FanFiction declared the problems with the email alerts solved - I'll believe that when I see it. But whatever they did, it took me three days to get this chapter online. Somehow I preferred immediate update and delayed annoucements to the other way round.

Dropping his companion unceremoniously to the floor, Nevins busied himself with a terminal on the further wall. He punched in his personal code along with several others before anything happened.

Heavy machinery sprang to life with a dull roar, bars of ever-changing color reported status and settings, and the whole right-hand wall trembled and started to move. Behind it, rows of lights illuminated the bottom of a well, hewn from bedrock, its upper reaches obscured in darkness. A minute later, with air pressure changing perceptibly, a huge platform descended down the elevator shaft.

Eyes lit with the prospect of immediate escape, Nevins turned back to shoulder his burden for the last time.

A hefty kick sent the gun flying. And the helpless man went from flat on his back to battle crouch in one graceful fluid motion.

'R' grinned. Nevins scowled back – then grinned in return. Blades materialized in both opponents' hands as they circled each other like giant toms. The younger man had the speed and graceful strength of a tiger, but the old mercenary had some forty years of experience on a job with a mean life-expectancy of less than ten. An even match.

"Thanks for the ride." 'R' rolled his neck.

"You are dead." Stating the obvious, the tone said, and the former chief of security was not talking about the day before.

'R's grin widened. "So people keep telling me."

The first few strikes came fast, fast as lightning. Blades darting in and out like vipers' tongues. Blocked at the last moment and countered with the next vicious thrust. Or sidestepped, or eluded by another unexpected movement.

'R' drew first blood but showed no triumph. Last blood was what counted in this fight.

But the last hour had taken a toll on both men. Nevins had half dragged, half carried a burden more than his own weight over a considerable distance. A burden not exactly easy to be held. And 'R' had spent a lot of energy in his involuntary exertions.

The next round of the fight was slower, more restrained. The armour both men wore, never designed to ward off blades, little by little came apart as the hard shells deflected the cutting edges towards the softer connecting joints.

One bit remained, however, a slight advantage on the young man's side: the black crust on his hand proved to be stab-proof.

Both knives dripped crimson now.

A fierce slash came for 'R's eyes – another of this kind had left a red line on his cheek – and he fell backwards. Turning a complete somersault with kicks aimed at the groin and throat of his opponent.

The mercenary, over-balanced, could not escape them by retreating – and didn't try. Instead he leaped inside them, stealing the other man's momentum to drop them both and get himself on top. He didn't seek to grapple, the younger man's superior weight and strength would make that suicide, just tried to get a few harsh body blows to bear before withdrawing.

'R', on the other hand, did grapple. Hooking a knee around the other's legs, the free hand in a vice-like grip holding off the threatening knife, he rolled, drawing his foeman underneath.

Nevins, now panting, prolonged the rolling motion and stopped the turn when both lay on their sides again. Hot breath did mingle between blades that almost touched the faces, each hilt encased by two hands forcing, struggling, straining in opposite directions. A deadlock, for the moment.

Eventually someone's strength would falter, and Nevins, facing death who wore a blood-streaked grin, chose not to linger. With powers fuelled on by despair he broke away, pushed back with all the muscles in his legs and forced the pair apart.

Both men rolled to their feet, sizing up each other for a second time.

An even match – maybe at arm's length distance. No longer when it came to closing in.

Time might have favoured any of the two. A wise defence could draw the duel on, goading the younger to expend his surplus powers. But Nevins, all his life, had never played defensive. So, when the other rushed in again, he met him head-on.

Steel clashed on steel and both knives were sent flying.

For a moment, the fighters seemed to contemplate continuation with bare hands, but then both dove in opposite directions. 'R' went for his blade, but Nevins made a dash for the discarded gun, stuck in the gap around the elevator. The younger man beat him for the fraction of a second and turned just as the merc leader reached his weapon. Across the hall, too far to outrun bullets.

Steel whispered silkily as it tore through the air.

The impact, right between the shoulder blades, drove all the air from Nevins's lungs. His fingers clenched around the trigger. Something exploded in the bowels of machinery beneath the elevator and all lights on the platform went pitch-black.

The greying mercenary rolled over on his back, crimson foam forming on his lips – and a triumphant smile.

"Got you, boy," he said, forcing each word against the blood welling up in his lungs. "Lift's dead, only door leads to the monster, baby monster in your guts – you're dead, as good as me. See you in hell, boy, see you in hell!"