He could feel his body starting to shut down.
Despite his best efforts to keep going, to keep running... he simply couldn't anymore. The dangers that lurked in the open darkness around him felt irrelevant now as his legs finally collapsed out from underneath him. Barely clinging strength kept him from smashing his already bloodied face on the ground, and instead substituted it with his slick, blood-covered, leather hands.
Fingers shook as they curled into the white tiles beneath him- hot pain rocketed throughout his body with the barely coordinated catch.
Heavy gasps hardly brought in enough air to quench the burning sensation in his throat and chest.
Breathing only made him hurt worse.
It made his lungs twitch and convulse in his back, causing him to stagger steep coughs between every harsh breath. And with every cough, there was always blood that came with it.
...
It wasn't like he could afford to lose anymore...
He had lost plenty of blood from the bullet that had blown through his right side; it blew open a two inch wound out his back, but... somehow managed to miss all major organs and arteries. Which, looking back on it now, was a damn shame.
Just maybe an hour or so ago, he barely managed to stop the bleeding caused by a second gunshot wound to his shoulder. Again, it avoided hitting any arteries or nerves- which either made him incredibly lucky, or incredibly hated.
And even now, still, he could see thick droplets of blood steadily dripping to the floor tile underneath him. He couldn't convince himself to move his hand to the mutilated wound that had torn open his left side; his arms felt too heavy to move, let alone will them to. As though having a bullet in his right side wasn't enough punishment for him, his left side was just as equally crippled.
The bleeding had ceased over time, but... he had a feeling it was more from the lack of blood, rather than from clotting.
... That chipped axe blade had hit him harder than he thought.
Breathing brought out the sharp crackling of the ribs that had fractured under the swing.
...
It wasn't possible for him to have made it this far.
It wasn't possible for him to still be conscious- for him to have been able to move up until now.
He shouldn't even be alive, and yet... he was.
It felt like someone, or something, was forcing him to continue though- forcing him beyond his body's own limits. And up until now, he couldn't control it; he couldn't fight back against it. But now... now he simply couldn't do it anymore. There was nothing left to force.
All the work it took to get this far, and... he simply couldn't go any further.
...
And he wasn't even mad at himself at the realization of it. He wasn't disappointed that he had given up so easily, that he had given up and given in to this nightmarish world. He had struggled; God knows he struggled beyond anything humanly possible...
He had made it this far, and... that was good enough.
For Christ sake, after everything he had gone through, after the asylum, the church, the city, everything... he was going to die from blood loss and shock.
And in this place, it felt like a sign of mercy.
...
His skin was burning.
He could feel sweat practically dripping off of his face and brow as his body struggled to keep functioning with its depleting blood supply. It made his once strict uniform all the more uncomfortable and irritating now, even with its disheveled collar and torn sleeves. He half wondered if the heat was only making his lungs struggle more underneath the burden of trying to breathe.
...
The heat only made the cold touch against his face all the more evident, causing him to flinch at the sudden contrast; it was cold, and yet it felt as though it burned him. He held his breath as best he could as he felt the chilling burn force his head to turn to his right. The chipped blade slowly moved to rest itself underneath his battered jaw- the edge of it brushed against his throat every time he inhaled.
Blurry vision slowly followed the bloodied axe handle up to where a bruised and torn hand tightly clung to it.
He knew who was on the other side of it, but... Christ, he didn't want to look at her. Not again. He didn't want to come to the realization that she was one of those things- just like he had been.
...
He was going to fail to make it out of this place alive, but she... she was supposed to live. She was supposed to be stronger than him- she should've been able to put up a better fight than he ever could. She was... Christ... he should've been able to protect her...
It shouldn't have ended up like this.
...
But she wasn't just like he had been.
No, she was something far worse.
Her face had been carved open by deep veins that glowed and pulsated beneath her pale, bruised skin. They seemed to glow brightest the closer she got to him- giving him the only hint amongst the darkness that she was nearby. As close as she was to him now, he could see the empty sense of lifeless in her eyes as they stared right through him. He wasn't certain that she could even see anything...
She could only feel the weight of the axe in her hand, and she knew that it needed to hurt him- that it needed to kill him. That's why she had been so quick to swing it, taking advantage of his weakened state and hesitant nature. He didn't want to believe it had been her, but the fracturing sound of his ribs and the hot pain of flesh being eaten away told him otherwise.
...
It was her, but... at the same time, it wasn't; it was someone different.
She had never been the most expressive person, or emotional in some sense, but... he knew this couldn't be her. Because, even as stoic, or reserved, as she was, there was always something that could be pulled from her- whether it be the rare smile, or even rarer laugh. But despite the rarity, he had seen her expressions plenty of times before, and each one exposed just a little more of herself. Each reveal told him that there was more to her than that dead stare, and silent judgment as she watched things play out from a distance.
... There was more to her than pulsating skin and a bloodstained shirt.
"Precious Detective Oda."
His breath caught in his throat at the words.
He never heard one of those creatures speak before. They had always given off either incoherent screams, or disoriented grunts that came out muffled from barbed wired throats. But this... this was specific recognition and acknowledgement.
She recognized him, and she wanted him to know that she knew who he was.
That despite the disparity and the madness that rotted her from the inside, and ate away at who she used to be... she still knew who he was. She had always known. And the heavy axe in her hand had his named carved out on its blade- a carving she had made herself.
The steady press of said axe blade was more evident against his throat now, and he felt it pressing harder against his skin. And he realized that, while the motions were subtle enough to not break open a wound... they were certainly forceful enough to get his attention. They were forceful enough for him to get the hint as he slowly turned towards her and moved to seat himself on the blood-spattered ground- pressing his back against the wall close behind him. The movement and new position pulled tightly across his abdomen, stressing the bullet wound in his side.
It took some of the pressure off of his back, but it felt like he could feel blood settling in the back of his throat.
Meanwhile, she seemed content with where she remained knelt in front of him; her hand keeping a tightened grip on the axe that remained at his neck.
"Are you done running?"
He couldn't so much as breathe without feeling the blade against his skin.
"... Juli?" Joseph whispered, uncertain if he even wanted to hear her name coming from his lips. He did, he really wanted to call her name out, but... not in reference to the monstrosity before him. Not like this.
She looked unamused by the call of her name and frowned in response, but said nothing.
...
The sound of approaching heels should've registered, or at least caught his attention, but they didn't.
"Juli, Juli," a second voice repeated in a steady monotone, as the subtle clicking of footsteps drew closer; they only stopped when they stood before him. There was a small pocket of silence before a second figure knelt down next to the first- only to reveal a second Kidman in the same disturbed state. Her head was lightly cocked to one side, and her expression twisted in a look of vague concern. She turned her attention to her twin and frowned. As the frown swept across her lips, however, it was not out of disapproval like her sister, but rather disappointment- as though she had been disheartened by something. "... He calls us Juli."
Her voice mimicked a sense of hurt.
Over the thundering in his head lead on by continious, and excessive blood loss, he knew this wasn't possible. Whatever was going on right now, whatever it was that was making him see two of her like this... it wasn't real.
This wasn't real.
It wasn't possible- not even here, in this fucked up nightmare world where anything could be labeled as a threat; he refused to believe it.
Which was odd to say, especially considering that he had seen plenty of fucked up things here, and yet this... this was where he drew the line. Not with his own transformation into one of those creatures, not with that monster canine outside of the church, or that spider monstrosity in the city, but this... this is what got to him. This was what he couldn't stand to see.
This is what would make him crack.
"I hate it," the first of the two Kidman spat- although the shiver in her voice gave away to her dishonesty.
"You wound us, Detective," the second continued, "... Joseph."
She carefully corrected herself, for reason unknown.
"What... what are you?" he began, unsure exactly of how his question was supposed to go; the words felt hot in his throat. He wasn't even sure if he was seeing this situation correctly- or maybe even at all. Maybe it was the blood loss, or the resulting high fever that was making him delusional- that was making him see, and hear this.
This wasn't real.
"We are Mobius," the first one spoke again; her tone had retreated back to being flat.
He tried, but... the name drew nothing from him.
"Mobius?" Joseph repeated.
"Surely you knew," the second Kidman offered- her voice giving off a hopeful sense of confidence. Her eyes seemed to search him over, studying him for a reaction, for something, but... it wasn't long before she frowned once more; she had come to her own conclusion. "No, of course you didn't. And do you know why, Joseph?"
"What do you-"
"Because I was careful; I was smart, and I played the game right in front of you," the first spat, as she pressed the axe a little harder against his throat- causing the blade to partially cut into his skin now. "No one had a clue as to who I was- which was odd considering how much of my youth had been spent locked up behind your bars. And yet, no one seemed to connect the dead-eyed, cold-hearted Kidman to the reckless, stupid youth that she was." Her body physically shivered, as though unpleasant memories had decided to surface right then and there; her hand shook, partly drawing the blade from his skin. "... The abandoned, ignored youth that went head-to-head with abuse because she didn't have any other way out."
"We went from one hell right into another," the second Kidman whispered, as her gaze dropped down to her lightly clasped hands now. "But you were there, Detective Oda; the sweet, all too trusting Detective who wore his reputation and heart on his sleeve."
"You were an idiot," the first pressed.
"... I was an idiot," the second mirrored. "I hated you, and you hated me, Detective; it was that easy. I was never good enough for you. You were always expecting more, and I'll be damned if I didn't give you more every time you asked."
Her words resonated hard inside of his head and in his chest.
The more she spoke, the harder the thundering in his head became.
This wasn't... no, no she was wrong- that wasn't how any of it went. That wasn't...
"What are you talking about?" he started, as he heard his own voice beginning to give out on him. The burning in his chest, and in his lungs and throat was becoming too much at this point. He could barely breathe it felt, and the blood trickling from his wounded neck wasn't warm anymore.
The second Kidman opened her mouth to speak, but stopped; her lips quivering as she struggled to find an answer to give. For a split second, she cracked, she gave in... and then carefully recomposed herself. "You were always part of the plan, Joseph; I played you just like I played everyone else. You were nothing but a pawn- a senseless fool who walked right into my trap."
"But I fucked up," the first gave in; her voice quivering just the same. "I let you know too much; I let you get too close... You figured me out."
"Not Mobius, but me- Juli," the second clarified. "You were a beacon of freedom that came far too late, Joseph; but my pact has been sealed, and you've reached the end of your line. You are useless to me now."
"I'm sorry, Joseph; I was unloved, which meant that I unloved too," the first spoke, as she slowly pushed herself to her feet. Her hands tightened their grip on the axe that weighed heavily in her palms.
She pulled the corroded blade from his neck, but... he had a feeling that wasn't the end of it; it would be back.
"Don't worry, it'll all be over soon."