Sayden had reached the hospital a few hours before and waited in the shadows outside. He had stretched his muscles when he was not observed, and prayed silently when he was. He had prayed to the yore-gods, his departed family, the spirit of vengeance, itself. He had called upon them all to guide his hand.

He had the poison stowed in the buccal pouch within his cheek. At this dose it would act swiftly.

The old stories told him that, if two enemies died at the same moment, they would appear together, before the yore-gods, and their souls would be weighed against each other. The soul found wanting would belong to the soul triumphant, and the soul triumphant could choose to cast his enemy into the fire of non-renewal, never to return to the world of the light.

Sayden was not sure he believed such stories, but others did, and he had promised to die with The Unhealer for their sake. So that those Valakians at home should find comfort, in the final days. Sayden had no wish to live beyond his vengeance, in any case. He could not imagine that emptiness.

He'd been prepared to wait days, but the yore-gods smiled, and in mere hours, The Unhealer revealed himself. Sayden offered a farewell to this life, then drew a blade, concealed in his long coat.

"You are Phlox," he said, as he approached the man. It filled Sayden's heart with joy to see how his enemy was weighted with sorrows.

"I am," The Unhealer replied heavily. "But I am not working here, today. And frankly, you do not appear in urgent need of medical care, so it is unlikely anyone in there can help you today. May I suggest you contact a doctor within your family?"

"I have no family," Sayden replied, baring his teeth. "They are all dead. Dead by your actions."

The Unhealer frowned in confusion. He did not yet realise who he faced. "By my actions?" he murmured. "Do you mean your family was in the building too? Are you my daughter's neighbour? I do not recognise you..."

"You condemned my whole species," Sayden snarled, drawing closer. He was looking for the moment. The moment of recognition, of comprehension. He wanted to see the moment that Phlox knew. "I am Valakian, and we are dying. But we do not die unavenged. Denobula shall die too. And you, Unhealer, the destroyer of both our civilisations? You die tonight."

There was recognition then, of a sort, a weary, baffled horror, and Sayden decided that it was enough. Before Phlox could offer any resistance, Sayden drove the knife into his chest.

Blood trickled down Sayden's wrist even as he forced his prey down to the ground. The Unhealer's eyes were still full of uncomprehending horror, and Sayden bore his gaze into them. It was time for them to find out, together, if there was further justice beyond this life.

Sayden sucked the poison, held in his check, out between his teeth and bit down. A burning astringency filled his mouth. There was no need to swallow, a lethal dose would be quickly absorbed by the lining of his mouth. It burned painfully, and it cleansed him.

Sayden heard the garbled cry only a fraction of a second before she plowed into him. It was only Phlox's pet human, he realised, but she'd been running at full pelt, and so she'd knocked him off his balance. Sayden grabbed her as he fell, and spat what poison remained in his mouth into her face. The creature shrieked and clawed at her eyes. Leaving her writhing, Sayden pulled himself to his feet, turning back towards Phlox, and stepped right into his own blade.

The blade had penetrated his abdomen, Sayden realised curiously. His blood poured out of him, its shade Valakian, not Denobulan. He was unmasked now to all that beheld him, and it felt fitting. Holding the hilt of his blade was The Unhealer's own kin. The man who had traded his father's safety for his sister's - that sister now dead, under the rubble of her home.

Mettus, that was his name.

Sayden might have felt for him, were it not for his profane father. But blood was what blood was. And so, with his last ember of strength, Sayden pulled the knife from his gut, and plunged it into the neck of The Unhealer's son.

Then, death found Sayden, and he went willingly.

"Help!" Liz screamed into the night. The second time she remembered to call in Denobulan.

Then, she crawled towards Phlox. Her right eye was useless, and felt somehow strange in her head. She didn't dare investigate. Her left eye was bad, but she could still see a little, and she crawled towards Phlox, who was himself reaching out for Mettus.

Phlox's wound was sucking air into his chest cavity, leaving his left lung in imminent danger of collapse and his right lung protected only by the fragile Denobulan mediastinum. Liz clamped her hand over the wound trying to create an airtight seal.

But it was no good. She would need fabric. Her shirt.

"Help me, Phlox," she begged. She tried to get him to plug the wound himself, long enough for her to pull off the shirt. But Phlox was frantically using both his hands to compress the bleeding on Mettus's neck, and he would not budge.

In desperation, Liz pulled her shirt off, leaving the wound uncompressed for as little time as she could before plugging it with the bunched fabric. When Phlox's chest was more or less airtight, she resumed screaming for help.

Mettus was gasping, and each gasp was growing weaker. His blood ran through his father's fingers.

"Elizabeth," Phlox wheezed, his eyes never leaving his son's. "What I did to you was unforgivable, but I must ask you a favour - beg one in fact - that if you have ever loved me, you will do something for me now."

"What is it?"

"I'll not be strong enough to talk for long. When they come, you must tell them that Mettus is me. A doctor. A doctor will get an operating room, a surgeon. A doctor will be saved before others for the greater good. Otherwise, they might not operate on him in time."

Liz's heart screamed in her chest. "What about you?"

"I cannot lose any more family today, Elizabeth. Please." Phlox's voice was growing weaker.

Liz screamed for help a few more times, then snatched up her communicator, which had been knocked to the ground when she tackled Mettus.

"Travis!"

A few, lifelong seconds later, Travis answered. "Liz? Are you...?"

"Travis, listen! Phlox is critically injured and so is Mettus..."

"Mettus...?"

Liz shook her head. There was no time. She could hear some commotion over near the building, but she had no peripheral vision to see it. "Travis, we need Alice!"

"Liz, we can't..."

"No!" Liz shouted. "This is an emergency. You tell Archer he has to drop whatever charges he's laid against Alice, and get her released. Right now! People are dying. Phlox is dying!"

There was a slight pause, every second of which Liz spent screaming for help.

And then an answer. "Liz, this is Captain Archer. Alice isn't coming. Something happened and she was injured and... well, she isn't coming. You'll just need to do your best."

Archer had sounded numb, but Liz didn't care. She screamed and flung the communicator into the gathering darkness. It bounced off the chest of a Denobulan, rushing to help. Liz's failing left eye could not make out his face.

"What happened?" the approaching Denobulan asked her.

More shadowy figures entered Liz's vision.

"He's a doctor," she said, hollowly. "A surgeon. The best one I know. You have to help him."

And she pointed at Phlox.