This was it, he was going to die.

The flames were beginning to lick at his feet, and the heat was searing his skin.

He tried to stand, but collapsed, unable to find any balance, his recent return to being able to walk with the aid of a crutch had dissolved in the face of the flame. Panic had seeped its way into his skull, replacing the cold edged fury with something hitherto totally alien to him.

The certainty of death was said to have a calming effect in those that were afflicted by it, but he felt no such Nirvana, only fear.

To die, his name cast off into the nuclear winds of the wasteland, his memory only existing in the few remaining members of his family that were assured he would never return, before he even left his place of birth, this was the thing he found most unbearable.

He would die, hidden amongst the bodies and the wreckage of this Soul-forsaken village. His death would mean nothing, his gallant actions in saving Veracity her fate, a fate much worse than the one he had given her, would never be known.

Although he had not been able to offer Sunset the same mercy, he smirked; at least Veracity had been able to die with dignity.

Another smirk.

However, he would not be far behind her now.

The flames had come from some type of incendiary devise thrown by one of the bastard Black Lotus raiders. The irony of the situation, that he had fought so long and hard to escape their clutches, only still now to die in an unknown grave, his body melting away into the desert.

John would hopefully never found out anything.

There would be an awful pain, as his flesh was consumed, and then there would be nothing. Then he would feel the calm.

Hopefully, the bastard child would die tonight, his destiny remaining unresolved. That was the best way. The wasteland was a lonely, desolate place; there was no need for nightmares like him to roam around in it.

He could feel the agony in his skin, the enhancements and cosmetic reconstructions were beginning to fade away. .Already with the death of one appendage, he could feel his body breaking down. The process was only being accelerated by the fire.

He had never had a chance to teach him anything. His mission had been simple, to infiltrate that stupid town, and ingratiate himself in the community.

He knew, if his story was ever told, what the Council would say. He had gone soft, gone native on them. If that old coot hadn't arrived, ready to tutor John and give him half a chance at life, then he would have been able to eliminate him quickly. However, as the days passed, and John grew and matured, he found in the boy an intellectual spirit, a philosophical potency that he thought could be moulded into something that could help the wasteland.

However, the boy had been introduced to violence. After the mental training, came the training of the body, and here the boy had excelled. It had polluted his soul. By then, it was too late for him to carry out his assignment, to do so would surely bring his own demise.

If the Librarians wanted their fun, they would have to live with it, he wouldn't do their dirty work for them.

The pain in his mind was great, and he was beginning to lose focus. Through the haze, he saw a shape rambling through the ruined tent. It bashed aside pieces of rug or wicker baskets. They flashed and burnt brightly as they were thrashed about by the figure.

Although the fire still inhibited his vision from getting a clear picture of the man, and he was sure that it was a man, completely, he did see the hand grab his underarm, and begin pulling him out of the wreckage.

He looked down, and observed the hand that was saving his life. It was a slight hand of one, once effeminate, that had been scarred by life in the Wastes. A long jagged scar ran from the right side off the wrist to the outermost little finger, it was fresh, a deep thing, that still oozed a sickly yellow substance.

That meant only one thing, the hand was infected, unless it was amputated, its master would surely die.

His eyes began to loll into the back of his head.

The slight hand slapped him gently across the face.

"Come on, wake up."

"eughiyble…"

"Dignity, wake up Dignity."

Dignity's eyes gained their focus again.

"I have a preposition for you Dignity."

Adam looked down on him, blood dripping from his body. He jabbed something into Dignity's arm.

Dignity struggled with consciousness, and the night rolled on.