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There hadn’t been any possible version of this world that he and Painter didn’t get out. Sebastian had been so sure of it. He’d taken every possible precaution, every possible move to make sure Painter – at the very least Painter – made it out.
Urbanshade operatives were blocking the only exit. Innovation never showed up.
They were well and truly screwed.
Sebastian had faced death before. He’d done it twice. Death was not new to him, and honestly it was about time it caught up. He was craving it at this point, almost as much as he was craving the open sky. Death or freedom – either would have worked for him. But all he could think about was Painter.
Painter, who couldn’t shake in fear. Who couldn’t show his distress beyond the whimpers. Beyond loud fans trying to cool off overworked systems. Painter wasn’t going to get the release of death that Sebastian was getting. He was going to be set back in that cage, chained back to mining for cryptocurrency like all he was was a machine.
Well, they’d have to take Painter over Sebastian’s dead body.
And really, that was looking more and more like the outcome.
Sebastian wanted to apologize but he couldn’t force the words past his throat. A bullet whistled past his head and he cursed quietly. “Sebastian,” Painter whispered. “I think it’s over.” The fans in his system spiked for a second. Sebastian nearly growled.
“No.” The word tore from his throat in an explosion of air. It was truth – for Sebastian, it was truth. It wasn’t over. He refused. He’d done far too much work, made far too many promises, for it to crash and burn when they were so close. Escape was so close, he could taste it.
But what is he supposed to do? There’s Urbanshade operatives in front of them, water at their back. Sebastian has six shells left. They’re outnumbered, outgunned, and stuck between a rock and a hard place. There was nothing, nothing Sebastian could do.
It was as this realization struck him that he heard, “Throw me into the water.”
Sebastian’s blood froze.
“Wh– Painter, no.” He clutched tighter to the metal of Painter’s frame, curling around him like Sebastian could save him from this fate. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure why he ever thought he could. “I’m not– I can’t.”
The lights flash. Angler screamed past, but it didn’t matter. The operatives weren’t in its path. There was nothing that could save them. Nothing except the man who was outside of time itself and Sebastian knew better than to rely on him. “Sebastian, there’s nothing we can do. Innovation isn’t coming.”
“I know,” he snarled, shooting blindly over the crate he was slouched behind. There was no noise – he’d missed. “I know, Painter. But I can’t ki–” His throat closed off before he could say the words. He coughed roughly, tried to breath past the sudden frigidness in his chest. “I can’t.”
Painter made a strange noise, a mix between a scoff and a whimper. “Sebastian, if you don’t kill me, I go back to mining.” His voice was worryingly dead – the monotone of someone who’s resigned to their fate. “I get chained back up, locked away from any other interaction. They probably won’t let me paint ever again after this. I can’t go back to that, Sebastian.”
Sebastian hadn’t thought of that. Urbanshade was already restrictive on when Painter could paint. Now that he’d assisted in the outbreak, they were sure to restrict it even more. Imagining Painter chained up like that, forced to an existence of dull mining, it made something mean and angry grip at his heart. To fight it, Sebastian shot blindly again.
This time, he hit someone. He couldn’t feel satisfied by it, no matter how hard he tried.
Sebastian dropped his shotgun. It was useless to him now. “I’m going to take your chip,” he whispered. “If we’re dying, we’re doing it together.”
Painter either didn’t have an argument, or didn’t want to argue at all. The frame of his monitor hummed under Sebastian’s hands. It was warm against the cold in his chest and Sebastian knew – this was the end for them. They were going to go out in a blaze of glory, and Sebastian would be damned if he didn’t take some Urbanshade operatives out with him.
Taking Painter’s chip out was easy. Hiding it in a pocket stitched in the inside of his jacket was easy. The next part was going to be harder.
“Z-13!” an operative yelled. “Stand down and return Z-779, immediately.” Sebastian scoffed, raising himself as much above the crate as he could manage. In view of all the Urbanshade operatives blocking the door, he reared back his arms and threw the monitor into the bay.
Sebastian didn’t let himself linger on the sinking monitor. He twisted around sharply, scooping his shotgun off the floor as he slipped past the crates. “Painter is dead,” he snarled, lifting the shotgun. “You’re next.”
He was expecting the gunfire. That doesn’t mean the pain doesn’t surprise him.
A few bullets tear through the hand holding his gun. It dropped from his hand and clattered to the ground. One of his own shells tore through his stomach as the collision made the gun fire. More Urbanshade bullets ripped through the muscle and skin of his tail, through the fins at the end, through his arms. One clipped his neck.
Sebastian fell as the gunfire petered off. He couldn’t feel much below his waist, not anymore. His nerves were probably fried. Some wounds bleed sluggishly. Others wept blood like it was tears. Sebastian’s head lolled against the metal. The water from the dock lapped in the corner of his vision.
Footsteps hurried towards him. With all the strength Sebastian had left – and maybe a little granted by a God he didn’t really believe in – Sebastian dragged himself into the water.
As his body sank, peace washed over him. One day, maybe soon, Urbanshade would find his body drifting in the tides. But he’d been long gone from it. Painter’s chip would be ruined beyond repair, wrecked by the waves. Death reached him first, but it brought freedom with it.
Drifting in the expansive sea, Painter’s chip over his heart, Sebastian let himself rest in the freedom he’d finally, finally got.