This has gone on long enough, and our collective energy is just about sapped again.

                At last, without even having to look at each other, Brian and I struggle back to our feet, releasing our grip on Goodwin.  I half-expect him to lunge right up at the earliest opportunity and club me in the jaw before scampering off into the darkness like a wounded animal, but he makes no sudden movements, and doesn’t even pull himself up until the three of us have staggered back a few feet.  When he does finally act, his motions are weary, like those of an elderly man with just a few more days on his personal calendar to tick off.  He’s clearly just as worn down by the morbid conversation as we are.

                “You’re a coward,” Brian deadpans matter-of-factly to our predecessor.  The shiv remains clenched in his whitened hand.  “I hope you know that.”

                “Look,” Goodwin grunts, his chest heaving, though his features have, incredibly, mollified just a tad, to the point that he looks less rabid muskrat and more tortured human soul.

                A lot like us, I’d bet, if we had mirrors, though I can’t say I’d have the bravery to look at a reflection of myself now.

                “What?” Kelly responds resignedly as she leans back into a chunk of wood, her head slumped forlornly against her chest.

                “I don’t know what you want me to say.  Sorry?  Fine.  I’m sorry for creating the thing that took away the last couple years of your lives,” Goodwin says, and to my surprise, he drops the stainless steel armor of crusted sarcasm to give us the briefest glimpse of sincerity.

                “Thanks so much,” Brian says with the most passive-aggressive smile I think I’ve ever seen etched onto a person’s face.

                “That’s not all, I bet,” Goodwin continues.  “I’ve been hiding in here all this time.  Is that what you want, too, then?  A sorry for not getting out sooner and bringing the cavalry to kick in the door?  A sorry for knowing that Techilogic would kill me as soon as I poked my head out into the open again?  Okay, sure.  I’m sorry for those things, too.”

                Kelly sighs heavily, too out of it to request that the man shut the hell up.

                Brian twiddles the shiv between his fingers a few times: a little dance of death.  I can see the gears turning in his head, and I know Goodwin can, too.

                “Does that make it better?  Me saying sorry?  It’s a fucking word, and I mean it, but it does bullshit for you or your friends.  So I don’t know what you could want from me now other than my neck,” Goodwin says.  “Do what you’re going to do, then.  Old papa over here has that look in his eye.”

                Indeed, Brian is still seething, his whole body quaking, though it’s surely a fairly complicated miasma of conflicting fury all directed at varying targets including Goodwin, Julia, Charlie, Techilogic, and probably God, if Brian still has any semblance of faith.

                “I’m too sick of this.  All this bullshit.  It makes me tired,” Goodwin admits, exhausted of life, and I can tell he’s being genuine.  “So if you think it’ll make you feel better… get some kind of satisfaction for everything Julia took from you because she found me, well… go ahead.  Because I’ve had enough.”

                I know that this, too, is true.  His voice is hoarse, nearly devoid of any feeling.  Or life, for that matter.

                Brian rises to his feet with the effort of someone lifting a car off an injured loved one.  His weapon hand falls to his side as he advances on Goodwin, who remains motionless, watching him with slackened features and deceased eyes until the pair are virtually chest-to-chest.

                Instead of striking forward to plunge the tip into the throat of the PMRD’s inventor, though, Brian lets his fingers open, and the shiv clatters to the ground  much more loudly than I’d have thought possible for something so small.

                “I’ve seen plenty of people die already,” Brian croaks.  “I’ve had enough, too.”

                Goodwin nods once, recognizing himself in Brian’s face.  No mirror necessary.

                “You can have some more of the food, and there’s a warm place to sleep in the corner over there,” the bearded harbinger says, pointing off behind his mountain of collected junk.  “If you’re set on going back up there and ending it with her, go right ahead.”

                “All right,” Brian says, turning to observe the area, and is probably already contemplating the fact that his last meal on earth will consist of stale bread.  I know Kelly, with her hands pressed to her cheeks, must be thinking of things in a similar fog: the places she won’t see, the years of life she’ll miss, and most of all, the people she’ll never see again.

                Meanwhile, I’ve been stuck in my own overcast reverie, with my legs huddled up against my chest, and my hands clenched to the back of my neck as though a tornado is about to blow through, because in truth, it is.

                Inside my head, I start to thumb through the last pieces of my memory I give a damn about, like I’m sorting through an old photo album before letting it slide into a crackling bonfire.  A last rite, maybe, before I go out.

                This is what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it?

                I can see them all in aching purity.

                My foster parents, making sure I had clothes on my back and food on my plate, in spite of my childishness and lack of foresight or understanding of what was important in life before I was imprisoned.

                I hear Kelly’s voice, guiding me in the dark.  Brian’s arms, pulling me away from the edge.  Both of them blindly trusting that I could help us find the way.

                I see Anna’s kind eyes, even in her last moments, insisting with her reassuring gaze that the world didn’t have to crumble around us if we didn’t want it to.  That there was still something on the other side worth clawing toward.

                I can feel Gina’s hand wrapping around mine, her skin soft but her grip strong despite not knowing how many more breaths we get to have before Julia squeezes the last one out of us.  Something that made me feel like there was a reason to try - something good worth preserving at all costs.

                And in that moment, I know giving in just yet isn’t an option.

                We aren’t through.

                “No,” I say, and everyone’s heads turn with a start in my direction, clearly having almost forgotten I was here.  “Not yet.”

                “Jack,” Brian says.  “There’s… nothing else.  It’s done.”

                “Yes there is,” I say, standing up, and turn to Goodwin.  “Her PMRD.  You said you jail-broke it.  You know how it works.”

                He winces like I just spit into his face.  “I know what you’re thinking, kid.  Trust me.  Reprogramming it to turn on her, right?  That’s not an option, even if we can get the damn thing in our hands and turn it on.”

                “Why?” Kelly demands.  By now, all of us are standing again.

                “A failsafe.  I couldn’t afford to have anyone trace it back to me.  If anyone tries to break into the ID system and use it without authorization, the CPU is designed to corrupt itself within… I don’t know, seventeen seconds?  If I had my equipment, maybe I could get around it, but…”

                “That’s not what I meant,” I say, already having guessed our options in that respect would be limited.  “Maybe it’s too late for us.  But we can still make sure Julia never gets to take someone else’s life away.”

                Brian’s fists tighten.  Kelly bites her lip, clasping her hands together as if sending off a prayer.  Even Goodwin, a shambling corpse, bows his head a little.

                “This is kind of our last chance to, you know… matter,” I utter, looking to each pair of weary irises in turn, which seem to glow even in the dimness of this purgatory.  “What do you say?”