is too much of it mine, or not enough? I've spent so much effort trying to avoid spilling both, but it took until now to see that my intentions never played a part in my life.
I stagger forward, steps uneven. I'm being watched, of course. Hard to smell right now, hard even to see or hear, but there are bodies inside, near the door. And in at least one other building on the street, to my right. Organizations like this take precautions.
"I'm X-23." It once was true, and can be again. Laura Kinney was a beautiful fantasy. I do not understand my emotions very well, but I know this: I loved being her. She had a rocky start and a weak finish, and I don't think she ever met her potential. Blood of James Howlett. Positive impact of Victor Creed.
"Contact Kimura. I have a message for her."
I've almost made it to the warehouse door. My right leg gives out, the fall popping a tooth from my mouth. I pull myself up onto the sidewalk with my hands. The door is only meters away.
This is my destiny. I was, literally, created for it.
"Take me in. I surrender."
