The flakes trickled down from the sky in a steady stream. Every slab of concrete of the ruined house was blanched with a thin coat of snow, and under the grey light they resembled the calcified remains of some long dead beast. Nezumi leaned against the still-standing doorframe, staring out into the haze. He had lost track of how long he had been out there, but it was long enough that he had since become desensitized to the cold and insensible to the snow. He needed quiet, and the hush of winter was preferable to that of the bunker.

His concentration was violated when a stifling weight settled over his thoughts.

Singer.

Nezumi tensed. "Buzz off."

You have questions.

Nezumi focused on the snowflakes drifting in front of him. There was no way to face Her and no way to escape Her, so he might as well stay still and look disinterested, even if they both knew it was a pretense. He did have questions, though, and as much as he hated Her, he hated his ignorance more.

"How much of my situation is No. 6's fault?" he growled.

No. 6 has tried to cultivate my power for many years, but it is not for them to control. They are foolish creatures with no comprehension of their own arrogance. They planted the seed, but I chose you among the many to serve my purpose.

Nezumi bristled at Her condescension. That was bad enough, but She also seemed to be incapable of giving straight answers, so he was forced to make meaning of Her mystical mumbo jumbo. That No. 6 intended to use Elyurias' power he already knew from Rou's chip, but the reference to the many gave credence to the experiment theory, which, the more he reassessed the information he'd gathered, was beginning to seem like fact.

If No. 6 had decided to use human hosts for the parasite wasps then it made sense. It'd be easy to implant larvae during annual doctor's appointments by disguising the injection as a routine vaccination. A No. 6 citizen wouldn't think twice about it, and the standard of life in the Holy City would be conducive to the wasps' growth.

I had thought it fitting given your heritage, She continued evenly. You could communicate with me and your hatred for No. 6 is strong. Your temperament was not accounted for, and your current conditions are not ideal. It has been difficult, but I have done everything in my power to ensure your health and safety.

"Don't act like you've been doing me any favors; everything you've done is for your own wellbeing."

They are one and the same.

Nezumi clicked his tongue.

I will continue to protect you until we reach our goal. I can promise you will live to see No. 6 destroyed.

"How do you plan to do that?"

My design is not so different from your current one.

"You plan to destroy the Correctional Facility?"

The core of No. 6's power lies at the center of that place, but I cannot enter it without human assistance; this is why you were chosen.

So Her aim was the Mother, the super computer inside the Correctional Facility. Destroying the computer and the Facility itself would definitely deliver a crippling blow to the city. It was the natural target for any enemy of No. 6.

You understand all now. You will save many and restore balance to the land. There is no fault in my logic or intent. There can be no more objections.

Her monotone somehow managed to sound smug. Nezumi crossed his arms and gazed out into the white expanse. "I agree that destroying the Correctional Facility is the best method for taking down No. 6. However, as you pointed out, I already intend to do that, and my plan doesn't end in sacrificing myself to the will of an archaic supernatural being. Logically speaking, I'd much rather go with my plan."

Nezumi inhaled sharply as a flutter of pain passed at the back of his head. Her next words, however, were as inflectionless as always.

My assistance ensures success. I target only the infection; those who are blameless I will not touch. They may continue in peace.

He knew what thoughts Her insinuation was meant to inspire. If he were to follow through with Her plan, none but the most guilty and corrupt of persons would die. Those in West Block would not have to risk their lives in a bloody revolt against the far better trained, equipped, and numbered forces of No. 6. The process would be so clean, so easy.

The snow had ceased to fall and a bitter chill settled in the air.

More than death, I offer release. Suffering will end, your anger will pass, and you will be free from your frustrating and unsatisfying existence. You long for escape, do you not?

Nezumi clenched his jaw. To pervert his desires into some kind of pathetic death wish—he could not speak for the bile rising in his throat.

I know you can see the truth in my words, and yet you fight. Such resistance is incomprehensible, as it only causes unnecessary distress. Can you not see that acceptance is the best choice?

"Leave."

She did not answer, but neither did the oppressive weight lift from him, so he knew She still lingered. There was a slight consolation, though, in the fact that for once She was silent instead of plowing blankly through his insults and protests as She had hitherto done.

I will give you time to come to terms, She said at last.

The tension in his neck and shoulders uncoiled and his thoughts returned to him in a disorienting rush. But now that his mind could once again run unfettered, he found it too restless to contemplate in stillness. He pushed away from the doorframe and trudged back towards civilization.

She could not have picked a person more unsuited to Her purpose. He despised humanity on good days, and now he was expected to play the part of the noble sacrifice, to lie down and die for the sins of the few and salvation of the many. All because some relic of a people he had no connection to from a past he had no memory of demanded it. It was some kind of cosmic joke. No one was that selfless.

Shion is. He's just the type of self-sacrificing fool She was hoping for. He's so desperate to save everyone, he'd say yes in a heartbeat.

Shion had more or less said it himself: he wished there was a way to avoid war and spare the lives of innocents. Elyurias promised to do so. If She succeeded in incapacitating the Mother, No. 6 would implode without any need of outside assistance. The city would cease to be a threat and those in the Resistance could return to the lives they led before the cause. West Block was not without its dangers, but their chances of survival would be higher than they were currently. It was every bit the solution Shion wanted. But what about what he wanted?

Nezumi sneered. He hadn't done anything yet. Every moment of his life had been managed and manipulated to suit the needs of others. He hadn't lived a single day for himself, had not a single genuine experience of his own. Hell, he hadn't known what a decent novel was until two months ago. If anyone had a right to be selfish, it was him. He refused to accept that his life met its limit in suicide for a cause he didn't give a shit about. It was his life; he should have been entitled to do with it what he willed, without paying deference to vengeful gods, power-hungry governments, or even the greater good.

XXXX

He made the effort to mute his footsteps as he neared the bunker. Maybe it was foolish, but he didn't want Shion to hear him coming. However small a chance there was that Shion would be up to opening the door for him, he wanted to bring it down to zero. Shion had been giving him the kid-glove treatment ever since they deciphered Rou's chip, and he could barely move or speak to Nezumi without appearing like a wounded animal.

He waited a moment outside the door. It was not locked, he knew. Nezumi had been in and out of the room so often in the past few days that Shion had ceased to lock up, so that no matter when he returned he would be able to get back in. He drew in a breath and pulled the door open.

The first thing he saw was Shion. He was perched on the edge of his bed, his hands knotted in his lap. His dark eyes widened at Nezumi's entrance and made a nervous sweep downward to the coffee table. Nezumi's gaze was quick to follow. The table was covered end to end with food. All the staples of West Block decadence were present: assorted nuts, a few small apples, strips of dried meat, and half a loaf of bread miraculously free from mold.

Nezumi exhaled softly. "What is this?"

He could almost hear Shion swallow from across the room.

"I called in a few favors…"

"I can see that. Add a few candles and this would be little short of a five-star dinner."

Nezumi's voice was flat. Shion didn't react apart from twisting his hands in his lap. Lately, there was scarcely enough emotion between them to constitute communication.

"Look," Nezumi tried again. "I get what you're trying to do, but don't. It's a waste of money, not to mention food. How are we expected to finish that?"

"We don't have to eat it all at once," Shion answered meekly. "We have time."

Nezumi raked his fingers through his hair and tried not to sigh. He collapsed onto the couch, snatched an apple off the table and sunk his teeth into it. The crackle of the fruit's skin breaking resounded throughout the room. Shion shifted.

"Have you spoken with Her again?" Shion asked, once the remains of the apple were tossed into the paper bag beside the couch.

"I have, and nothing has changed. I'm still a dead man walking."

Shion nodded bleakly.

"She did, however, share Her holy mission with me. She plans to destroy the Correctional Facility and restore balance to the world. A noble cause, don't you think?"

"How is that different from what we're already doing?"

"Glad you asked." Nezumi gave him a lopsided smile. "In essentials, it's not, but Her deal comes with a significantly lower body count. West Block was granted a full pardon. You can go on enjoying life and I can end mine, as scheduled, in glorious self-sacrifice. It's the deal of a lifetime."

"But—" Shion clenched his fists. "That's not fair."

"Fair?" Nezumi scoffed. "Since when was fairness a factor in war? It's a matter of priorities. Which is more important? Me or No. 6? I think most people here would pick the latter, don't you?"

"That's not their decision to make."

Nezumi shrugged a shoulder. "It's a simple question of value. The lives of the many outweigh the one. You must admit, it's an incredibly easy solution to everyone's problem."

"Nezumi," Shion said lowly. "You can't really believe that."

"It doesn't matter what I believe. Elyurias decided it's the best, and therefore, I have no choice but to come to terms with my fate and die like a good little host."

"You shouldn't come to terms with it! It's bullshit!"

Nezumi blinked. He could tell his detached reasoning was upsetting Shion, but he hadn't expected such a violent outburst. Shion straightened, and speared Nezumi with a glare of absolute indignance.

"Why are you trying to justify this? If you think it's noble to sacrifice yourself for everyone, that's stupid! There's nothing noble about having your will striped from you. Even if it is for some higher cause, even if it meant justice, it's not your sacrifice to make. It's..." He sucked in an agitated breath. "It's not you."

Nezumi was so transfixed he hardly realized he was holding his breath. It felt like time had stopped. What was he seeing here? Did Shion really just say it was stupid to save people? Was Shion… Was Shion being selfish?

Shion was furious, for him and because of him, and Nezumi was dumbfounded. He had not expected to inspire this level of anger. It was so raw, so straightforward. Shion was trembling and shaking his head with breathless disdain.

"You've been fighting for your right to live ever since the day I met you. People are always using you: No. 6, Yoming, and now this thing—this Elyurias. You're not some tool to be used for everyone else's ends! You're a person—the strongest person I know. You should get to travel like you want; you should get to live like you want, and no one has the right to take that from you. Not even Her. I don't care if She's a god. That's not justice, that's— That's just bullshit."

Nezumi swallowed, but his mouth was dry.

Shion, why are you… Just what are you saying? Everything Elyurias offered was in Shion and West Block's favor. If he truly wanted to save everyone and still ensure that No. 6 paid for its transgressions, taking Her deal was the obvious choice.

But why am I surprised? Shion's always been different. He's highly intelligent and logical, but he's also one of the most emotional and irrational people I know. He's always been an enigma. And he's right. It is bullshit.

Nezumi had fought his whole life against every obstacle forced into his path, and he had made it this far. Giving up was not an option. It was not in his nature.

He had thought he was fighting still, but now he realized part of him started to slip down into pitiful resignation. He had resolved to be petulant and belligerent to the end, but that meant that he had secretly been making the concession that there would be an end. He was angry with himself, and embarrassed that he needed Shion's painfully earnest rant to wake him up.

What the hell am I doing?

It was true he couldn't do anything while Elyurias had control over him, but She likewise needed him for Her plan to work. He had two choices at the moment: die to destroy No. 6 or refuse and die resisting Her. Are those my only options, though?

"How steady are your hands?" he snapped.

The passion in Shion's expression muddled.

"The wasp is what connects me to Her," Nezumi said a little slower. "The only way to stop this is to sever that connection. I need you to cut the wasp out."

Shion blanched. "What?"

"If you want to help me, this is the only way. I'm sure you've treated worse cases in West Block. This shouldn't be a problem."

"I— I've only ever assisted in surgeries," he said weakly. "But there's another man—Yuichi—who has more experience. If we go to him, maybe…"

Nezumi cut him off with a shake of his head. "And tell him what? That I have a wasp god in my brain and would he please do me a favor and cut it out?" He smiled blandly. "It would take too long to explain. My time is limited as it is. If this is gonna happen, you have to do it."

"But…" Shion swallowed thickly. "I have no training. I could kill you."

"Doesn't matter; I'm dead anyway. But my chance of survival is at least slightly better in your hands."

Shion quieted. He swallowed a second time and spent a number of seconds studying the food on the table. But at last he drew in a ragged breath and looked Nezumi in the eye.

"I'll do what I can."

Traces of nervousness still remained, but he was working up to his usual professionalism. He rose and gnawed his lip. Neither of them seemed to know what to do for a moment. Finally, Shion gestured to the bed. "You should lie down."

Nezumi moved to sit on the bed, but he didn't lie down. With a word about finding his first-aid kit, Shion left him and disappeared into the bookshelves. Nezumi cleared his throat. Now that they had decided to undertake the no doubt unpleasant task of excising the parasite wasp from his body the mood was completely off. He didn't quite know what to do with himself. He settled for pulling his hair back into a ponytail in preparation for the procedure.

This is so fucked up, he thought, dropping his hands back into his lap. The sound of water running in the bathroom caught his attention. Shion returned shortly after, carrying a small silver box.

"I don't have any anesthetic," he said with equal parts gravity and apology. "If only I had some ice, or..." His gaze wandered to the door. "Or I could go outside and get some snow. It's not great, but it might help—"

"Shion. Forget the snow; it's not thick enough. Anyway, it's fine. I can bear it."

Shion looked helplessly lost and Nezumi found himself sighing.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this."

"What?"

Nezumi was slightly surprised at himself for saying it, considering his life was on the line, but the way Shion was carrying on it was useless.

"I don't want to do this if you can't handle it. The last thing I want is for you to be so freaked out you slip up and kill me on the spot. That would be counterproductive, to say the least."

They stared each other down for a beat. Then Shion sucked in a deep breath.

"No. I can do this."

His apprehension had disappeared completely. He spun around, took something off the table, and held it out to Nezumi. He recognized the object as a chopstick.

"When the time comes, bite down on this," Shion said sternly. "It'll keep you from hurting yourself."

Nezumi couldn't help the nervous twinge in his stomach when he took the chopstick from Shion. The other teen set the first-aid kit on the table and removed a scalpel, a swab, and rubbing alcohol.

"It's in the neck, right?"

Nezumi wet his lips. "Yeah. Should be at the base of the skull."

Shion nodded. He dribbled some of the rubbing alcohol onto the blade of the scalpel and set it aside. "I don't have great means for sterilization, but I've cleaned the scalpel already and the rubbing alcohol will help kill most of the lingering bacteria. Now that I think about it, the incision won't be very large. A full-grown wasp couldn't be bigger than an inch. So there shouldn't be much blood, either, I think. It's not really brain surgery." A pallid smile flitted across Shion's lips before it was replaced with a grimace of concentration.

Nezumi found that Shion's methodical babble, rather than being niggling or amusing as he usually thought it, had an almost soothing effect on his nerves. As Shion dampened the swab with alcohol, it occurred to Nezumi that talking while he went about his procedures was probably as much as a coping mechanism as it was thoroughness on Shion's part.

"I'm going clean the incision site now."

Nezumi pressed his lips into a hard line and lowered himself onto the bed. He instantly hated it. Lying on his stomach, bearing his neck to another person, was one of the worst feelings he could imagine. He turned his head to face the wall. Shion applied the alcohol to the back of his neck with a few light strokes. It wasn't cold, but Nezumi's skin still prickled at the contact.

"Okay. I'm going to cut now."

Nezumi hummed in acknowledgement and placed the chopstick in his mouth. The wood was rough against his tongue. He stared at the concrete wall and waited. He remained still when he felt the pressure of Shion's fingers at the base of his skull, and he didn't flinch when the tip of the scalpel bit into the skin.

Shion had just begun to drag the blade down when the back of Nezumi's neck started to burn. The burning flared out and sent a series of needlelike stabs all throughout his body. He jerked and clamped down on the chopstick with all the force he could muster. The muted crunch of the wood as he gnashed it between his teeth was all but drowned out by the furious roar in his ears. He clenched his jaw tighter to keep from screaming, but it made it worse.

What are you doing? She demanded. And he could tell She was angry now. Her words ripped through his consciousness with a jagged, glacial intensity. Yet his body was on fire. Wave after wave of nausea slammed into the back of his head and he had begun to sweat profusely. The pain was excruciating, sharp and molten as it swept through his veins and slashed his resolve to pieces.

"Nezumi!"

You would protect them? Those who are responsible for the destruction of your people and the ruination of a once hallowed land? You would allow the injustices to grow unchecked. You are selfish.

He was screaming. He knew it, but he couldn't hear anything over the horrendous noise of insects. They swarmed inside his head, squirming and crawling all over his brain, the deafening vibration of their wings slicing him down to the very core of his being. He was being eaten alive.

"Don't give in!"

He was being dissected. Stripped down. There would be nothing left to call human.

"Fight it, Nezumi!"

He could just barely hear Shion's voice in the din and hollow of the pain. He hated it. How dare he make demands when he knew nothing about anything. Shion didn't know how it felt. He wasn't the one dying.

Nezumi latched on to that anger. He clung desperately to Shion's voice. He was still alive. He could do this. He—

I did not have to offer you anything.

A concentrated stab at the base of his skull knocked the breath from his lungs. He spent a terrified eternity suffocating on the bile rising in his throat. He thrashed, but there was a weight bearing down on him from above, pinning him in place.

"I'm almost done. Please—Hang on just a little longer."

I could have killed you.

Shut up.

I could kill you now.

Get out.

What is so important about human life? What have you worth living for?

Get out, dammit!

You are determined to destroy No. 6 without my assistance. You have no certainty, and yet you are so adamant.

I can do it.

Can you? I wonder.

The needles still pricked at his insides; his body still smoldered with indescribable pain; tears escaped from the corners of his eyes and sunk into the bedspread. He could bear it. He would. He could bear anything if it meant he would live one moment more.

You are insolent and arrogant. But you do possess a singular force. I am curious to see this will. Just this once I will show mercy. You will destroy No. 6, Singer. You will do this soon or everyone in this land will perish. There will not be another chance.

The pain fell away and an expansive emptiness rushed in to fill its place. The transition was so immediate that he was sure he had died. She lied. He wouldn't put it past Her. But then…

"Nezumi. It's over. You survived."

It's over. I'm still alive. I've made it.

Relief slogged through him when the words echoed back in his own voice. His body felt weak and feverish. He couldn't move a muscle. But that was fine. He just wanted to sleep. His heartbeat thudded in his ears. It was the most magnificent sound he had ever heard.

"Nezumi? Can you hear me? Nezumi?"