Part IV

As soon as the airlock slid open, Bob unsealed his helmet and gratefully breathed in the fresh air that was circulated through the base. He heard Sentra say something to him, but he did not heed her as he quickly exited the anteroom. Navigating the maze of halls and rooms with surprising skill, he came to the own room that had been assigned to him the megacycle before.

Bob slammed the door and threw his helmet in the corner, unwilling to look at the eerily red single eye, accusing him of a dreadful deed. He sat down on the bed, dust from hours of disuse rising and falling, settling in a fine carpet on the floor.

A mirror, cracked with age, hung on the wall opposite his bed. In it, he could see a young man, skin an sickly pale blue, staring back him with eyes large in the thin face. The man's hair had taken on a peculiar glint, its original luster lost in darker shades of gray. Glaring at his reflection, Bop pulled off his thickly armored boots, and peeled off the gloves, sticky with sweat. He undid the cuirass that covered him from neck to waist, revealing the thin shirt he wore underneath, which he tugged over his head and dropped carelessly to the floor.

Now he could see the large white bandage plastered to his side. He could see the scars: those new, those healing, and those which would never fade. Most had been brought about by his prolonged exposure to the Web's deadly atmosphere; those were the ones that would remain with him always. The light glinted off them strangely, an erratic pattern of silver that seemed to be slowly devouring his body. The only place that hadn't been touched was his hands. He slowly rested his head in his hands, hoping perhaps somehow by pressing them against his forehead he could push out the memory of the last few nanoseconds.

"Dear User…" he murmured softly, staring at the floor, avoiding the piercing gaze of the other that dwelled within the mirror.

There was a soft click and the door to his room opened slightly. "Bob?"

Sentra opened the door a little wider, and saw Bob sitting on the bed, his head in his hands. She walked in and sat next to him. She touched his bare shoulder. "Bob?" she repeated

The Guardian immediately jumped up from the bed, his face twisting in a snarl, then quickly softened his features, hoping he hadn't frightened her. He mumbled an apology, sinking back down on the bed.

A bit taken aback by his outburst, Sentra undid the white bundle she had brought with her, then reached over to pull the bandage off Bob's still tender side. He winced under the gentle touch of her thin fingers, but said nothing as she replaced the bandage with a fresh one, and taped it into place.

"The healing is coming along rather quickly," she said quietly, neatly folding up the used bandage. "It'll leave a rather large scar, I'm afraid."

Her disquiet deepened when Bob only replied with a grunt, instead of his usual retort or humorous observation.

"Bob?"

He got up from the bed, turning his back on her. "Please leave," he requested softly.

Realization dawned on her like slap in the face. "Bob, is this about today? About what happened?"

Bob placed his palms upon the wall, anger and pain welling up in him like a red flood. "Get out of my room."

"You're a Guardian…don't tell me you haven't deleted before."

"That's not my way. Please leave now."

"Bob, you have to get past this. If you're going to survive out here, you can't dwell upon every life you take. Trust me, if you do, you'll drive yourself random."

Almost before she could take a breath, he had turned on her, grabbing her wrists. "I am not a murderer," he growled. "And I am not about to become one for the sake of the clan."

His face was so close to hers that she could see the dark lashes framing the raging eyes, and the veins that stood out beneath the ashen skin. She drew a long breath, striving to calm herself.

"You're not a murderer. No one here is." Sentra slowly drew away, hoping he would release her. "In the Web, deletion is the way of life. You either kill, or be killed." She had not wanted to be so blunt, but she thought it best this way. "You've taken lives before, and you will again. This is our way, and you best learn to deal with it." She broke out of his steel hard grip. Speechlessly, she picked up the old bandage from the bed and walked to the door. She paused, a hand resting on the doorway. "Do it for Dot," she whispered, closing the door softly behind her.

Bob collapsed back onto the bed, the strength leaving his body in a single shaky breath. "I can't…" he told himself. "I can't…won't kill another being." He raked his hands through his thick hair. "I can't…"

But you have to, another voice said. Robert Sinclair, you promised yourself you would do whatever it takes to get back to those you love and cherish. And if that involves your hand in the deletions of those who wish you killed, then that's the way it's going to be.

And, as always, his conscience won the battle. A heavy sigh echoing in his lungs, he laid back, crossing his arms behind his head. He took some comfort in the fact that the voice sounded mysteriously like Dot's. Eyes weighed with the of the sleep of those greatly wearied slowly closed, and sleep descended upon the Guardian.