It's not fair.
One day I won't make it.
It's not fair that it's him left to pick up the pieces.
I need your word that when I die, you'll take over.
It's not fair he screams in his mind as he loads the gun.
You'll get the mission done, and keep protecting the City…
…when I'm gone…
"Six…that's exactly what I'd do."
It's.
Not.
Fair.
He slides the gun into the holster at his thigh. He has a promise to keep. A promise which is the only thing that keeps him going now. A promise that wasn't fucking fair.
He's long since left the Deck. He left it as it was – pitiful ruins of something that once stood for something.
He left the gazes of people who saw him but wanted to see something, someone, else.
He leaves the constant calls, the constant reminders.
And in doing so, he buries himself.
Kyntak punches the last of the Code-breakers into unconsciousness. He secures them and messages the Deck the co-ordinates. He'll be long gone before the agents arrive.
He snaps the cuffs around the last man's wrists, pushing back unwanted memories.
"Don't die, okay? We still need you."
His chest tightens as he remembers his brother hugging him awkwardly and he subconsciously smooths down his T-shirt.
"Careful," Kyntak whispers in the silence surrounded by unconscious bodies. "You'll mess up my outfit."
And it's not fair.