Trigger Warnings: This chapter contains brief references to the topic of suicide. If you would like to read a summary of the chapter's contents before you continue reading, please skip to the note at the end of the chapter.

Shadow stepped into his room and closed the door behind him. 'It's as good a time as it's ever going to get.' He sat down at the workbench beside his bed. 'What is it?'

'We got your complete blood count back,' Verity said.

'That was fast.'

'We don't have a lot going on in our department at the best of times. We were able to put a rush on it.'

Shadow's gaze wandered. A fieldstripped Colt 1911 lay in pieces on the workbench. He'd disassembled it before ending up in White Space, and he still hadn't put it back together. The gunmetal gleamed beneath the halogen lights. 'And?'

'It's perfect. You're perfect – your cell counts are literally on the median in every category, It's a little unnerving.'

He screwed a bronze bore brush onto a cleaning rod and began to run it through the barrel, over and over. 'That means very little on its own.'

'We've cross-checked the CBC against your records. Your cell counts haven't changed since we've begun tracking the data. You haven't changed, for that matter.'

Then it seemed to be true – the only trace left of his Doom Powers was the scar on his back. 'So that's it?'

'What do you mean?'

'You couldn't find anything?'

'I hate to be the bearer of good news, but you're in perfect health.'

'Tch.'

'Did you want me to tell you that you have a terminal illness?'

'Not exactly.'

'Shadow … Do you have a death wish?'

His hand slipped, and the cleaning rod snapped. He turned to stare at her in disbelief, but then he remembered he was on an audio call. 'Stick to immunology,' he muttered. 'You'd make a terrible diagnostician.'

'So you're not denying it?'

'Anyone would want to die if they lived long enough.'

She cleared her throat. 'Did you know that GUN has a military counselling program?'

'Did you know that they forced me to attend sessions until my assigned counsellor killed himself?'

There was a horrified silence on the other end of the line.

He prised the broken cleaning rod out of the barrel and unscrewed the brush attachment before beginning to put the disassembled gun back together.

'A-Are you all right?' she asked.

His hand twitched. 'I'm fine. But he's not.'

'You couldn't have known –'

'I did know. I even told everyone as much, but GUN never listens to me.' And … maybe he had hoped that he would be wrong for once, but instead, someone else had paid the price for his naivety.

Shadow hefted the assembled gun in one hand. Then he held it to his head and pressed the muzzle against his temple.

His very existence had caused so many preventable deaths. Gerald. Maria. Abraham's family. The countless scientists who had been onboard the Ark during the raid.

How many more people would become casualties of his existence? And would it ever end?

'I hope you find someone who's able to help you,' Verity said.

He sat in silence, finger on the trigger. '… You're breaking up. Did you need something else?'

'Sorry. I won't keep you.'

The call ended. He sank back in his chair and heaved a sigh. Rouge opened the door and stepped in. She pointed at her ears and sighed. 'I don't know why you bother closing the door …' She stopped and turned pale.

Shadow remembered that he was still holding the Colt 1911 to his head. He abruptly set it down. 'It's not loaded.'

'Oh, well, never mind then –' She stalked over and put a hand on his shoulder, digging her fingernails in. He hissed, but her grip only tightened. 'Yeah, right – you're the one who's always lecturing me about gun safety.'

'Even if it was loaded, I still can't die –'

Her claws sank deeper into his jacket. 'You wanna bet your life on that?'

'Of course not. I lost my patience, not my sanity.'

'If you were sane, then you wouldn't play with firearms.'

His shoulders seized, and searing lightning shot down his spine. He threw off her hand and stood up.

She crossed her arms. '… Are you all right?'

'Phantom pain.'

Her brow creased. 'From what?'

He gave her a disgusted glare. 'Hell if I know. It's not as though I had alien wings burst out of my back last week.' He glanced behind him, wondering if the scars had continued to fade, but then he remembered that he was still wearing his uniform jacket.

'All right, look.' Rouge put her hand on his arm, but she didn't dig her fingernails in this time. 'At the very least, your annual leave won't cover the amount of time it would take for your brain tissue to regrow. Can we agree on that, at least?'

'Fair enough,' he muttered.

'And try not to get into the weeds when talking with the other agents. For your own sake, at least.'

'I don't want to be in the weeds. Why do you think I keep to myself so much? One minute, we're talking about CBCs – and the next minute, she's asking me if I have a death wish.'

'You could have changed the topic.'

'She could have minded her business.'

She narrowed her eyes. 'I can understand where you're coming from. But each time you open up to someone, you can't expect them not to be concerned. It's not a luxury that GUN's past actions have afforded you.'

'People don't need to be concerned on my account.'

'Concern is normal. It means that people care. That's why Verity wanted to know if you're getting the help that you need. That's why I panicked when I saw you holding a gun to your head.'

'Can we move on now? I lost my patience.'

'And I'm going to lose mine if you don't start having more regard for your own life.' She turned away and snapped open her pink-and-white flip-phone. 'I do think you need to consider talking to someone.'

He braced his hands against the surface of his workbench and glared at her. 'Because it went so well last time.'

Rouge gave him a sympathetic look. 'I know that. I meant that you should try talking to someone outside of GUN – someone who already knows about you. Maybe Amy would be willing to take one for the team. She always says that people should "talk about their feelings" –'

Shadow lunged at Rouge, but she shot up to the ceiling and hung there. 'Hello? Ames? Are you free later?'

A Chaos Spear formed in Shadow's hand, and he drew his arm back.

Rouge narrowed her eyes at him. 'Oh, come on.'

'Hang up.'

'You win gold in the javelin throw once – '

'Twice.'

She rolled her eyes. ' – twice, and now it's your entire personality. Why did the Olympic Committee let you compete?'

'The phone, Rouge.'

She held it up. 'I never dialled. Oldest trick in the book.'

He dissolved the spear, fell into his chair and closed his eyes. 'Go to hell.'

'Love you too, darling.' He heard her wings rustle. 'Ah … It's a shame that they're restructuring the Olympics … I remember you used to have so much fun competing.'

'I did not,' Shadow said abruptly. 'It was an opportunity to push myself.'

'Sure.' He heard the clicking of a keypad and opened one eye, looking up at her. 'These photos would say otherwise.'

'What photos?'

'The ones of you figure skating at the Winter Olympics.'

Shadow snapped into existence beside her and wrenched the phone out of her hand. His thrusters flared, keeping him in the air at her side. 'You've been photographing me? Since when?'

She flicked one hand at him. 'When you're older, you're going to thank me.'

The photo had been taken years ago. He was smiling.

He began pressing random buttons. 'How do I delete this?'

She yelped and snatched the phone back. 'Those are my photos! And the fact that you still don't know how to use a flip phone isn't my problem.'

'I was born in the 50s, not the 90s. We didn't have flip phones then, and almost no one uses them now, except for you.'

'Says you with a burner flip phone in your jacket pocket. And again – not my problem.'

He lunged for the phone again, but she whisked it out of reach. 'Damn you,' he said. 'How many photos do you have of me, anyway?'

'Hundreds.'

He gritted his teeth. He remembered thinking that she always seemed to have her flip phone in one hand. Now he knew the reason why. 'That's … excessive.'

'We've known each other for years. Memories add up over time, you know.'

He watched her cycle through her photo gallery out of the corner of his eye. Looking back, he remembered her pulling him into frame on numerous occasions, always smiling even though he rarely responded in kind.

Dinner at Club 'Rouge'. The afterparty for an Extreme Gear competition. The shooting range. A jewellery heist that had gone wrong.

'You're wasting your time,' he said.

'I don't think so. Besides, do you have an eidetic memory?'

He shuddered. 'No. No, I don't.'

'Then don't you want to be able to look back at the things you choose to remember?'

'I already remember the things that I care about. I remember this.' The images onscreen kept changing. 'And this. And this.' The thrusters in his shoes dimmed, and he touched down on the ground.

Somewhere aboard Space Colony Ark, a sepia photograph lay discarded on the floor. It was the last vestige of the two people he had considered family, and he had already left it – and them – behind.

He looked back at her. 'I don't need photographs.' Then he picked up the Colt 1911 and walked out of the room.

She didn't follow. She was still hanging from the ceiling in his room, staring at her phone, her face illuminated by a blue-white square. 'No. But maybe you'll want them one day.'

To be continued...

Trigger Warning Content Summary (contains spoilers):

Verity asks Shadow if he has a death wish, and his response is vague. When Verity asks if Shadow has received counselling, he says that his military counsellor killed himself as a result of what Shadow told him during their sessions. In frustration, Shadow holds the gun that he is cleaning to his head, contemplating how many preventable deaths his existence has caused. The gun is unloaded, but this is only clarified later in the chapter. Rouge walks in and sees Shadow holding the gun to his head. Even after he tells her it's unloaded, she scolds him about mishandling firearms. She tells him that people care about him and that they will begin to worry if he doesn't begin to show more regard for his own life.