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“Dammit...” Then it dawned on him, a sudden horror. What Garovel had just said. About being sorry. “Oh no...!” He barged into Melissa's room.

She was on the floor, shot in the head.

Hector reeled back out of the room. His eyes were wide open, looking at everything around him, but the image of her was stuck there. He stumbled. Just breathing was difficult, as if the air itself was choking him. He squinted hard and gnashed his teeth.

‘I’m sorry, Hector.’

“Fu--ck!” He clenched his fists so hard that they bled. “I was supposed to save her! I was supposed to save at least her! I can’t--I don’t--! H-how--?! I have strength! I don’t get tired! I can’t even be killed! And...! And you’re telling me that’s still not enough?! Wh-what more do--?! I just...! I don’t...! Understand...!”

‘We lacked something more important than all of those things.’

“What?!”

‘Information,’ said Garovel. ‘If we’d known Colt worked for Rofal, we would have approached the situation differently. It was an act. He was testing the other officers’ sense of duty when he brought up the topic of protecting Melissa. I failed to see through it...’

Hector’s face broke in two. He started sobbing.

‘I’m sorry...’

“S-stop,” he cried. “It’s not... it’s not your fault...”

‘It is, though. You rely on me for information. Please don’t blame yourself, Hector. Please...’

He only wept harder.

It was quiet for a long time. No one came to check on them. Everyone who hadn’t already left probably fled when they heard gunshots. Garovel said nothing, just let him cry. His bloody hands were warm, throbbing, and he thought he could feel something grainy in them, like dirt, but with his vision blurred, he couldn’t tell what it was.

When the tears finally stopped, however, something else consumed his attention, something entirely unexpected. A second reaper appeared through the wall.