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He was this close.
The terminal was just out of his reach, inches from his fingers when the spray of bullets ripped through his body.
The pain didn't hit him at first - just a strange, distant feeling as the floor came up to meet him, his arm outstretched to break the fall. It was once he was down there that he knew he wasn't getting back up.
He tried to breathe, and the shell breathed for him, his lungs contracting at a rhythm that didn't match the panic that he felt. The body was calm, but even the personality matrix couldn't mask his dread. He could feel the blood underneath him, a rapidly expanding pool of blue, unexpectedly cold for what it was, and slowly, carefully, he dragged himself into a seated position, head resting against the bottom of the terminal.
His camo flickered once, twice, a weak shimmer that spread across his synthetic skin, and then it was gone.
Not like it was going to save him now.
He heard his assailant before he saw them, the quiet click of footsteps on metal flooring somewhere in the shadows ahead of him. He lifted his head too fast and the world lurched, his vision flickering at the edges. The light coming through the window reflected off her visor as she stepped into the light, and a sick feeling settled over him as he realized she had probably been watching him from the moment he came in the door. Waiting.
His gun had ended up too far away to be of any use, but his fingers closed around the knife at his hip, his grip slippery with his own blood. Her visor flicked upwards, revealing glowing purple eyes as she laughed, short and sharp.
"And what exactly do you plan to do with that?"
She crouched in front of him, elbows on her knees, far enough that he couldn't reach her but close enough that he could see every piece of her pristine gear, including the massive rifle she had slung over her shoulder. The source of the holes that had ripped through his shell, he deduced.
"Squad's right behind me," he lied, glancing at the window in an attempt to sell it. "You'll be fucked once they show up."
"Is that so?" Her visor flicked back down over her eyes, and she rose to glance out the window, scanning the area. On her back was a second gun, as modded to the gills as the first, and a pack that looked so full of loot that it might burst.
He hadn't had a shot in hell, had he, with his bare-bones sponsored kit and not a clue in the world what he was getting himself into? He had been this close to getting the contract done, and foolishly figured he might even be able to grab some gear on his way back out.
And now here he was, face to face with this beautiful monster who had the guts to play with her food before devouring it.
She turned back around. For a moment, he thought she had taken the bait, believed his lie, until that cold purple gaze was fixed on him again.
"You know what I think?"
Her fist slammed into the shutter's button, sending the metal shade cascading down over the window and plunging the room into darkness.
"I think you're a little liar, and I think you're all alone."
He cursed under his breath, tried to drag himself away from her further into the corner, all too aware of the blue puddle he was leaving in his path. He didn't have long - the only shot in hell he had of making it to an exfil in one piece was if somebody else stumbled upon them. And if that somebody happened to be more interested in taking off with her sleek gear than they were in finishing him off.
She was humming something to herself, a tune he didn't recognize, as she slowly walked towards him, eyes even brighter in the darkness. His grip on his knife tightened, and a tremor ran though his arm to the shoulder.
"I'm surprised you're still bothering to hold on. Are you afraid, Runner?"
He gritted his teeth. Something about the way she looked at him, sizing him up, made his skin crawl. He had nothing to give her, and as soon as she realized that - if she hadn't already - this game would end, wouldn't it?
She crouched down in front of him, slow and deliberate, tilting her head.
"Oh, look at you," she said softly. "You are." She sounded delighted.
Her fingers reached out to pluck the knife from his hand. He didn't even feel her take it, his arm limp and lifeless. One second it was there, and the next her fingers were turning it over in the dim light, admiring it, running her thumb along its sharp edge like it was a gift he had brought her.
"This is cute. Were you going to try and kill me with this?" She tossed her black hair out of her face as she turned to his abandoned gun, discarded on the floor. "Or that?"
He said nothing.
"That's sweet," she murmured, and she tucked the knife into her belt like it had always been hers. "I'm flattered."
She leaned in closer. He pressed himself further into the corner, but there was nowhere left to go, just the cold edge of the terminal against his back and its faint hum vibrating through his skull. She reached out and caught his chin between her fingers, tilting his face toward hers.
"First time?"
He averted his gaze from hers, his silence and pathetic appearance the only answer she needed.
Her thumb traced along the edge of his jaw, almost gentle, and then her grip tightened and she forced his head to the side, examining the bullet holes that ran up his back and side with detached interest.
"Mm. I can tell. You came in loud, you went straight for the prize, didn't sweep the room. Didn't even check your corners." She clicked her tongue. "I was right there, you know. I watched you walk right past me. Thinking you're invincible because you're invisible. Not to me."
"Just fucking get it over with," he hissed, wincing at the shot of pain through his body as he tried to pull his head from her grasp. Surprisingly, she let go, slipping her hand back into her belt to retrieve his knife, and for a moment he thought this was it as she rested it against his chest.
Then she tilted her head, coyly. "Why would I do that?"
The blade moved, suddenly but slowly, opening up a thin line of blue across his chest. She watched the blood well to the surface, beading and running down his pale synthetic skin to join the liquid oozing from his wounds, with an expression he could only describe as fascination.
"I love it when it's the first time," she hummed, dragging the knife lower. "You're all the same. All shy and trembling because you're afraid to die, aren't you?" She didn't pause to give him a chance to answer. "Death isn't what you need to fear. You should be afraid of me."
He bit the inside of his cheek so hard that he felt the synthetic skin break, tasteless blood filling his mouth.
She stared at him, batting her lashes innocently as she dragged the blade down his chest, ripping a gasp of pain from him. This cut was deeper, a waterfall that cascaded down his body.
"Are you going to beg?"
He wouldn't. He wouldn't. He gritted his teeth and stared at the plastic ceiling and tried to focus on the hum of the terminal that reverberated through his body. On anything but the pain and on her.
"That's a shame. You won't remember when you wake up. Not all of it, anyway. There'll be all these little pieces gone, right-" She tapped his temple with the flat of the blade, and he flinched. "-here."
The trembling was getting worse, and he couldn't feel his legs at all anymore, the numbness creeping up his back, mixing with the aching, throbbing pain of the gaping holes.
"And they'll rearrange them, over and over, until there's nothing left of what you were. You won't know what you lost. That's the best part."
His vision was flickering at the edges again, and he blinked it away, but she was still there when it came back. Still sharp and captivating and beautiful in his focus as she drew closer.
"How many times do you think it'll take for you?" she asked, softer now, lips brushing the side of his face. "Until it all fades away?"
He opened his mouth, drew a shuddering breath, closed it, opened it again.
"Please," he said, and he meant stop talking, but it came out bare and raw and exactly what she wanted.
"There it is," she said softly, and her lips brushed over his as she drove the knife into his chest. Slowly, deliberately, glowing eyes wide and hands steady as the blade separated his ribs.
His eyes shot wide and a final, gasped breath drew itself from his lungs, more instinct than anything as white-hot agony filled his body. She kissed him through it, sucking the air and the life from him, cleaning the blood from his broken skin with her tongue. His hand twitched at his side, fingers dragging through the ocean of his blood, reaching up and wrapping around her hand but lacking the strength to stop her, to reverse what had already been done.
"Shh," she whispered, finally drawing away, lips painted blue.
One hand came up to rest against the side of his face, her thumb brushing his cheekbone as the knife sank deeper.
"There you go. See? That's not so bad. There's nothing to be afraid of."
Somehow, her palm was warm, and he leaned into it as she cradled his face, the pain dissolving into something distant and formless.
"I'll find you again," she whispered in his ear, voice sickly sweet. "I always do."
His vision was pure static now, only the faintest glimpse of purple still visible in the mess of color as his mind left the broken shell behind.