My hands are shaking, and the terrible choking grip of fear clutches at my throat.
I am ashamed of my fear.
Not only do I fear the blinding death the artificial sun behind me promises, but now, I fear myself. I can almost feel the weight of my own evil acts pressing down on my merely flesh-and-blood shoulders.
Or is that these...creations of mine?
Whatever it may be, it is almost too much to be borne; but I only need bear it for a few more steps.
A few more steps. Steps I desperately don't want to take.
I...don't want to die.
You don't have to, Father.
No, I...
I turn...and Peter is still standing there, still unmasked, still vulnerable.
Father...
I know that if I say I cannot, he will go to his death in my place.
I see this in his eyes...but I am a monster, and he...he is a hero. It is better that I should die; what life could I have after what I've done? And he is so young...
And it is my responsibility. I must go.
Remember me, Peter, I want to say, but the words won't come. Remember me, not as the monster these actuators have made me into, but the man I die as.
Remember me as your friend.
He can't hear you, Father.
I know.
But maybe he doesn't need to hear me. He nods almost imperceptibly; he can see my last wish in my eyes.
My last wish.
I turn from him; I turn towards the blazing hell that is to be my death and order the actuators to traverse the few steps they — and I — have remaining.
Remember me.