"Nirvana"
Desperately, Kate pulls open the truck door, thankful that country folk don't lock their vehicles, but frustrated when her efforts to hotwire the thing isn't working. "Come on, come on," she mutters, pulling out wires and jamming them together, "stupid thing." She knew she should've honed her hotwiring skills, especially for American-made trucks like this, but having a choice Solomon car made some skills obsolete. "Start, you stupid thing!"
Before she can kickstart the thing, she sees Amon is only a few meters away in his car. "Damn him," she sighs, giving up on the truck. Of all the places she would have chosen to make a last stand in, a truck in the boondocks would not have occurred to her. Fine, she thinks, pulling out her gun, let's do it.
"Give it up, Kate, the Factory is on their way," the man in the black ensemble tells her, once he's reached the door.
"I thought we were the same, Amon," she needles him. Their black outfits, similar weapons pointed in similar stances, and their grim expressions almost make them mirror images.
"You're a witch," he says in his implacable tone that would usually brook no argument.
He needs to know the truth, not the lies their witch-fearing boss feeds him. "No, I'm not a witch. I'm a stray mutt, and I thought you were, too," she counters, her gun still aimed at him. "The problem is, I'm still just a damn street mongrel, but you're Zaizen's lapdog."
"Kate," he says, his jaw clenching as he raises his gun from her chest to her head.
"What are you doing?" an unfamiliar voice says. They both turn to see it's a farmer, and he's raising a nasty piece of farming instrumentation in their general direction. "My wife's calling the police."
"I am with the police," Amon replies smoothly, not lowering his gun, "stay away from the woman. She's a dangerous criminal."
Kate glares at her former partner, but doesn't plead her innocence. Instead, she points her gun at the farmer. "Drop it or I'll kill you."
"Kate!" Amon yells, shooting her in the back.
She staggers, but shoots the farmer in the chest. The farmer stares in shock, but throws the sharp tool at her, and it lands squarely in her skull, as she'd hoped it would. The farmer's not seriously injured, because to a normal human, being shot with orbo's like being shot with a blank, but it still smarts like nobody's business. Kate continues to unload the orbo bullets into the now-stunned farmer, despite the unbelievable pain until she runs out of bullets. Death by farmer, who would've believed, she thinks caustically with brains that are seeping into the hard earth.
"Kate!" she hears someone distantly call out. She'd respond, but she doesn't know what to say, even as she feels the colors of life slipping away from her vision. Suddenly, the nightscene disappears as she sees Amon dragging some strawberry blonde teen into the lobby with the inoperable well. To her surprise, the girl torches the wall, blowing out a good portion of it so one could see across the street. A Craft user, she thinks, as Amon grabs the girl and shoves her into the well. The girl is being hunted and he's protecting her, she thinks, and a tear slides down her face. He's protecting a witch.
She wants to tell him what she saw, she needs to tell him. Kate blinks, and Amon is bending over her, holding her, even though she can barely feel him. "I saw you," she says hoarsely, and smiles a little.
"Kate?" Amon asks, and maybe she needs glasses, but he looks almost concerned. He shakes her a little, but she doesn't feel it at all.
She tries to speak some more, tell him what she saw, but the capacity for speech, even for breathing, is beyond her now, and her unseeing gray eyes stare up at him, full of things even she can't comprehend.
Nobody witnesses the dark-clad man shutting the long-haired woman's eyes and step away from her. Neither does anybody sees various emotions play over his normally withdrawn face, and they disappear as quickly as they come. He'd never admit to anyone, not even himself, that for a moment, she reminded him of his mother as she lay dying. As Amon pulls out his communicator, he walks away, and doesn't look back.
"Epilogue"
The sky is cold and gray, which befits the act being performed. The tall man with shaggy black hair and black Gothic clothes levels the earth over the small box of ashes with his foot, having muttered a brief, perfunctory prayer. Solomon really has no policy on funerals, so Amon paid out of his own pocket. There is no marker, no sign that there is a human buried here. He frowns a little. He didn't even know her last name, not that he gave out his own to his coworkers, but he'd rather have known that piece of information, even if it proved worthless. He suspected Kate didn't even know it.
He thinks about her last words, how she believed they were mutts. He doesn't like to think she was right. The only difference was, she embraced her identity, which eventually led to her downfall, while he refuses to think of his precarious situation as a Seed. His scowl deepens. Coupled with the disturbing fact that she acted much like his mother did before she died didn't help matters.
He turns away, not looking at the marked grave beside his self-made one. The one marked with "Nagira" and the single rose lying across it. A sudden downpour doesn't slow his pace, he merely hunches against the rain as he hunches against the memories he's successfully suppressed after all these years. Only one word escapes his lips. "Kate." Nobody, not even him, can tell whether he's sad, angry, or disappointed by this one word.
THE END
Desperately, Kate pulls open the truck door, thankful that country folk don't lock their vehicles, but frustrated when her efforts to hotwire the thing isn't working. "Come on, come on," she mutters, pulling out wires and jamming them together, "stupid thing." She knew she should've honed her hotwiring skills, especially for American-made trucks like this, but having a choice Solomon car made some skills obsolete. "Start, you stupid thing!"
Before she can kickstart the thing, she sees Amon is only a few meters away in his car. "Damn him," she sighs, giving up on the truck. Of all the places she would have chosen to make a last stand in, a truck in the boondocks would not have occurred to her. Fine, she thinks, pulling out her gun, let's do it.
"Give it up, Kate, the Factory is on their way," the man in the black ensemble tells her, once he's reached the door.
"I thought we were the same, Amon," she needles him. Their black outfits, similar weapons pointed in similar stances, and their grim expressions almost make them mirror images.
"You're a witch," he says in his implacable tone that would usually brook no argument.
He needs to know the truth, not the lies their witch-fearing boss feeds him. "No, I'm not a witch. I'm a stray mutt, and I thought you were, too," she counters, her gun still aimed at him. "The problem is, I'm still just a damn street mongrel, but you're Zaizen's lapdog."
"Kate," he says, his jaw clenching as he raises his gun from her chest to her head.
"What are you doing?" an unfamiliar voice says. They both turn to see it's a farmer, and he's raising a nasty piece of farming instrumentation in their general direction. "My wife's calling the police."
"I am with the police," Amon replies smoothly, not lowering his gun, "stay away from the woman. She's a dangerous criminal."
Kate glares at her former partner, but doesn't plead her innocence. Instead, she points her gun at the farmer. "Drop it or I'll kill you."
"Kate!" Amon yells, shooting her in the back.
She staggers, but shoots the farmer in the chest. The farmer stares in shock, but throws the sharp tool at her, and it lands squarely in her skull, as she'd hoped it would. The farmer's not seriously injured, because to a normal human, being shot with orbo's like being shot with a blank, but it still smarts like nobody's business. Kate continues to unload the orbo bullets into the now-stunned farmer, despite the unbelievable pain until she runs out of bullets. Death by farmer, who would've believed, she thinks caustically with brains that are seeping into the hard earth.
"Kate!" she hears someone distantly call out. She'd respond, but she doesn't know what to say, even as she feels the colors of life slipping away from her vision. Suddenly, the nightscene disappears as she sees Amon dragging some strawberry blonde teen into the lobby with the inoperable well. To her surprise, the girl torches the wall, blowing out a good portion of it so one could see across the street. A Craft user, she thinks, as Amon grabs the girl and shoves her into the well. The girl is being hunted and he's protecting her, she thinks, and a tear slides down her face. He's protecting a witch.
She wants to tell him what she saw, she needs to tell him. Kate blinks, and Amon is bending over her, holding her, even though she can barely feel him. "I saw you," she says hoarsely, and smiles a little.
"Kate?" Amon asks, and maybe she needs glasses, but he looks almost concerned. He shakes her a little, but she doesn't feel it at all.
She tries to speak some more, tell him what she saw, but the capacity for speech, even for breathing, is beyond her now, and her unseeing gray eyes stare up at him, full of things even she can't comprehend.
Nobody witnesses the dark-clad man shutting the long-haired woman's eyes and step away from her. Neither does anybody sees various emotions play over his normally withdrawn face, and they disappear as quickly as they come. He'd never admit to anyone, not even himself, that for a moment, she reminded him of his mother as she lay dying. As Amon pulls out his communicator, he walks away, and doesn't look back.
"Epilogue"
The sky is cold and gray, which befits the act being performed. The tall man with shaggy black hair and black Gothic clothes levels the earth over the small box of ashes with his foot, having muttered a brief, perfunctory prayer. Solomon really has no policy on funerals, so Amon paid out of his own pocket. There is no marker, no sign that there is a human buried here. He frowns a little. He didn't even know her last name, not that he gave out his own to his coworkers, but he'd rather have known that piece of information, even if it proved worthless. He suspected Kate didn't even know it.
He thinks about her last words, how she believed they were mutts. He doesn't like to think she was right. The only difference was, she embraced her identity, which eventually led to her downfall, while he refuses to think of his precarious situation as a Seed. His scowl deepens. Coupled with the disturbing fact that she acted much like his mother did before she died didn't help matters.
He turns away, not looking at the marked grave beside his self-made one. The one marked with "Nagira" and the single rose lying across it. A sudden downpour doesn't slow his pace, he merely hunches against the rain as he hunches against the memories he's successfully suppressed after all these years. Only one word escapes his lips. "Kate." Nobody, not even him, can tell whether he's sad, angry, or disappointed by this one word.
THE END