I'm putting you out of your misery

Cause darling you're dragging me down

I wish I could say that I'm sorry

But I'm over that now, I'm taking you out

It's a cruel, cruel world

- Phantogram - Cruel World -

Lorna let out a heave of a sigh as the door shut behind Sebastian, running a hand through her hair. "Alright. For once you'll be dressing me, huh? Let's go do it."

He nodded, heading for the lift. "I hate everything about this." He rammed a finger into the call button hard enough that the metal squeaked in protest.

"I know. I'm sorry. I wouldn't do it if I could think of any other option," she sighed, wanting to reach for him but deciding maybe now wasn't the best time. The lift opened and they both stepped inside. "I have a lot of karmic payback to use up in regards to shit like this going south, though."

"True," he chuckled as the doors closed and they started to descend. "Really, we've both had more than our share of shit luck lately."

"I know," she snorted, leaning back against the lift rail, looking up at the ceiling. "Though the last few months have been almost disarmingly easy."

He snorted, but let the comment pass otherwise unharried. The lift doors opened on their floor, and he stepped out. "We can grab our stuff first, then head down to hits for body armor. Unless- I never remember. Do you have your own?"

She stepped out after him and nodded, patting her ample bosom twice. "The average vest is a little tight in the chest, so, yes, I do. Or too big, but that's neither here nor there," she added under her breath, following him into the flat after he scanned in. It was much more spacious than it had used to be. She was honestly still kind of getting used to it after so many years of the significantly more cramped former design.

"Good," he agreed. "Go get dressed and I'll start pulling together some options for weapons and equipment."

"Alright," she agreed, and peeled off for the bedroom. She didn't agonize over the outfit much - a button-up, the vest, a jacket to go over it. Armetti didn't need to not know she was prepared. After the way he'd been missing, it would be insane to arrive in anything less than what, to her, was full kit. She chose a thick pair of trousers and a similarly thick-soled pair of boots, and then walked back out to find Sebastian.

He had laid out several different pistols for her consideration, a few sets of knives, and an assortment of other items- pepper spray, flashbangs, brass knuckles, a multitool, a few suspicious-looking white pills in a bag, and a small pile of other sundries.

"God, you're hot," Lorna sighed as she walked up next to him, hands on her hips. She pointed to the pills. "What even are these? Do I want to know? But I'll take the brass knuckles, definitely, the pepper spray definitely, not sure what I would need a multitool for but maybe that's just my lack of foresight..."

"It's a multitool," he said, giving her a sideways look. "When don't you need a multitool? It has near infinite functions. The pills are cyanide. For him, not you. Just in case you spot an opportunity."

"I appreciate that everyone is on board with me killing the motherfucker if the chance arises," she said, picking up her choices, including the pills and the multitool, half because she felt judged not taking it, half because hell, maybe she would need it. She tucked her choices away in her various jacket pockets. "Guns? I have a couple, but it's up to you which you think is best suited." She stepped around him to grab her favorite knives as she spoke, strapping one to her thigh, another going in a holster at her hip.

"Glock," he said, passing her the 9mm he'd selected. "You don't know what you're walking into. That thing will fire soaking wet and covered in mud." He looked her up and down as she took the gun. "Can I talk you into wearing a helmet?"

She gave him a dubious look, tucking the glock into her shoulder holster after checking the chamber and safety. "I'm really not anticipating getting shot at, Seb. My guess is he wants to try and win me over for whatever batshit plan he's got going on. I can pull a gun on him faster than he can pull a gun on me - we've tested this, actually, years ago. Stupid game. You know how people in their early twenties are. Regardless, I'm... reluctant to wear a helmet. If I go in looking like a soldier he'll think I can't be won. I can't, but he doesn't need to know that."

He sighed through his nose. "Didn't figure. It was worth a shot." He leaned against the table. "Let's go down to security and get you wired up. Hell if you're going in there without ears, at the very least."

"That I'll readily agree to," she nodded, taking a hair tie from her wrist and tying her hair up into a bun. Harder to grab than a ponytail - not that she was concerned with Armetti going at her hand-to-hand. He was slower than her by a fair margin now, with his leg the way it was. Still, didn't hurt to be safe. "Alright. Let's go."

A half-hour with security, and Lorna was equipped with a silicon throat mic, a more obvious wire to be taken by any security, a bone-conduction headphone, and a GPS tracker that was taken with water and would be retrieved naturally in forty-eight to seventy-two hours. Moran walked with her to the lift and down to the garage, where an escort team was waiting. "Don't do anything stupid."

"That's never the plan," she agreed with a sigh, and stopped a few yards away from the team to grab him by the shirt and tug him towards her. "Give me one for good luck, huh?"

He kissed her solidly, picking her up a little as he did so and hugging her tight. When he set her back down on her boots, he kept her close for just a second. "If you die, I will kill you."

She chuckled into his neck, hugging him tight for a long moment before letting him go. "Duly noted. I won't." She turned away, looking at the escort team that was looking anywhere but at the two of them. "I need to go. Any last words of advice?"

"No," he sighed, pushing his hands into his pockets. "You know what you're doing."

"Alright. Love you. Kiss Magpie for me," she said softly, reached out to squeeze his hand, then turned fully and walked to meet the escort team. They parted to let her through to the van, stowing her in the back seat and then bustling to get in their own positions, either in the van or in one of the satellite vehicles that would follow them.

He watched as they drove away, and then started walking slowly back to the lift, thumb circling the key for the jaguar that he'd lifted from Security. He'd already prepared his own weapons, layed out as supposed options for Lorna. He could be ready and out in twenty minutes.

The ride felt long. She couldn't tell if it was because she refused to look at her watch, but it felt agonizingly long. Lorna sat in silence, and the escort team seemed to be loathe to break that silence, as much as she silently wished they would. She was nervous. This wasn't some typical job. Maybe she would finally be free of the weight of Vincent trying to pull her down today.

The ride felt long, but it didn't last forever. Eventually the van pulled to a stop, and the man in charge of the team caught her attention and said, "Ma'am, we'll do one last sweep of the surroundings, but then it's your turn." She nodded, and checked her gun for something to do. Then her other weapons, because she was nervous. The check took around ten minutes, and then the leader - Evans, his name was - nodded to her, and she stood.

Time to get this show on the road.

She stepped out of the van into a light drizzle, and was faced with the visitor center building. It looked dark and uninviting. Armetti was in there, somewhere. Hopefully. The door was propped open, and, assuming it had been checked for booby traps by the fastidious Evans, she headed for it. She kept her hand on the knife at her hip.

She made it through the door unharmed, boots gritting on the dirty concrete floor. "Vince?" she called, voice stronger than she felt. "You want to talk? I'm here."

Her voice echoed through the space. The interior was empty, lit only by the light that filtered in through the boarded-over windows. The room she was in had the remains of a reception desk, but no other furniture. There was a single door, hanging off its hinges, which led into what seemed to be a larger central space.

"Vince?" she called, a little sharply, walking forward slowly, the back of her neck prickling. She passed the crumpled desk, which didn't have any space to hide beneath, and headed into the larger space. It was dark in here. She was getting a bit angry, honestly. "Stop playing games, Vince. We're here to talk, not play hide and seek."

"Why not both?"

His voice echoed out of multiple corners, ricocheting off of bare cement floors and cinder block walls.

She gave an irritated sigh that echoed somewhat. She was glad. He knew better than to fuck around with her. "You might think you're being cute, Vince, but you're definitely not. I'm fucking armed to the teeth here, because I'm not sure if you're going to try to kill me. Please assuage my fears, and stop being a prat."

"I am not," he said, still not in sight. "Though I suppose that's not much reassurance. No, I'm here to offer you a gift."

"Even worse," she shot back," reaching what she assumed was the middle of the space and slowly turning, her hand still on her knife. "Everything you say just sounds more like you're trying to kill me. At least let me fucking see you, huh? C'mon! I don't have all fucking day!"

"I'm not trying to kill you." He sounded exasperated. "That's Moriarty. Not me. He's the one that has the sword dangling over your head. We'll see each other in a minute, but I need to explain first. I needed to get you away from all of them, even if just for a moment."

Lorna shook her head a little. "Hate to say it, Vince, but we're pretty well surrounded with Jim's men at the moment. But fine, talk. That's why I came here, right? You wanted to talk. I'm here. Talk."

"You have to promise to hear me out," he insisted. There was a hint of urgency to his tone. "I don't want to hurt you, but others do. I'm trying to help."

She shook her head slightly in disapproval at his methods, but said loudly, "Vince, I wouldn't be here if I wasn't willing to hear you out. We'd have sent someone a lot more dangerous than me to kill you and be done with it."

There was a long silence at that as he considered. Then, "I want to offer you a chance out. Things are about to get bad, and we both know you know that, so don't pretend. I'm here to offer you a chance to escape all of that, protected."

She swallowed, thinking about what to say for a moment. She knew there was no use considering his request: she would never abandon Sebastian, and she'd be killed by Moriarty anyway if she tried. But she had to play the game. "Protected by who? I don't think your security beats Jim's, not for a second."

"If my security didn't beat Jim's, I'd have been dead weeks ago," he pointed out, his voice calmer now, though still insistent. "I can offer you the same protection. He hasn't been able to find me. I told him where I was."

"You disappeared off the grid, Vince, and don't pretend you didn't do it without help. Euros has you in her pocket, right? So, what, I get to live in your pocket, safe from that madwoman? Leaving behind my husband to cower in your shadow?" Okay, so he'd struck a nerve. She finished her slow turn, and was still unsure where he was. They should have given her night vision goggles.

"You said it, not me," he retorted. "He's not in any condition to protect you. Cowering is about all he can do. Euros can protect you as well as she protected me. I can offer you a life away from what is going to happen. Somewhere warm, where you can really live. Party, and watch birds, and explore the world with me. Kill when we want to, not when we have to. I'm offering you a life."

She tried to consider it. To give Vince that much at least. And the truth was, she wanted it. She wanted a life, free from the jobs and the constant vigilance and the swords hanging over her head. But not with him. Only one man had the power over her, had the connection to her heart strings that could have swayed her to say yes, and he was waiting for her to come back to the little violent life they'd carved out for themselves with Jim. She was silent for a minute, but that was all the consideration she could afford for him. "I'm sorry Vince," she said, shaking her head in the dim light. "But you know I can't do that. I can't leave him. You know that. I'll take what comes."

"I do know that," he said, his voice shaking just slightly. "But you know I wouldn't offer unless I thought I could offer something for that, too."

A figure stepped out from behind the turn of a hall across the room, still somewhat in shadow. "I need you to give me more than just your initial reaction. Just... try to think about this for a moment." After another moment, he stepped fully into the dim light of the room.

Lorna had seen a lot of scary, off-putting things. She'd lived in a labyrinth with giant wolverines for a year. She'd seen Riordan approach her with a hot iron. She'd been eaten alive by beetles. This... What she saw made all the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Her heart dropped a few hundred feet in her chest. Her lungs stuttered in the middle of a breath. Without thinking she took a step backwards, hand trembling on the hilt of her knife at her hip. "What the fuck," she hissed, swallowing down the irrational fear rising in her throat.

Vincent Armetti had once been a handsome man, obviously of Italian descent, with rich brown eyes and brown hair and strong features. What looked back at her now... A rough reinvention of Sebastian's face met her gaze. Puffy in some places, where the swelling had not gone down completely. His eyes were blue - contacts, probably, and not a perfect match to Sebastian's icy blue depths. His hair was blond. Not that it mattered. Lorna's heart was hammering in her chest. This was so wrong.

"Think about it?" She finally got out, snarling like a cornered wolf. "What have you given me to think about? You think I'm with Sebastian solely for his face? So you COPIED IT?" Her voice was loud and nearly shook with rage and horror, her hand leaving her knife to pull out the glock from her shoulder holster, holding it ready to lift up in his direction. "Don't come any closer. I don't want to shoot you wearing that face but I fucking will."

He lifted his hands quickly in surrender, not getting any closer. When he spoke, the swollen parts of his new face were a little slower to respond, nerves still inflamed. "I know you need time. Maybe a lot of time. But let's be honest, Lorna, it's not like he was using it anymore. He's barely recognizable between the scars and the weight he's lost. It feels wrong, I know, but you can have everything you want. You can get out, and be free of all of this shit, and you can have him. I'll act however you want. I've been working on the accent, though it's not ready to be revealed yet, I'm the first to admit... Give me a year, two years, you won't know the difference. You can make me into whatever you want me to be? All the things about him that annoy you? I'm a clean slate. Teach me who you want me to be, Lorna. I've got a face I know you love. I'm offering you paradise."

She felt sick, taking a step away from him, fingers tight and sweaty on the gun. He'd gone off the deep end. This was clear, in a way that nothing else had made it so. "That's not how this works, Vince," she said shakily, taking another step. "You don't get to just become him. You don't get to just skip the work and the blood and the tears that we've put into that relationship. I wouldn't want to even if I had the option. Which this isn't. I'm leaving, Vince. I can't-" she shook her head, swallowing hard, a bead of sweat rolling from beneath her hairline down her neck and under the collar of her shirt.

He shook his head, expression still calm, though his hands dropped. "You're not listening, Lorna. I understand why you left New York. I was stifling you, and I'm sorry. You had to become who you are, and I'm so proud of you, but this- what you have here? It's over. It's ending. You can either leave with me now, be safe and be free, or you can stay here, and die. Don't you see? I'm your only option. Your only way out. I'm trying to make this as pleasant an experience as possible for you!"

Another wave of revulsion shot up her spine. "Go fuck yourself," she spat, taking another step and then another backwards, away from his freakish visage, back towards safety. "I'm not leaving what I have, Vince, I'm just not. Nothing you say will change my mind. If I die, I die. You're not my savior, and you never were."

He seemed to stop for a moment, his expression going blank, and then in a surprisingly quick motion he had a gun leveled at her head. "Alright. Fine. You want to die? Take another step."

She internally cursed. So much for being able to pull a gun on him faster than he could on her. She adjusted her grip on her gun, not moving, afraid to call his bluff now that he'd gone off the deep end so hard. "So what's the plan, Vince?" She asked, voice deceptively soft. "Are you going to kill me? Then what? How do you get out of here? You're surrounded. Besides that, do you really have it in you to kill me?" She prayed the answer was no. "If you're not going to kill me, what do you think is going to happen? Are you going to walk me out of here as a hostage? Then what? And after that?"

"I'm going to kill you," he grit out. The statement seemed to catch him by surprise, but then he nodded a little, agreeing with himself, confirming, sweaty fingers tightening against the grip of the pistol. "Yes. I will. You're as good as dead anyway- if you walk out of here, you have weeks at most before you're hers. I tried to help you, Lorna, Christ Almighty knows I did try, but you'd rather die than be with me? Is that really so bad? Am I really worse than death?"

"You're not HIM, Vince! That's what I keep trying to tell you!" she snapped, and in a bid for him to do the same, she tossed away her gun. "You want to kill me? Fine! But you don't get to use a gun! You want to kill me? Do it like a fucking man! Pull out the knife I know you have on you somewhere and snuff me out with your hands. Guns are for fucking cowards." She took a step towards him, leaving the glock behind her, her body tensing, readying for a fight or a gunshot. "C'mon, motherfucker. Show me what you're fucking made of."

He stared down the barrel of the pistol, and laughed. "Fuck, I love you," he said, crossing the room slowly, gun still in hand. "I think killing you may hurt me more than you, do you know?"

"If you kill me, I'll be dead, so yes, probably," she agreed dryly, approaching him at a slower rate than him. "Drop the gun, Vince. Don't insult me like that. I can't kiss you goodbye if I die from a bullet to the head, now, can I?" she said sardonically, though not sarcastically enough for Vince to tell if she was lying or not. He would jump at the chance, she knew.

"True," he said with a lopsided smile, reaching for the knife in his belt before flicking the safety on the gun and tossing it aside. "You won't. But who knows?"

Then, with surprising speed- he'd clearly had some physical therapy for the leg- he stepped into her space, a leg going between hers to catch her heel as his knife went for her throat, the beginning to what he wagered would be their last dance, one way or the other.

There was something delightfully romantic about death, he decided.

She dropped, but faster and further down than he intended, twisting her leg to lock at his ankle and take him down with her, her hand ignoring the knife at her hip and instead going for the easier-to-reach brass knuckle in her pocket. It was on in an instant, and as he fell on top of her she rolled out and dove back on top to slam her bronze-aided fist into his face, the other blindly reaching for his knife hand to stop him from gutting her. She cut her hand on the blade, but found his hand and wrestled with it. "You piece of shit," she hissed, hitting him across the face again before he was put together enough to stop her - she felt something wet spatter across her hand, and she wondered how fragile he was. Would the face come right off? "You think you get to kill me? You think YOU'RE the one who gets to kill ME?" She snarled, and hit him a third time, still trying to get the knife out of his hand. "Wearing the face of my husband? I should have killed you YEARS ago!"

He was clearly disoriented by the blows of her fist, but there was a blaze in his off-blue eyes when they found hers. "Who else should- get to kill you?" he spat out between blows, his free hand groping upward before gripping her arm and driving a thumb savagely up under her body armor and into the nerve cluster in her exposed armpit, gripping her arm to keep it there in the hopes of deadening her blows, his grip on the knife stubborn.

She cried out at the splitting pain from his grip, gritting her teeth to get herself under control. "ME, ASSHOLE!" She shot back, and head butted him hard, breaking out of his grip on the one side to drive her knee into his gut, and then pulling back further to aim her brass-knuckled fist at his knife holding hand. She brought her fist down with a crack on his fingers, and redoubled her efforts at getting the knife away from him.

He grunted in pain as his fingers went numb around the knife, but he refused to give her the advantage, his good leg shifting up under her and thrusting up, throwing her off to the side. She didn't lose her grip on his knife hand, but he rolled with her, ducking under another swing of the brass knuckles and aiming his own jab straight into her throat.

She took the hit to the chin mainly on accident, teeth clacking together, but it was better than losing her ability to breathe. Truthfully, this fight was messier than was good for her. She needed to pull a surprise. Still a foot between them from his punch, she let go of his knife hand and rolled away, coming up with the knife she'd strapped to her thigh. She threw it in the next instant, aiming for his eye, praying that it hit it's target and fighting the urge to wince away at the result, at the image of putting a knife through Sebastian's eye.

He'd closed fast as she rolled, though, and the knife caught his face mid-rotation, slicing a clean slab of flesh out of his new cheek, but clattering to the ground a few feet away. Vince let out a frustrated howl of pain, but then his eyes lit on a weapon foolishly discarded a half minute before. Thoughts of honor tossed aside with the pain, he staggered up and lunged for his gun, scrabbling it off of the filthy cement.

She saw his goal and scrambled to her feet, racing to her own gun a few feet away. She skidded to a halt, flinging the brass knuckles off her hand and picking up the weapon. She turned on her heel, took aim and simultaneously noting he was doing the same, and then two gunshots that could have been one exploded in the dark space, magnified in her ears. She felt the bullet slam into her vest, the wind shooting out of her lungs, taking several steps backward to absorb the impact without falling over, her gun still trained on Armetti, who had fallen to the ground. He was limp, now, but she still didn't relax. She walked forward, breathing as deeply as she could with the dent in her vest, and scanned him, the gun still trained on him. It didn't matter. She'd hit him square in the forehead, like she had her brother Eric all those years ago.

She let her arms relax, holstered the gun, went and picked up her knife and the brass knuckles. She wanted to search him, but didn't know if she could stomach it. She would make Evans or one of his men do it. Winded, aching, and pressing her bleeding hand to her front to staunch the flow of blood, she left, thinking about the situation. Armetti had been spotted in England. Except anybody spotting Vince would have been seeing Sebastian instead. That had chilling implications.