18. What You Wanted

The 114th Starlight Awards were held on Haneen, the rocky, mountainous moon that the Gheroun hailed from. Haneen was a landscape of peaks and valleys as far as the eye could see, the conical architecture favored by the Gheroun fitting in much better here than it did on Uula. Here, it blended seamlessly with the mountains, part of the landscape itself. The same hardy, curled trees from Uula’s decorative floating platforms—which had, to Niko’s fascination and horror, withstood explosive rounds—dotted the grounds outside the Greela Indoor Botanical Gardens where the awards ceremony was being held.

Above it all, in the deep green sky, Uula hung half visible, bands of pink and lavender along its vast surface.

Duuru Orkan was being awarded today, for being the Galactic People’s Choice for Favorite Toliai. It made Niko sick to think about. More than that, it made him angry, the sort of deep, acidic rage that had worked its way under his skin and wouldn’t mollify. Duuru was more an animal than a man—but that was unfair to innocent animals who didn’t deserve that kind of comparison.

Once Niko had remembered who Duuru Orkan even was, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, nor about what today meant to Elliott. He had a tradition of watching the victim videos, but couldn’t bring himself to, this time. Niko still couldn’t bear to see it happen to Cleo. It was agonizing enough seeing it all happen to strangers, but Elliott’s sister had been his world—the only person who, before Niko, ever gave a damn about him, it seemed.

Just knowing Duuru had been there for her end was enough.

Today would be the last day of Duuru Orkan’s life. He may have unfortunately wormed his way into getting a people’s choice award, but he also had earned Niko’s personal choice award to die.

The awards ceremony was a little more unpredictable than previous hits had been—unlike the political speeches and discussion panels, this one drew a particularly large amount of public interest and eyes. Niko was almost glad for it. No one knew—to his regret—why they did what they did. But Niko particularly disdained this creature and wanted his death to be seen by millions.

Elliott, it seemed, was rubbing off on him. Or maybe he just refused to tolerate that Duuru himself had personally helped ruin Elliott’s life.

The Greela Gardens interior was a beautifully curated fanfare of colorful alien flora, which often hung from little decorative balconies and tiny floating platforms, similar to the ones Niko had found himself leaping from on Uula. Crowds gathered and mingled, all in their most stunning attire for the awards show. He recognized several big celebrities among them. It was one strange aspect of hunting Elliott—and now working alongside him—that Niko hadn’t prepared for. He was used to seeing actors, singers, directors, politicians, and artists on the regular now. That was just the nature of Elliott’s kills being carried out primarily at impactful public events.

They filled the curving hallways of the Gardens, rows of chairs and a stage ornately set up and flanked by flowering plants that glowed in place for the award winners and hosts.

Niko knew there would be an even higher presence than usual of Galapol, bounty hunters, and security, so they’d made sure to prepare by bringing every tool and toy Elliott had at his disposal. Niko even got his own shield generator this time, just in case. They were likely going to have to think on their feet with this one, which was more Niko’s style anyway.

They decided to keep to a thin, decorative balcony, from which sprays of plants and waterfalls trickled down. It circled the central awards chamber, though there wasn’t much room present to work with. They’d have to make do. It was high enough that even if they hadn’t had stealth, it would be difficult to see them up there from below if they crouched low. A review of their blueprints revealed a small maintenance shaft inside the walls that led up to the balcony, likely for plant curators to tend to the foliage there.

Galapol had an agent stationed at the balcony though, just past the hidden maintenance door.

Niko and Elliott crept through, then paused.

“We need to get rid of him,” Niko murmured.

“I have an idea,” Elliott whispered. “See his radio? I can use that. Like I did on Uula. We can make a diversion and report sighting us somewhere else.”

Niko saw what he was getting at. “We make a false alarm, send people that way, then take the shot in the clear.”

“Precisely.”

He pressed his back against the wall, letting Elliott slip past to do his thing.

Niko froze as he looked over at the Galapol agent blocking their way. His back was turned to them as he scanned the mingling crowds below, muttering into his radio. From this angle, he could have been Zann—tall and thin, with a narrow frame. Dark skin and tight coils of black hair. Niko briefly wondered if it was, his heart aching. His brother’s name died in his throat, desperate to come out and call to him, to get him to turn and talk to him. But it wasn’t Zann, and Niko couldn’t afford such a blatant mistake.

He watched as the air seemed to distort before him. A moment later and Elliott had the agent grabbed tightly from behind, chloroform-soaked cloth pressed over his mouth and nose. The man went limp in his arms and Elliott carefully laid him down, taking his two-way radio. It disappeared into nothingness as he pulled it behind his own cloaking radius.

It wasn’t Zann. Niko could see the man’s face now—thick eyebrows and a goatee.

The radio sounded from somewhere, making Niko jump. “Agent Adebisi, report for routine check in. Over.”

He heard the eerie sound of two voices talking in unison—Elliott’s, and the altered version that came out across the radio, matching the murmurs of the agent from only a moment before. It was something Niko didn’t know if he would ever get used to.

“This is Agent Adebisi reporting in. West balcony is all clear, over.”

“Excellent. Please give the new passcode cycle, Agent. Over.”

Niko could feel Elliott’s pause without seeing him, he had grown so attuned to the other man. He froze as well, heart skipping a beat.

Passcode cycle?

Elliott crouched and began desperately patting the agent down—Niko could see the man’s vest and clothing as they moved, the distortion of light as Elliott pawed through his effects in search of whatever might generate a passcode. They were catching on. They’d learned from Uula that Elliott had this sort of technology and could mimic agent voices.

Galapol had caught up to his tricks. They’d come prepared.

“Agent? The passcode. Over.”

“One second. I’m trying to get— I think I dropped the damned thing.”

Niko winced. It was a flimsy excuse, an attempt to buy Elliott time. He saw him pat at the man’s ears for any sort of earbuds.

Below them, a hearty roar of applause started as Duuru Orkan was announced by the host. If they could just get a clear shot of him—

But the Toliai still wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

“Try, um,” Niko murmured. “One of the other frequencies.”

Elliott did, switching between stations until he reached one where a feminine voice prompted him.

“Five-minute check in code. Please provide your password and agent ID to retrieve.”

Elliott was silent. Niko could only imagine what was going through his mind right then: fear, panic. Trying to outsmart the problem rapidly strangling him. But they’d been too prepared, setting up their agents with regular check-in intervals and unique passcodes. Ones that required another set of credentials to even retrieve.

Galapol had finally learned to outmaneuver them.

There was a long silence that fell between them, both men at a loss. Niko felt ill, goosebumps prickling along his skin.

“They’re coming,” Elliott said. His voice was tight and laced with fear. “We need to go. Now. We can’t do this tonight. It’s too hot now.”

“Wait. Hold on.” Niko was thinking.

This was their chance. This was Elliott’s chance. Uru Taal and his son Duuru had been a pestilence on Elliott’s life, the very stains responsible for setting every event since into motion. Being here had meant the most to him of any of his cumulative work so far. And Duuru was about to come on stage. They just needed a clear shot and could be gone. They just needed time for Elliott to set it up.

“Niko, we don’t have time!”

“I have an idea. We can still finish this.”

“What?” Elliott sounded breathless. Niko hated hearing the horror in his voice.

“They know we know they’re coming. It’s logical for us to retreat. If we split up, I can make some distractions. Loud ones. They won’t know where to look, and you can set up in a new spot and tag him.”

Below, Niko could already see movement as several armored Galapol agents came their way.

“I don’t— I don’t like this, Niko. We can just come back for him later.”

Elliott’s grand plan was falling apart, one aborted kill at a time. Imperator Khaathra, Chancellor Iincha’cul, and now Prince Duuru Orkan. Niko wasn’t going to let it all start unraveling now.

“Trust me, okay? We don’t have time to argue. They’re almost here. I’m going to draw them away and you work your magic.” Niko slipped off before Elliott could say more, back down the maintenance shaft and into the central auditorium. Sure enough, there were a dozen Galapol agents making a beeline in his direction now. They didn’t see him yet, but they’d find Elliott if they made it up the maintenance shaft. If not there, then wherever he was currently heading.

Niko was going to have to get messy.

With a silent apology to the civilians he was about to frighten and for the damage he was about to cause, he pulled a grenade from his utility belt, then glanced around. There was a verdant courtyard to the east, walled-in by glass, which was currently closed to public mingling. No one would be in there to get hurt. Niko tried the double glass doors, but they were locked tight.

He didn’t have time for this.

He smashed the lock with a single, hard punch, the delicate glass shattering around him. Several quizzical, alarmed looks drew his way but he ignored them, shoving the doors open and lobbing the grenade inside. Seconds later, it exploded in a flash of fire that rocked the courtyard and corridors around it, sending splinters of hearty plant debris pelting into the glass that encased the courtyard.

He definitely had Galapol’s attention now. And everyone else’s, too. Already, people were beginning to make for the exits.

“What are you doing?”Elliott asked, incredulous, over their frequency.

“Drawing them away from you. Can you get the shot in?”

Niko was already running, trying to keep to the outer fringes of the crowd, still cloaked by Elliott’s ORA. He would have to kiss him later in thanks for it, the kind of kiss that would sweep him off his feet. Niko pulled another grenade from his belt and held it ready.

It was working. The agents changed their route, heading straight to the damaged courtyard now.

“I can try. I— No. Shit. There’s Galapol getting on stage. They’re surrounding him.”

“Can you try to get a clear shot? I can pull them away from him.” Niko had to get closer. He slipped straight past horrified crowds of glamorous celebrities and towards a fountain which aquatic plants grew in. Like the courtyard, it was generally off limits, roped-off from the main crowds. Whoever had set up the event clearly didn’t trust celebrities and influencers not to start touching everything.

Niko threw the second grenade; seconds later, it exploded too, the entire room rumbling. The fountain crumbled apart as water flooded out now, soaking the grounds. He gave another silent apology to whoever had diligently curated and cared for the display.

He was definitely getting more attention now, as Galapol and hunters alike ran his way. Niko was already on the move again. Since they’d started working together, this was the most reckless he’d been. It reminded him of the days before, when he’d hunted regularly. When he threw himself into the fray and got his jobs done no matter what. This had always been his style: wild, careless. Intense.

“Elliott? Did it work?”

Elliott made a soft, frustrated sound over their frequency. “No, I still can’t. They’re fucking escorting him away, Niko. They’re escorting all the nominees away. We need to get out of here. This is bad. They’re everywhere now.”

“No,” Niko growled, rage and determination grinding and cracking against each other like hard teeth. He didn’t like to back down. “We’re not done here yet.”

Elliott had come here for Duuru Orkan. The same man who had been present for the cruel and pointless end of Cleo’s life. The one who had shattered Elliott’s world.

Niko wanted to deliver him up to Elliott for sacrifice—a courting gift.

A flash of scaly brown caught his attention at the far end of the stage, before disappearing quickly around a corner, flanked by several armored agents. Niko swiftly followed, murmuring to Elliott as he did.

“I think I know where they’re taking him. Northeast corridor. Check your blueprints. You can catch up with him. I’ll draw them away from him.”

“Niko,”Elliott said. “Let’s just go. It’s not happening tonight. This went south too quickly.”

“It is, Elliott. It can still happen. I’ll draw them away and you take that sick fucker down.” It was hard to keep his voice to the murmur required for stealth. He was too angry. He was so mad at the idea of Duuru getting to worm his way out of his fate that he was shaking now. “Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that what you said meant more to you than anything?”

He was met with only silence before Elliott finally spoke, voice flat.

“Fine.”

He could do this. Niko had a squadron of angry Galapol and desperate hunters all honed in on him now. Elliott would be free to work unhindered.

He rounded the corner to the northeast corridor, a long hall flanked with big windows looking out into another tangle of forestial courtyard. They were there—Galapol, quickly moving Duuru Orkan along. Niko wanted to break him. The sight of the gargantuan, scaled, repulsive Toliai as he nervously shuffled along in cowardly self-preservation made him want for violence.

“Elliott? You’ll have a chance. Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” he said. His voice came from beside Niko now, rather than over their frequency. He’d caught up.

The agents were flanking Duuru defensively, protecting him with their own armored bodies. It was impossible to get a shot through to him while they were there. Niko needed to get them away, to break their formation. He had one grenade left. He wouldn’t use it on them—they hadn’t come here to kill or hurt anyone who wasn’t Duuru Orkan. So, he would have to work a little harder.

“I’m going to slip ahead of them and divert. I want you to get the shot in, then head west, back down towards the original maintenance shaft. I’ll meet you there. We’ll get out quick and clean.”

“Understood.”

“Get the shot and go.”

Niko moved back down the corridor and wove his way around to cut them off, relying on attempts to memorize the blueprints he and Elliott had poured over in the afternoon. He managed to get to the cut-off point before Galapol and drew out his last grenade, throwing it into the empty hallway ahead of them where it detonated harmlessly, its only casualty the dented and scorched walls.

He turned to make his way back to the maintenance shaft now, when he was stopped short.

The group of agents he’d diverted through the grounds had caught up, cutting Niko off suddenly from the way he’d come.

Well, shit.

Before he could get out of the way, an EMP was lobbed in his direction. Niko tried to dodge but the thing went off, sending its shockwave coursing throughout the hallway. He winced, bracing for the fall of his suit and legs giving out, but it never came. The shield generator seemed to have taken the brunt of the hit, disabling along with the cloak, leaving him revealed and vulnerable now. But he could still walk.

This was bad.

He was in the plain now, visible and out of explosives. And quickly being corralled away from Elliott again. They were funneling him now, pushing him into what was likely a trap.

Niko’s heart sank. This had so quickly turned south. Elliott had warned him, had seen it coming a mile away.

“Elliott,” he said over their frequency, trying to keep his voice calm. “Get the shot and go. Take the So?adora. I reprogrammed it to recognize you—”

“What?” Elliott breathed over their connection, barely more than a whisper. “Niko? What are you saying?”

“I… Elliott, I’m sorry. I think it might just have to be you who gets out of this one.” He sure as hell wasn’t about to let Elliott be taken down for his stupid mistakes and swollen ego. His inability to quit. He still wanted Elliott to have the victory he deserved, the revenge he craved. And to get out and live another day. It was all Niko could offer him at this point—the agents were closing in. And it was a matter of time before they used another EMP, and cut off his ability to flee at all.

“No,”Elliott said. “No, I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to, Elliott. We don’t have a choice now. I can buy you the time to get out. You can use the ship for your work. It has—”

“No!”

Niko turned, but there was nowhere else to go. A line of agents filled the hallway, both behind and ahead of him. He was trapped now.

He gave a heartbroken grin, gun still up but not willing to fire on them. They weren’t who they’d come for tonight. They were just people, doing their jobs, hopefully trying to make the galaxy a little bit better of a place than they”d found it. Just like Niko had. He didn’t want to think about how many there tonight probably knew about Elliott’s files on Honeybliss.

“Hey guys,” he said, hating how nervous his voice sounded. “I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

“Drop the gun and get on your knees!” one of the agents yelled. Niko didn’t recognize her.

Elliott hadn’t gotten his shot in yet, hadn’t lined it up. He could still see Duuru at the far end of the hallway. Still flanked by Galapol, still unfortunately living. But he could grant Elliott one last favor.

He still had one trick up his sleeve.

Niko turned and barreled towards the line of agents who had been behind him, arm raised to deflect bullets from hitting his face. Some small part of him wanted to scold them on their flimsy formation—he had always used brute force in his work. They should have come equipped knowing this, and not stood single file, shoulder to shoulder. Their bullets pinged off him and he slammed straight into their formation, knocking two right off their feet. He stumbled, but kept running as more bullets pinged off the back of his armor.

It was only a matter of time before they would manage to hit him with another EMP, and then this little second wind, desperate game was over. But it would buy Elliott the time he’d need.

Niko rounded a corner and saw even more agents coming his way. Every Galapol special ops officer in the vicinity had managed to figure out they’d needed to get here, it seemed. He readied himself to try and meet them head on again, unsure if he could make it through their ranks this time.

And then he saw it—a flash of silver that spelled the end of his journey. The EMP grenade sailed through the air towards him, Niko instinctively turning away and shielding his face with his arm in vain. The thing exploded, but once more, he still stood.

Niko lowered his arm, confused, when he saw what had stopped it. Elliott stood before him like a bulwark, their roles reversed. The man had caught up somehow. Whether straight around the chaotic mess of agents or through some other clever path, he was there. And had used himself to shield Niko. His own shield and cloak vanished in the hit, leaving him woefully exposed. It made Niko ill, made his heart ache.

Elliott trained his gun on the nearest agent, and Niko did too. If they could make themselves look like a threat, still, it could keep them from risking openly shooting Elliott on the spot.

“Drop your weapons!” one of the agents yelled. Elliott ignored her, so Niko did too.

“Elliott,” Niko whispered. “Why?”

“I’m not leaving you to die.”

It hurt.

“But—but the mission—”

“I don’t care about that. I’m not leaving you, Niko.” Niko was stunned, breathless, a dizzying pain blossoming throughout his chest that almost left him wondering if he’d already been shot and just hadn’t realized it yet.

Elliott had once told him that it was all he lived for now. That it was all that mattered to him.

No. No, no…

One of the agents pushed through, wearing a full suit and helmet himself. He had a rifle drawn on Elliott as well, but reached up with one hand to pull his helmet off and toss it aside.

A familiar face and slicked back, dark hair greeted Niko. Fourier smiled widely at him.

“Niko. Long time no see, huh? The armor makes a little more thematic sense here.”

Niko kept his rifle trained on Fourier. From the corner of his gaze, he could see Elliott did too. He was staring Fourier down with a cold, tense rage.

“Where’s Zann?” Niko asked.

“Zann is off the case. In fact, he’s out of Galapol. I got promoted to Lead Investigator. So, here I am.”

“I want to talk to him.”

“Not possible. But if you surrender now, you can both make it out of here today alive. No guarantees for later though.”

“Why are you doing this?” Niko asked.

Fourier laughed. “Why are we doing this? I think the entire fucking galaxy wants to ask you two degenerates the same thing.”

“You have the files. I sent them. Elliott sent them over two years ago. Galapol knows what these people have done. What Duuru Orkan has done. Why aren’t you investigating this? Why aren’t you arresting that man and bringing him in? Why aren’t you fucking doing anything about the thousands who go missing every year?”

Fourier smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Niko. He roped you into his conspiracy shit too. That’s really too bad. Your brother talked you up like you were his hero. Unsurprisingly, he turned out to be an idiot too.”

“I want to talk to Zann. I’ll negotiate with Zann. Over the phone.”

“No. I don’t think so,” Fourier said. Niko’s heart was in his throat, a nauseating mixture of terror and blinding rage both. He hated this man. How he was even allowed to talk the shit he was as an officer and agent of Galapol was beyond him. It was like the man only wanted to escalate and was getting off on it.

Niko had no doubt he knew all about Honeybliss. He probably had all along.

“Put your guns down and you won’t get shot. You can plead your case at the station.”

“I…”

There was no way out. There had been a chance, and it was gone now.

They were surrounded on all sides, and outnumbered. There was no way out of this. And it was all Niko’s fault.

He had made a promise to Cleo. He had vowed to her that he’d keep her brother safe. Take care of him.

Trust me,he’d said to Elliott as the man had argued with him to flee with their lives.

And now he’d gotten him killed. Elliott had sacrificed himself to try and protect Niko from his own mistakes, his own arrogance.

Maybe—

There was still a chance. He could try to negotiate and plead. Trade his own life for Elliott’s, take the blame. The galaxy wanted blood and maybe he could satisfy it with his life alone. Maybe he could even say this had been his idea all along. Niko was a terrible liar, but he could do it for him, could say they’d had connections before any of this had started, that he’d coerced Elliott—

“If you do not put your weapons down, we are going to open fire. And you’re very much at a disadvantage. It’s over now, Niko. Come on.” Fourier said the last words like someone might talk to a dog they were trying to coax into obeying.

Niko’s hands trembled. It was hard to stand, hard to breathe. The weight of everything had caught up to him, was falling down on him now. He was suffocating. He dropped the rifle on the ground in front of him.

“Now, kick it away.”

Niko nudged it with his foot towards the wall of agents. One stooped and picked it up.

“And now you.” Fourier looked at Elliott.

Elliott stood silent beside Niko, gun still trained on Fourier. Niko saw he was shaking too. His view of Elliott distorted as tears filled his eyes. He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand to see the fear in him. Couldn’t stand to know he was the one who’d brought them to this sudden end.

It had all been so avoidable, if not for ego.

Niko swallowed back a lump in his throat. When he spoke, his voice emerged hoarse and pleading. “Elliott. Just do it. Maybe we can…” Elliott only gripped his rifle tighter, hands trembling. Niko could see it in his eyes, on his face. Written all over, in the tension of his body. He had come to read Elliott so perfectly now. He knew he was going to do it.

“Elliott, this isn’t you. This isn’t who you are. We’re not about that. We don’t kill anyone but Honeybliss.”

“You,”Elliott whispered, his gaze burning straight into Fourier. He ignored Niko’s pleas. “You always knew. And you did nothing. Galapol watches us call out to our loved ones as we die. You watch us suffer. You watch us disappear. You just don’t care. Because the ones perpetuating it are more powerful than you. Because they have more money than you. You always knew. Every one of you. You couldn’t care less. And you never will.”

“And you,” said Fourier, “are clearly batshit fucking crazy.”

Niko saw it the second it happened: the tightening of his hand over the trigger, the movement of tendons. He threw himself on Elliott, tackling the other man to the floor beneath him. Elliott’s gun went off, the bullet perforating the ceiling instead.

A cacophony of shots rang out around them as Niko buried himself in Elliott, trying to cover him entirely, his only goal to shield the other man with his own armored body. He heard and felt bullets ricochet hot off his suit.

And all at the same time, there was another sound. One he hadn’t expected.

An explosion. And then another, so strong the entire room rocked, windows blowing out around them as shards of glass rained down on Niko. Then more gunshots, followed by another two explosions. The world came apart around them, and all Niko could do was hold onto Elliott and pray he himself took whatever damage came their way instead.

Then quiet descended over the corridor. For a moment, he was too terrified to move. All that existed was Elliott, his only awareness, the only solid anchor to which he clung.

“N-Niko,”Elliott breathed out in bewildered terror. Around them, Niko heard the sounds of bodies falling, slumping over. The last moans of the grievously wounded as they slipped away. He could smell viscera and blood, freshly spilled, a copper tang filling the air. He was afraid to look.

But he made himself do it.

Niko craned his neck and glanced over his shoulder, trembling. All around them lay dozens of dead and dying Galapol agents, peppered with gunshot wounds, blown partially into pieces by the onslaught of explosions. Niko gaped in horrified awe.

All of them. Every single one. Even Fourier.

A whole special ops squad of Galapol agents had been cut down with ease, caught off guard, their attention focused on the galaxy’s now pair of most notorious assassins.

He heard footsteps—boots crunching on broken glass as each step drew closer. The creak of leather. They came into view—sky blue combat boots with ripped jeans over thin, human legs.

Niko looked up and saw a bright shock of pink hair. Machine gun clutched in her hands, Bubblegum stared down at them. She glanced around the corridor at the casualties she’d made. One agent, a Gheroun woman, was struggling to stand back up. Bubblegum casually moved towards her and shot her in the head. Niko shuddered at the sound and the merciless violence of it. The Gheroun slumped forward, falling onto her face, and didn’t move anymore.

Niko pulled Elliott up to sit with him, still wrapped tightly around the other man, trying to keep himself in between Bubblegum and him. Elliott was silent and dazed, possibly in shock.

Niko swept a quick glance around—maybe if he could grab one of the fallen agents’ guns… But the nearest was a good five feet away from him. Even Elliott’s rifle had been knocked away when Niko seized him.

Bubblegum turned and regarded them again blandly. “Well, you better get a run on. The Galactic Police are gonna be real pissed when they find out you guys are killing cops now.”

“We didn’t kill them,” Niko spat.

Bubblegum smirked. “Sure you did. Because that’s what this is all gonna look like.”

Elliott seemed to have found his voice again. “Why did you help us?”

“Because I’m not going to let Galapol waste that bounty on your pretty head. With each new death you two dipshits rack up, the higher it gets. And it’s really going to skyrocket now, because Galapol hates a cop killer. I want it even bigger…” She walked over and kicked the gun nearest to them away for good measure, having the same idea Niko—and probably Elliott—had. “…Before I come back for you and cash in. Because I will. But for today, enjoy your good fortune.”

A pitiful, rumbling groan came from the far end of the corridor, catching the attention of all three of them. Duuru Orkan was still alive. He stood fearful and shaking as he stared out at the bloody sea of carnage that had once been the only thing standing between him and death by a sniper’s bullet.

“I—I’m going. I’m going to leave—”

Bubblegum sighed. “Toliai are so fucking irritating.” She pulled a small, clearly homebrewed pistol from inside her bright yellow jacket, then shot Duuru in his left eye. The Toliai began screaming. He clawed at his face and thrashed, his giant scaled body shaking the floor as he collapsed in agony. Niko looked away as the familiar, acrid scent of bog-theun toxin filled the air.

Then she trained the gun on them. Niko held Elliott tighter, all instinct.

“Now get the fuck out of here, before I change my mind. Your corpses are still worth a whole lot of credits.”

Niko glanced at Elliott, who mirrored the look, eyes wide still with shock and horror. They quickly stood, legs shaking and unsteady beneath them. Niko refused to let go of Elliott; he forced himself to relinquish his embrace, but held tightly to his arm.

“Hey,” said Bubblegum. “And take your shit. They’ll wonder why you left it behind, otherwise.”

After a moment of hesitation, they retrieved their weapons from amidst the chaos and gore. It made Niko ill to look at. He tried not to think about the faces there he recognized.

Another gunshot rang out as Bubblegum dropped a wounded agent who had started to subtly reach for her own gun.

It was long past time to go.

The horror of their situation kept them both silent on the ride back to RM-9832642G’s facility. Once Niko got the So?adora docked, Elliott quickly stood, grabbed his things and made his way briskly down the ramp. Niko paused, still in his suit, and watched him go from the ship’s doorframe. Elliott disappeared into the facility, the door to the hangar sliding shut behind him.

Niko felt ill.

He took his time removing and charging the suit, took his time locking all his weapons away. The suit was coated with the blood of the fallen agents still, little shards of shimmering glass embedded between the protective plates. He would have to clean it later, when he could stomach the task. Then he simply sat in the ship, the silence of the eerie, empty hangar almost tangible.

He sat for an hour, maybe longer, not wanting to go inside yet, not wanting to be anywhere or do anything. He wanted to talk to Elliott and beg forgiveness, wanted to hide from the other man and pass out in one of the spare, unused beds and sleep until the days melted into oblivion.

He’d almost gotten Elliott killed. He’d almost gotten them both killed. They were alive purely by bizarre chance. If he’d only listened to Elliott, who had done this time and time again, expertly, rather than his own ego and inability to yield, none of it would have happened. They’d be discussing a new strategy. Instead, Niko was left in cold silence and Elliott couldn’t bear to be near him. And now, to the galaxy, they were cop killers, on top of everything else. He swallowed back the sensation of rising bile.

Hiding wouldn’t change anything. Sleeping wouldn’t save him. He had to talk to Elliott, had to see if, at this point, there was anything he could still salvage.

It was the last thing he wanted to do, but Niko took hold of the wheels and slowly eased himself out and down the ramp, then into the quiet facility. Like the hangar, the control room was silent and still. Niko had stayed on the So?adora so long that the lights had shut themselves off to conserve power, flickering back on as he moved into the room.

He made his way to Elliott’s bedroom—it didn’t feel entirely like his own right then—and knocked.

There was no answer.

Niko cleared his throat. “Elliott? Can we talk, please?”

He was, again, met with only silence. Niko reluctantly opened the door, but before him lay only an empty room, just as they’d left it that morning: messy sheets, Elliott’s half-emptied bottles of water with one uncapped, and a pile of dark clothes lying in the corner.

Niko backed out and moved down the hallway to the cafeteria. Its lights almost seemed to struggle to kick on, sluggish in their activation. Elliott had insisted the generators were set to power this place for years to come, but Niko wondered.

He wasn’t here either.

His last option before searching the halls aimlessly was the research-lab-turned-murder-room. When its door opened, Niko’s stomach twisted in a slurry of relief and anxiety at the sight of him, diligently at work at the central island, cleaning the disassembled Repartee. Elliott tensed up instantly upon seeing him, his gaze harrowingly cold. Unwelcoming. He set the gun parts down and stared.

Niko’s heart sank.

“Elliott, listen, we need to t—”

“You need to go.”

Niko blinked. The hurt was so deep it spread through his body like a shock of ice water. “I… What?”

“I want you to leave, Niko. We’re not working together anymore. It’s over.”