Opus Veda

Kasia could hear no more, save for her echoing heartbeat and sporadic thuds of guns. Her leg dragged behind her; stitches raked her chest; blurred clouds invaded her vision but she knew her path. The avian face of a Medical insurgent materialised like a ghost, attempting to grab her attention before vanishing again.

She carried herself forward. Luis yelled out, nearby yet far, before shifting red figures drowned him out.

And Kasia stayed the course.

Only three things mattered. Serene Esmé, sprawled out dead; hopeless Andrez, nude without his mask and flailing madly.

And Varma; cool, controlled, toying with his opponent.

Kasia threw herself on him.

Another insurgent. Another annoyance in the way. Varma had neither the time nor patience for it.

He gripped her with one hand, circled his sabre around, and impaled her. The insurgent fell to her knees, gripping her head, screaming. Her katana tilted over and teetered along the floor.

And Varma knew her. A foolish girl who had followed him into the revolution and been made a prostitute for it. Her fate had nagged him ever since. Finding her now confused him. Seeing her face contort as she wept and pawed at her gushing wound snapped him out of his bloodlust.

Varma's morale, at last, broke.

Andrez summoned his last strength but there was no need. Varma sat down and hung his head in his hands. The last revolutionaries died around him and all he could fight were his tears. Andrez too fought a battle within; hatred versus remorse. The shrunken captain moved him to pity.

Not enough to spare him.

The battle was over. Opus Veda gathered themselves and awaited orders.

Andrez singled one out. Mike stepped forward and put his arm around the doctor. Andrez struggled for air.

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"Take over… get the injured out..."

"I understand."

Mike hailed the remaining forces, ordering a small group to help him plunder the command centre, and the rest to evacuate casualties.

He patted Andrez's arm.

"I'm afraid you may be a casualty too old boy-"

"No…" Andrez was staring at Varma, a man slumped and silent. Luis guarded him. What remained of Esmé slept nearby.

"Not yet."

The victorious terrorists finished their contract within the palace. Varma shuffled into an empty courtyard, tailed by two men.

London was quiet; the city blacked out; the once encroaching war gone. Only the clear night sky provided light. The moon traced Varma and his captors out in milky white. A thousand stars glittered. They moved Varma; a small pleasure as time ran out. He felt he should go over his life, say something profound or defiant to his executioners, but he didn't care to.

He stood easy.

Andrez stopped. He held the captain's bloody sabre in his hand. Luis leant against a stone column and vaped.

"You'll be needing this..." Varma unfastened his sheath and gave it to the victor, "I hope when you're done with me you'll use it on our mutual enemies. They are the only winners tonight."

Andrez studied the weapon in his hand.

"Your ends were never justified by the means, captain. The revolution never would have harmed the oligarchs. Enough populists have come and gone for us to know better. That is why we never saw eye to eye."

"And what ends justify your means, doctor?"

"There are no ends. We will keep punishing wrongdoers until they make better choices."

"Correcting one individual after another, day in day out, and you expect that one day the system will just repair itself, I suppose? And how many billionaires have you punished by the way?" Varma snorted and shook his head, "you will die doing this…"

Andrez looked down and smiled. Sadness gripped his chest.

"I will..."

He prepared to finish his foe. Varma held a hand up, then pointed over Andrez's side.

"Let her do it."

Out of the palace a limping figure came. A revolver dangled in her hand. She swayed as if drunk, gripping her stomach and hanging forward, her deathly face a grim sign of what life had made her. Her breath wheezed. A crackling sound came from her lungs.

Luis sprinted over to help but she dismissed him. Andrez made way. She nearly fell. Varma caught her and stood her up straight.

He gave her something from beneath his tunic's lapel: a glinting brass round. Kasia fumbled it into the revolver's chamber. Andrez and Luis held back. Varma walked ahead. He took in the starry night - the first and only time he would see it offline.

It mesmerised him. His view became foggy with tears. He grinned.

"Have you seen anything like it? Would any of this have mattered?"

The air cracked. Four figured bleached white. One collapsed into darkness.