Forty minutes pass.

We run for miles. Just the three of us. And in these moments of weakness, we are all so different.

I just can't believe this is fucking happening. We were all so strong. All of us. There were so many of us – and now its dwindled down to a measly three, running from their safe haven, going over the rolling, green hills and burying ourselves deep into nature, using her as our new cloak and guise. And with this cloak, we'll come back. We'll rise and strike, stabbing the Tyrant and all of his concrete morals with a shining, silver knife. Or so I'd like to think. So I wanted to do, so I wanted to be.

In reality… there isn't a hope anymore. And I'm not willing to accept that.

I can't accept that. I shouldn't accept that. I can still make a difference while I'm alive and healthy, even if I'm being ripped apart from the inside out. But how can I go on if there's no hope to pull me along? There is nothing I can fucking do anymore, and it just hurts knowing that. It hurts knowing that at the end of this, at the end of all things… I'm not going to have that life with you that I want. I can't even hold onto that anymore, because I know… I know it's not going to happen. No matter… No matter how much I want it to be so.

You're devastated and you're still sobbing. All you can think about is who we've lost. All you can think about is the events that have passed. With every life that faded away, I see your eyes grow greyer. You're terrified, because you don't know what's going to happen next, and you don't want to lose either of us – me in particular, if the glances at me are anything to go by. You know that these attempts were fucked from the very beginning… yet you still stayed. You still tried. You still believed.

My darling believer… what hope have you now?

It's like you're standing on the edge of your toes, wondering who is going to drop off next. Wondering who is going to fall, who is going to be swallowed by the ground beneath their feet or grabbed from the heaven's above. It's almost like you want to turn back time and spare those lives that were lost for a cause that you now know was a bullshit dream that'd never be realised… no matter how much effort you put in. And the real kick in the teeth is how you can no longer hold onto me, either. You're as hopeless as I.

Lei's just trying to block out the pain. In his moment of weakness, his focus is on getting us somewhere safe, where he knows it'll be okay, where he knows they'll not come looking for us. While he focuses on those things, he's trying to lose focus on other things. He's trying not to register how his own blood feels beneath his finger as it seeps out of an open wound. He's trying not to feel the numbness that's eating him. He's trying not to feel the weakness in his legs as we move. He's trying not to let that dread – that absolute, innate sense of hopelessness and pointlessness take him down, like the fallen before him. He holds onto his pride.

He falls as everything he fought to create is ripped from underneath him. How can he hold his head high and still hope?

He started this. He and that other guy – and I was just there, helping out, but for the wrong reason initially. It's under Wulong's guidance did I realise exactly how I could really, really help and fix and channel all of this into the right reason. Into freeing billions of people from Jin's reign, rather than trying to equal a stupid draw and get back at what is stupid devil form did to me at the end of the Fifth Tournament. He made me realise that I really did have a purpose. After so long fighting on the streets for every little thing I had, including a purpose… it was Lei who made me realise I had one all along. And it's this. No matter how pointless it is anymore.

It's as we ascend another hill does he fall to one knee. You call his name, a faint whimper present in your voice. He waves you away, because he's not interested in help. We were cool as crutches for a while, but her doesn't exactly want to be babied – he is the super cop, after all. With a large exhalation of breath, he pushes himself back to a standing position, one hand still against his stomach – and then he falls again.

I gather the wounded and begin to lead, blind. This darkness is just all too black for me to navigate through properly. The moon's faint wisps of radiance provide little light to see. My steps are gentle upon the grass, feeling around for large roots or rocks. Wouldn't wanna fall now, especially with cargo on my back. Said cargo's breathing is becoming shallow, and that dread, hopelessness and pointlessness that he's been fighting off has eaten away at my system without me knowing, like a new disease.

There's more murmuring and gasps of pain. You place a hand on my shoulder and squeeze it in support, before pointing in a north-western direction. You speak, your voice carried a little by the wind, echoing in the small meadow we've somehow found, "Let's go over there and sit underneath the tree for a while. We've been going for so long – it's best we sit down and take a breather."

There's no objection from either of us, and soon enough, Lei's resting underneath the tree, looking down at the city we've left behind. You're sitting beside him, patting away the sweat from his forehead with a hanky you found in the pocket of his white pants. I'm standing on his left side, looking at the dent in my shoe, where the bullet was; and then my gaze drifts from him, to you, and then to the city. There's the faint sound of sirens in the distance – it's safe to assume that Jin's sounded it, ordering everybody to search for us vagabonds – and the sound of haggard breathing close by.

This all complete and utter bullshit, and I just want it all to go away.

How many in the beginning? How many in the middle? How many now, near the end?

And how many after the end of all things…?

It's a cycle. A fated cycle that'll just go on and on and – I don't want it to end. It can't end. It just can't end. He can't be allowed to win, because if he wins, then what chance does humanity have after that? Will they ever be able to hold their heads up high? Will they ever be able to say that they know the feel of a true smile on their lips as the sunlight softly strokes their skin? If we can't stop Kazama… then who can? Who will?

With his victory, are we crucifying happiness forever?

"Hey…" Lei coughs, looking up at me, his head resting against the bark of the tree.

"Mm?"

"I'm proud of you."

I feign a smile to try and ease him, even though it's really hard to; and then scratch the back of my head, shifting my weight onto the opposite leg, "What's there to be proud of? Look at who we've lost. Look at the fallen – they are the ones you should be proud of. Not me. Never me."

"And why not you?" he offers, rolling your eyes, "You've… You've done… You've done the same as them. You've fought for what you believe in, and you have died so many times inside doing… the same thing…" His gaze shifts again, looking at the city that he once protected day in and day out with the highest priority, "I'm proud of you for growing up. For burying what wasn't important and stepping up to what was. That rivalry might've been important once upon a time… but now… not anymore. And you let that go in favour of trying to do something good – in favour of trying to do something… great!

"I'm proud of you for not letting the bad things… eat away at who you are. Baek's death could've absolutely shattered you – I'm sure it did, in fact – but you still put it aside, because you knew there was time to grieve and mourn him later. You're focused… that's something that I rarely see in you, so thank you for blessing us with that determination… that we all drew inspiration from. I have faith… that you can do it. I still believe. I'll always believe… even if I fall."

You've interrupted, crystalline tears rimming your eyes, "Don't talk like that."

"Oh come on," you give a half-hearted chuckle and weakly wave your hand, but it falls to the ground immediately after, like a dead weight. Even in your withering moments, you still have the strongest life, "You know it's true! A man… A man can only go on for thirty to sixty minutes after being shot in the stomach… without… medical treatment. I've got no time left, guys. I've got nothing… but I'm still so proud of you both, so never… never ever forget that. I know… that the Resistance is in… good hands."

My hands are in my pockets, and my eyes are intently staring at his face as it begins to droop, "Wulong, what will you have me do?"

He tilts his head back towards me with a wayward, cocky smile, "Whatever it takes."

A feigned smile manifests again, "Whatever it takes?"

He nods a little, eyes refocused on the city as they rapidly lose their shine, "Whatever… it takes…"

As his voice dies away, you put your hands on his shoulders and lightly shake him, calling his name softly. When you're met with no response, and when you watch as his hand stops pressing against his stomach, you call his name again, only louder and with a more desperate tinge in your tone. When the wind picks up and blows, chilling your skin, you shake your head and exhale shakily, looking away from the man who just lost his life.

I'm still holding my mask close to my face, but my sadness and rage is still turbulent behind it. I walk around his body, the grass softening my steps, and grab your arms, lifting you up from your seated position on the ground. You're trembling as I put my arms around you and hold your head against my chest and run one of my hands in circles on your back, just letting you cry. Just letting you cry, because if there's ever a time to be sad for everybody who has died, it's now… because we might not get that opportunity again. Even I cave in with a few stray tears as I lightly kiss your forehead, trying to be comforting.

There's sobbing and silence, and sobbing in silence. The wind's died down, but the bite hasn't. And it won't.

"Lei Wulong," you say, wiping tears from your eyes, "The Shepard of the Damned."

And damned we are.