"So. What can we call you then?" Duke asks, after a long and painful silence.

"I'm Edie," Gabriel says.

"No, you're not," I object. "You don't look like an Edie at all."

"How does an Edie look?" she asks, without showing much interest.

"Nothing like you," I inform her.

"Yeah," Duke adds, "you look even more like a Gabriel than an Edie. And you don't look like a Gabriel at all, either, because a Gabriel should be a male with wings, logically."

"Noted." She nods. "Now, back to the more important questions."

She waits for a few minutes, but we remain silent.

"You wanted to tell me something about the virus," she reminds us.

"Yes... Edie," Duke answers. Then frozen silence, again.

"You said that in case Mint would win, the children would die," she nudges Duke.

This seems to work. The asshole gets over his shock the very moment he notices the opportunity to tell on me.

"Yes," he says, clearing his throat. "I told you about the vaccine already. Well, this snake is going to sell it to the highest bidder."

"No need for future tense," I correct him. "I already sold it."

Duke stares at me with disgust. Gabriel, with interest. So I keep on talking to her.

"If I wouldn't have sold it, the Agency would have it. And our dear old creep, Mr. Toe would hand it to our dirty old government. And—"

"The Agency will have it, Mint," Duke interrupts me. "You and your little army have failed to retrieve the vaccine to this day."

I don't let him disturb me.

"These are minor details. Sooner or later, we'll get it. And then—"

"And then," he interrupts me again, "millions will die. Your client, our newest fucking nightmare, Pavlov will see to it, won't he?"

"Does he want to possess the vaccine just to make sure that it won't be used?" Gabriel asks.

"Hell no," I answer. "He wants to make a fortune out of it, like any good gangster."

"Exactly," Duke agrees, for a change. "He wants to use it to make a profit. And those who can't pay for it will be left to die."

"Right." I shrug. "And what would your precious government do? I tell you what. Exactly the same thing, just under a fancy propaganda name, which includes social justice and scarcity of resources. They wouldn't simply let those who are in need die, they would also make people swallow it. As they usually do."

"There is a slight difference, though," Duke points out. "While making money, your Pavlov also plans to, quote, 'restore the honor of hard work.' And while it sounds like a plausible goal, in his disturbed little mind, it equals to the elimination of all those people who can't work."

"That's bullshit," I object.

"He has a manifesto, Mint," Duke lashes out. "I've read it. And it states frankly and squarely how he imagines going back to the long lost golden era of virtues. His little utopia doesn't include the old, the ill, the disabled, or, strangely, the gay people, just to name a few. But that's not your problem, as long as he pays you well, right?"

"Damn right, Duke. He pays me, at least. Our noble government doesn't even pay well for our hands getting dirty."

"We're talking about millions of people, you piece of shit!"

"You weren't this picky about civilian casualties before," I remind him. "Collateral damage can't be avoided, right? Like when we were in—"

"For fuck's sake, Mint!" he grunts. "We're talking about people like these children here!"

"Oh, shut up! No one wants to kill children."

"Or people like me," Gabriel says, without raising her voice, in a calm, conversational tone, as if she was talking about the weather.

In a blink of an eye, I forget what I was about to say.

"We're also talking about people like me," she repeats, turning to face me.

I stumble a step back.

"Do you want to see me dead, Mint?" she asks.

I wish I could answer, but my useless brain stopped working. I gawk at her, wishing I could come up with something, but I'm still not done with deciphering her words, either. People like her? What does she mean by that? Is she gay? But she just talked about her first man.

"Well, it makes sense," she goes on, still sounding as impassive as ever. "You came here to kill me, right? And the virus is another way to get the job done, without making you throw up. Are you okay with that, Mint? A virus could finish what you started. How convenient. That wouldn't make you sick, right?"

I'm not so sure about that. I feel a tightness in my stomach, then in my chest, then in my throat. The last thing I need is a panic attack right here, right now. I take a deep breath.

"Don't take it as a fact," I squeeze out. "It's not that serious."

"Well, not to you, obviously," she says, "because you're normal."

Now, at least, she doesn't sound like she's reading a particularly boring essay about bovine tuberculosis. Now she sounds like she's talking about herself, finally. She sounds a bit hurt. I hear it. I also hear my breaths becoming alarmingly labored.

"I don't support Pavlov's ideas," I say.

"I don't care much about ideas," she answers. "I care about facts."

It's hard to look her in the eyes. She usually avoids direct eye contact, but now it feels like she's burning holes in my brain just by looking at me. I don't even know why I answer her real, unspoken question, but I do.

"I built a fucking empire," I confess to her. "I can't let it go just like that."

"Of course you can't," she answers.

"If I tried to back away from this contract, I'd lose everything in a second," I explain to her. "Including my head."

She nods, closes her eyes, and turns away from me.

"Okay," I blurt out. "Just give me some time, will you? I still don't know how, but—"

"You have all the time in the world, Mint," she says, again, as calmly as if we were playing statues. "If you're getting impatient, and want to kill me the old school way, please, don't do it here, next to the children, and that's it."

I try to take a deep breath, but I can't. Something in my throat doesn't let me.

"Your gun," she reminds me. "I'll give it back on your way out."

I want to answer, but I don't have enough air in my lungs to do that. I follow her out of the classroom without casting a single glance at Duke. He's probably smirking, but I lack the strength to check it.

It feels like ages until we get to the fucking nurse room. I wish I could sit down on the bed there. Or, even better, lie down. It doesn't matter that it's so small, I could curl my legs up so that I fit. If I told her the truth, that I'm not feeling well, she might let me lie there for a few minutes before I go. She might sit on the edge of the bed, too, and put her hand on my forehead to check if I have a fever. But, obviously, I choose to say nothing.

When she hands me the gun, I have no other reason left to stay. I must leave her alone, all unprotected and vulnerable.

"Keep it," I tell her.

"I don't need a gun."

"I don't need it either," I insist. "I have several other guns."

"I bet you have."

"Just to defend yourself, you know."

My voice surprises me. It has a definite pleading edge.

"Against you?" she asks. "I don't think I'm good enough for that."

I turn around and walk away without answering. She could shoot me in the back if she wanted to.

It would make things so much easier.