Shivering, he blinks back tears.

He has to meet that contact. For the safety of the nation—the world. He knows he should leave.

But he can't.

He squeezes her hand. It's still warm.

"99, wake up," he whispers feebly. "CONTROL needs you. I need you. 99, how can I protect the world when you're my world? 99, please."

Her body doesn't stir.

Fumbling with his shoe, he calls CONTROL.

"The Chief speaking."

"This is 86. You'll have to send someone in our stead."

"Why?"

He looks at the corpse beside him and swallows.

"The two of us are dying."