EDGE OF FATE

"Damian?" Will gasped, not believing his eyes.

"Get up!" his cousin growled, grabbing Will by the armpits.

Their two other companions quickly appeared, lifting Remy and Becca so they could make a swift exit. The cyborgs tried to chase after them, but a hail of gunfire from the militiamen pinned them down.

Weaving through the crowd, Damian and his team navigated the levels of the mining town. Will fluttered in and out of consciousness as they moved—only coming to when he was shoved into the back of a truck and the rear doors slammed shut.

The truck's engine roared as it sped off at breakneck pace, causing Will to rock unsteadily on the floor. A strong pair of hands kept him secured, while urgent, muffled shouts filled his ears.

"Stop the bleeding..."

"Hold him down! He's going into shock!"

Will groaned, trying to get up, but a firm hand pressed against his chest, keeping him down.

"Remy? Becca?" he croaked, but the grip on his chest held firm.

A crackle came over a walkie-talkie. "Yacob, get to the fort ASAP. We're running out of time!" Damian yelled into the comms.

Will tilted his head and saw Damian and Lawson bent over Remy, struggling to keep him breathing. A rattled gasp escaped as the two instructors fought to stabilize him.

"How much time does he have?" Damian whispered.

Lawson muttered a quick reply, trailing off: "—need to get him to a proper reviver, fast."

"The doctor," Will gasped. "Take us to Dr. Leibowitz."

Damian frowned. "The former saint? The one of Lagen-Huber fame?"

Will nodded, and Damian looked flabbergasted as he checked his pulse. "How could you possibly know him?"

Will bit his tongue, hesitating—how much should he tell his cousin? They were family, but still...

"Will?" Damian demanded.

A sharp jolt stabbed through his knee, and Will clutched his prosthetic. He was about to undo its clasp to ease the pain when he noticed Damian's hard eyes fixed on him.

His cousin reached out and began removing the knee brace.

"Damian, wait!" Will coughed, but the cover was already off.

With a tug, Damian pulled back the stump sock, revealing Will's blackened knee.

Damian stared in shock at the shattered knee, feeling the dark power emanating from it.

"What have you done...?" he murmured.

Lawson stared wide-eyed. "This is—"

Damian rubbed his temples, his gaze never leaving Will's knee, while Lawson looked at him. "Rye..."

"No," Damian shook his head.

"What about Trapper?" she asked.

"Tell him nothing," Damian said, his expression hardening.

Lawson reached out and held his hand. "Whatever you decide, I'm with you."

They held hands briefly before Damian turned to Will. "So, tell me—where is the doctor?"

Will gave the directions, and the truck sped off. Damian administered some painkillers, leaving Will in a woozy state. His head felt fuzzy as he rocked in place while the truck rumbled onward.

Time passed, and Will drifted in and out of consciousness during the journey until, finally, the truck rumbled to a stop. The back doors flew open, and they were greeted by a torrent of snow. Will vaguely remembered being dragged out of the truck and into a walled bungalow. Angry shouts and the unmistakable sound of a cocked shotgun filled the air—but that soon faded as he was rushed inside.

Through the haze, he heard a gruff voice: "You know I'm a researcher, right? I haven't practiced in years."

"The kid was half-delirious when asking for you," Damian's voice echoed through the fog. "The only reason I'm here is because..."

Will struggled to raise his head, but the rest of the conversation faded away, and everything slipped into darkness.

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He didn't know how long he'd been out, but when he came to, the painkillers had worn off, and a fresh wave of pain radiated from his shoulder. Blinking rapidly, he opened his eyes. He was shirtless, gauze wrapped around his shoulder, and his bloodstained coat lay crumpled on the floor beside him. Crowley's briefcase sat next to it, half-open, its contents rifled through.

"Lie down, Will," Damian said, bustling about the room.

Will sat up groggily. A faint, musty smell hung in the air, stifling the small, unfurnished space. Scores of packages lined the walls—a sign the doctor hadn't yet unpacked. He had been shifting from place to place, and it was only the day before yesterday that he'd moved to a small house outside Fort Thornfield.

"Where are Remy and Becca?" Will asked hoarsely.

"Just rest up. You'll know soon," Damian muttered, grabbing one of the packages and rushing out.

"Wait..." Will began, but Damian was already gone.

Grimacing, Will pulled himself up and shuffled to the open door. Damian disappeared around the bend of a narrow corridor, and Will followed.

Around the corner, Will spotted his cousin opening a door and then disappearing behind it. On the floor in front of the door, Becca sat, staring glassily at the threshold.

Will approached her and plopped down beside her. "Any word?" he asked.

She shook her head.

Together, they waited. Will's hand slipped into Becca's as they watched the door. Minutes ticked into hours, and Will drifted off. Strange, hazy visions blurred before his eyes—the underground subway flashing by, a torrent of memories: Annie walking him away, his younger self reaching out only to see her recede with every step.

"My fault." His tiny legs ran after her, but the tunnel seemed endless.

"It's my fault." A mass of horrendous darkness loomed ahead, descending upon his older sister. Will ran desperately toward her. He had failed his sister, and now he had failed his friend. For all he knew, Remy could already be...

"It's..."

"—My fault," Becca choked out, breaking Will from his reverie.

Will looked at her and saw silent tears streaming down her face.

"I should have taken the shot. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't..." Her shoulders shook as she sobbed.

Will put an arm around her. "It's not your fault."

He wasn't sure if he himself would have hesitated to take that shot—he eventually might have, and Remy certainly would have—but Becca... if she had accidentally killed a civilian, he wasn't sure she could live with herself.

Tears stained the gauze over his shoulder. They waited like that for a long while—Will drifting in and out, his injured arm sending pins and needles through his body, stars blinking behind his eyes as dizziness overwhelmed him.

Then, sounds came from behind the door. Will and Becca sat up. The door opened, and Ryder and Lawson stepped out, followed by Doctor Leibowitz.

The two rose, eager for news, and the doctor shook his head. "He is stable, but it's too soon to tell."

Becca let out a choked sob, and Will had to support her. To his surprise, Lawson stepped forward with a compassionate expression and took Becca's hand.

"It's going to be okay, girl," she said kindly. Will was taken aback by the sudden tenderness from their usually severe instructor. She wiped the tears from Becca's face and led her away in hushed tones.

Will took a step forward but then staggered, his head swimming. An uncharacteristic fatigue washed over him, and his eyes grew unfocused.

"Will," Damian called. "What's wrong?"

Doctor Leibowitz moved to his side, checking his pupils. Frowning, he checked Will's pulse and then his forehead. "Your temperature is rising," he observed.

"He's ill?" Damian asked.

"Signature sickness," the doctor replied gravely. "I didn't expect it so soon. What happened in Derbent, Will? How did you get into this state?"

Half-delirious, Will began to recount what had happened in the mining town. His words came out jumbled, echoing strangely in his ears. The bungalow walls seemed to warp around him, and the shadows lengthened into dark, many-legged figures.

A sudden pulse of psions snapped him back from the dark vision, and he saw the doctor staring at him grimly. "The connection has grown stronger."

Will blinked and shook his head. "I keep seeing these visions... they just pop up in my head."

The doctor looked pained, hesitating to speak.

"Doctor?" Damian urged.

"The link has grown to a level that will not be easily severed," the doctor said, shaking his head. "It's only a matter of time now."

"How long?" asked Damian.

"Two weeks."

A chill ran through Will as his heart thudded wildly in his chest.

"A single path is open to you now, Will," the doctor murmured in a thin, grave tone. "You must go after the source."

"The Bishop." Will clenched his fist. At the end of the day, this was the only way.

Damian raised his hand, stopping Will. "Before we proceed, would you mind giving us a minute, Doctor? My cousin and I need some time alone."

The doctor nodded, and Damian escorted Will back to the room where he had been lying. For once, his cousin looked serious—no smiles, no laughs, no snarky remarks. A blue glow suffused him as his battle suit emerged in a spark of electricity, encasing Damian in armor. The field around him grew noticeably heavier, visible through the many cameras embedded in his mech helmet.

Will's heart skipped a beat when he noticed the twin blades resting in the mech's armored hand. A series of clanks emanated from the suit as Damian stepped out, and then the battle suit moved on its own to the side wall, standing menacingly.

"Um..." Will began.

"It's cutting off all signals from the room," Damian said flatly. "Whatever you say here stays here."

"Right," said Will.

"So, talk," Damian prompted. "I bet you have a lot to say."

Will looked between Damian and his mech, long-held suspicions bubbling to the surface. "Why do you have a battle suit? And what were you doing in Derbent?"

Damian considered him for a moment, as if weighing his words. Seconds stretched until he finally spoke. "I run a very lucrative mercenary group. At least, that's the cover story..."

His gaze sharpened. "But most of my contracts involve wet work for the military... I was in Derbent on a similar job."

Will swallowed; he didn't need Damian to spell out what that sort of work entailed.

"Imagine my surprise when I saw my own cousin there... at a pro-separatist rally," Damian continued. "Well, on his way to becoming one of the Hive."

Will stared into his cousin's hard, accusing eyes and thought of Remy in the other room, fighting for his life, and Becca, broken and sobbing after being forced to kill. Meanwhile, he was half-mad, delirious, plagued by visions, unable to trust his own mind.

"I'm in trouble," Will croaked.

"Yes, you are."

"I need help," Will choked out.

"Of course you do."

Will felt his eyes sting—he really needed help. Damian gave him a frustrated look. "You said family should look out for one another. So, here I am."

His cousin leaned forward. "Tell me then, from the very start."

The battle suit glowed with a scintillating blue light, powerfully projecting a protective field across the room.

Will saw the grim determination on his cousin's face—it was time to accept help. After everything that had happened, it was finally time.

And so, Will began to speak.

He told him everything.

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