Moira drooped her head back, letting herself feel the blaze as it singed her short auburn hair, while also letting the heat fill her chest and help her summon the strength to move. The feeling of the licks of a growing inferno would have had most others crying in fear and pain by this point, doing everything they could to not let it roast them alive. This simply wasn't so for her; It was too late for such fear, and she had hurt much worse before.
Pain was no stranger. She recalled vividly the day she had scheduled human testing to begin on what was then her latest achievement, how she had forgone the usual subjects in favour of herself, and how she had shrieked like a banshee as the Ghost Serum slithered into her veins and warped her arm into the testament to her genius it was. That is, she came to grips with, until less than a minute ago.
Still, she knew as she finally rolled herself onto her stomach with a dull thud and an anguished groan, that was nothing compared to what pulsated through her body now. What she felt radiating from the mangled stump on her shoulder was beyond any adjective she could think of, any technique she could use to quell it, and even the adrenaline rushing through the rest of her muscles as part of the age-old human survival instinct. She tried to put that burst of vitality to good use by lifting herself off the ground, though with only one arm the effort only led to her collapse, burying her face in a puddle of blood, serum, and the tears that trickled down and stung her raw, burned skin. Her bullet-riddled chest, another contributor to her pain, flared up with even the smallest twitch, making any more attempts to get back up highly unlikely.
Funny, she thought. I've spent the best years of my life unlocking the secret to living forever, and yet I'll probably die not only because of what I discovered, but because of that pacifist bitch. She drew out a long, shallow breath that left behind the feeling of blood gargling in her mouth. I guess such ironies simply aren't conceivable until it's too late.
The sound of footsteps drew her out of her contemplation. Straining her eyes upward, she could see Angela walking up to her, pistol in hand and pointing down at her enemy. But though her actions showed conviction, Moira could make out in her eyes the same emotions that gripped herself: Fear, anger, uncertainty.
A lightbulb went off in her head: There was still one last thing she could do. At the same time, a few verses of a favourite poem recited themselves.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
"'Do not go gentle into that good night.'" she murmured. "'Rage, rage against the dying of the light.'"
"What did you say?" Angela asked, cautiously inquisitive.
"Nothing of consequence."
"I know poetry when I hear it. Now get up on your knees."
Moira bit her lip as she forced herself up, hoping that it would refocus the pain in some sort of way; To her dismay, it didn't. When she had adopted the position, her posture was wide open and she cocked her head to one side.
The view Angela was given made her eyes widen in shock. The destruction of Moira's arm had left a grisly stump where the shoulder began, one that leaked Ghost Serum that mixed in with the occasional spurt of blood. Her chest also dripped crimson fluid from the holes that now aerated her torso, and her previously slicked-back hair had been partially burned off, leaving small bald patches behind and a rank smell in the air.
She smiled, bringing her mutilated face in full view. "You should know how proud I am of you, my dear." she said. "So many years of being so predictable and now here you are. I suppose all it took was..." She paused briefly and grimaced as she clutched her shoulder. "...the right motivation."
Angela didn't know what unnerved her more: The injuries or the compliment. Still, she kept her look stony and the grip on her weapon tight. "I did what I had to. 'If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, do we not seek revenge?'"
Moira broke into laughter, which itself turned quickly into a hacking cough that spewed more blood onto the floor. "The Merchant of Venice." she said as she wiped it off her lips. "You're just full of surprises today."
For a few moments there was silence as the two stared each other down in anticipation of the other's next move. The air crackled just as much with tension as it did the still-raging blaze.
"So, now what?" Moira finally ended the moment with. "Do you expect me to beg, to plead and bargain for my life?" Her speech adopted a mocking tone. "'A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!'"
"No." Angela snapped, cold as ice. She stepped closer and braved looking her enemy in the eye as she reached for her pocket, retrieving Moira's recorder. "Jack's getting the rest right now. After we leave, you're going to my clinic to get patched up. Then, we'll make sure the world knows about every evil thing you've ever done."
"You're going to lock me up and throw away the key, aren't you?"
Angela stiffened her hands and brought her pistol to only a few inches away from Moira's head. "You will never hurt anyone ever again." she snarled.
Moira slowly closed her eyes and pursed her lips, taking in as deep a breath as she still could and letting it out. She looked back up, shaking her head in disappointment as she opened her eyes again and saw Angela giving her a suspicious look.
"You've come so far," she said. "and yet you still haven't changed."
"What are you talking about?"
"You couldn't have believed that this was my only laboratory." Moira laughed sickly. "Losing this one is meaningless. Speaking of which, where do you intend for my trial to take place, hmm? Surely you won't want me to stand before my fellow Ministers, so where do you plan on extraditing me to?"
"That doesn't matter. You will face justice."
"Maybe you're right, but 'justice', as you define it, is impermanent. No matter the place, if you have me thrown in a cell I'll be released in less than a week." Her smile turned to a grin that bared her blood-stained teeth. "Fortunately for you, there is a much more... immutable solution."
For a brief period, Angela pondered what had been said, but whatever speculation she had was shattered by cold, terrible truth when she saw Moira leaning forward and letting the barrel of the Cadeuceus Pistol press against her forehead.
Angela forced down her emotions and spoke resolutely. "No. I'm not a murderer."
"Look at me. I won't survive the trip to your clinic." She winced as she clutched her shoulder and coughed up a glob of inky black serum that vapourized the instant it hit the ground. "Killing me now would be an act of mercy."
Angela began raise her weapon out of harm's way, but was stopped as Moira grabbed her hands and yanked them back down with unnatural force. She tried to let go of the gun, but her grip was forcibly clenched shut.
"I'm not a murderer." Angela repeated, though her voice was shakier than she'd intended.
Moira now spoke in a clearer tone that exuded a subtle menace. "If you let me live, nothing changes. Once I'm exonerated, I'll simply go to my other laboratories, continue my research, and start all over again." When she felt Angela's hands begin to tremble, she pressed the advantage. "Everything you've done today will have been a complete waste of time. That is, unless..."
"I'm not a murderer!" Angela shouted. As she forced down the tears that had welled up in her eyes, she was finally able to free her weapon and lax her aim. "I'll find another way. There's always another way."
"Who are you trying to convince? Yourself?" Moira replied slyly. "If that really is true, then I implore you: What is it?"
Angela wanted to provide the perfect comeback, something that would end this argument for good, but all she was able to do was look down at her own feet in shame as words failed her.
Seeing this, Moira knew her hypothesis was close to being proven correct. She just had to go a little further. The gnarled features on her angular face made the derisive countenance she adopted seem twice as twisted. "Pitiful." she spat. "I'm sure you could find some alternative, but truth be told, I don't think you really want to."
The accusation caught Angela's attention, stirring up a boiling fury within her as she tightened her hands around the pistol again.
"You heard me." the geneticist said smugly. "You don't want to let justice take its course. You just want an excuse to kill that lets you sleep at night."
In the blink of an eye, the barrel was kissing its target's forehead. Moira looked up at Angela again and saw a fire in her tear-soaked eyes, one that wasn't just the reflection of the inferno. "All I want is Reyes." the doctor insisted through a wavering vibrato. "After he's dead, it ends!"
"If you really believe that, then why go to Morrison?"
The sound of bending metal and splintering wood cut off Angela before she could respond. She looked behind and above her to see that the flames now reached the ceiling, and the toll the heat had taken on the structural integrity was finally beginning to show.
Moira noticed this as well and reached again for Moira's grip on her gun, this time making sure her fingers were wrapped around the trigger. "You don't have much time, Doctor Ziegler. Do what needs to be done." She let go and extended her arm to the side, staring at Angela in anticipation of her hypothesis being confirmed.
Angela knew there was no time left to think, but the impulses she felt counteracted each other. On one hand, it felt right; She could put a round through her skull and end her reign of terror forever. On the other, while it felt right, was it right? It and other questions made themselves known in her mind. Is this what I want? Will this be the end?
Beads of sweat dripped from her forehead and her hands shook as she grasped the trigger hesitantly. In front of her, Moira appeared to be mouthing out the line of poetry she had recited earlier. Angela closed her eyes and silently prayed to whatever would listen to help her make the right decision.
She opened them again just in time to see Moira's final moment.
The sound of a gunshot permeated like a clap of thunder as the projectile it sent met its target. Angela yelped and flinched as blood sprayed all over her face and her Valkyrie suit. As she wiped away the splatter, she was given a full view as Moira's corpse, now marked with gruesome entry and exit wounds in her head, keeled over and hit the floor with a muffled thump.
The full gravity of what had just happened, initially dampened by shock, now bore down on her. Moira O'Deorain was dead; The woman whose mad science made the most unspeakable evils possible, could no longer do so for anyone, anymore. Killing her had to be the right thing to do.
Then why, all of a sudden, did she feel so terrible?
Maybe it was the smoke that stung her eyes and lungs, she figured. Alternately, maybe it was the adrenaline rush from the life-and-death scenario wearing off; It would certainly explain the exhaustion that had also manifested. But no, none of those could have overloaded her senses and made her feel like she was going to vomit.
She stowed her pistol away, finally letting her hold go as she ran one hand through her hair. Curiously, it felt wet to the touch even as the raging fires stole the water from the air, so she retracted her hand to see what the cause was.
What she saw let her know exactly why she felt so sick: Her hands, both of them, were coloured deep red and pitch black from the two substances that had leaked from their source, and the outline of Angela's gun was imprinted on her palms from the vice grip she had had on it. Looking down instinctively to get it out of her sight only added to her disgust, as she got a full view of the late Moira's splayed limbs twitching as she settled into rigor mortis. She reached absent-mindedly for what should have been the resurrecting power of her staff, but her hand turning up empty provided one last shock and one last hard truth.
The mad scientist was right. She had changed.
Her thoughts were brought back to ground when Jack wheeled her around with one hand on her shoulder and the other propping up his smoking rifle. "I got what you wanted." he said, showing her the holo-drive. "We need to go, now."
The sudden drop of a crumbling beam from the ceiling on top of where Moira lay was enough to prompt a wordless agreement from Angela, but it didn't stop her from looking back as she followed Jack out the door. Behind her, the flames had finally consumed the entire lab from top to bottom, and from the beam had spread embers that now immolated the geneticist. To Angela, it looked like a funeral pyre, taking everything Moira O' Deorain had ever had down with her into oblivion.
The sprint the two made through the corridors towards safety was thankfully unchallenged, but it wasn't until they were well away from the university that Jack allowed her to stop and catch her breath. She collapsed to the ground and placed a hand over her chest, feeling her heart pound like it was trying to go through her ribs. Her eyes were heavy and bloodshot, and when she rubbed them the grime and dried fluids on her hands only made them feel worse. Jack, though his jacket was marked with burns, appeared no worse for wear as he stared down the sights of his rifle, making sure no one had followed them. Once he confirmed they were alone, he looked back over at Angela.
"I thought you said you'd take care of her." he said, even more brusque than usual.
Angela coughed up the last of the smoke in her lungs before she replied. "I was planning on bringing her with us. Back to my clinic."
Seeing Jack taken aback, she was quick to elaborate as she got back up. "Once she was healed, we'd let the authorities know what she's been doing. They'd put her on trial and-"
"And let her be protected by the other Ministers."
"What? No, of course not. We'd take her to another country. We have the evidence: She would have been found guilty."
"With the connection's she's got, we'd be lucky if she was released in over a week." he growled as he walked over to her. "You need to face facts: Moira was right. The only way we were going to stop her was if we killed her, and you," He pushed her back with an accusatory finger. "nearly threw our chance away when you hesitated."
Her glare pierced through his glowing visor and let him know exactly how she felt. "I was trying to find another way-"
"There isn't one!" he snapped. "But if you've come up with something, then tell me: What is it?!"
Just like before, Angela combed her mind for a proper retort, but all she could draw was blanks as she shifted her gaze down towards her feet. "I didn't sign on to become a murderer." she finally managed to say, in a voice that tried to cover defeated sheepishness with defiance.
Jack's visor turned to a lighter shade as he crouched slightly so he could look Angela in the eye again. "This isn't murder." he whispered, firm but empathetic. "It's necessary. Do you remember when I tried to tell you something back in the lab, about what you're supposed to do in times like these?"
Though she wasn't even close to in the mood for a guessing game, Angela gave an affirming nod.
"What I was trying to say then," the former Strike Commander explained. "is that I expect that you do what needs to be done, no matter what. Everyone we'll be going after is another step closer to getting revenge on Reyes. I don't know if it'll be ten people or a hundred, but what I do know is that we can't afford to let any of them live. It doesn't matter what you think is right: They're the enemy, and the next time you hesitate I may not be there to save you, or the people you care about." He grasped her forearm lightly, attracting her attention back from her feet to him. "Do you understand?"
In the torrent of mixed feelings that intermingled confusingly, Angela was able to find the sense in Jack's words. "Yes." she answered. "Yes, I understand."
He released her arm and stood back up straight, shouldering his rifle as he did so. "Good. Now we need to get moving before someone finds us. We've both got a lot of work to do." With that, he turned around and began running off. Before he could get out of earshot, though, he was stopped by Angela calling from behind.
"Tell me something, Jack." she said, timidly but with the right tone to let him know this was serious.
Jack halted in his tracks and looked over his shoulder. Even from a few meters distance and with his mask on, she could tell he was listening.
"When does it end?"
Jack could see a torrent of emotions on her face and in her heart from where he stood, so he kept his response immediate and to the point. "We're both soldiers now." he said brusquely. "It never ends."
Without another word, he motioned for Angela to follow him as he sprinted towards their next destination.
As she followed after him, Angela rubbed one eye, which still hadn't cleared up from the earlier chaos. She assured herself that it, and everything else, would turn out fine. He's right, she told herself. Moira had to go, and so does... everyone else. It's true I hesitated, but I won't do it again.
The sights of both Moira's bullet-riddled body and the guard Jack had killed flickered in her memory, but she kept herself focused. We did what we needed to be done, she reassured again. Killing her was the right thing to do.
Then why did she still feel so terrible?