Ian checked Rinn's pulse again and made a grim discovery—it was steady. "No," he moaned. "No. I gave you twice the dose."

Another sharp shock of pain through his body made him tremble but the sight of the serene, youthful face before him left him numb. It didn't take.

It didn't take and he wrestled with the thought of what to do next. Short of forcing cleaning fluid down her throat, he was at a loss. The very idea made him cringe.

He hunched, fighting back tears. This wasn't how it was all supposed to go. This was wrong—he knew. But leaving her to the mercy of The Colony without him to protect her was a more terrifying thought. He'd seen what one stray psycho could do with a comatose body.

He had to do this. He had to find a way to do this. Today was the third night in a row he'd eyed that dagger. He should have been a man about it. One stab and it would be over. But where...? Not her neck, the same neck he'd slept with his face in a hundred times. Her chest? Right through the heart like the piece of shit he was.

Each attempt he made to pick up that knife robbed him of all courage.

For yet another night, he sat back on his haunches, ignoring his own pain, watching that innocent face.

"I let you down again, love. But you're not giving me much of a choice." Staggering to his feet, Ian pressed his hand against the wall and whispered the command code.

A face appeared on the smooth white surface.

"You again, mutt? Whatddaya want?"

In absolute contempt, Ian demanded, "My money back, you son-of-a-bitch. It's another dud."

The man on the screen was usually inhospitable. Today he looked less concerned and more terrified. "What is this?"

"I said I wanted poison." Ian slammed his fist against the wall. "I said something gentle, not this shit."

A faster response would have put Ian at ease; it was what he readied himself for. When another shock of pain tore through him, he hunched over and braced himself against the wall.

"Listen," the man on the wall began, "...you've worked for us for a good while, and I'll be honest, the nature of my job says not to ask any questions, but I'm asking; what is wrong with you? Who needs this much substance?"

Ian composed himself. "It didn't work."

"Lad, I gave you enough to take out a small section of The Colony herself. And although I usually don't care what happens to the product after a purchase, I'm starting to doubt the wisdom in dealing with you. Especially without the boss's knowledge."

The screen flickered, indicating it was about to shut down.

Ian pleaded, "Wait." When the screen steadied, he swallowed down his pain and tried to smile. "Don't be like that. Don't put me on no block list. I've still got two jobs to deliver. And that big one, aye?"

Arms folded; the man leaned back in his chair. "I know you're good for it; that's why I put up with you. That and you know that if you screw me over, I'll hunt you to your dying day."

Any quick retort Ian might have made died in the back of his throat at the next shot of pain.

"I need something stronger," he finally managed. "Something...gentle, but stronger." Head hung, he let out a haggard breath and whispered, "She deserves that much." I can't cut her up, he decided. I won't. I simply won't.

"There is nothing stronger, Tellman. And if you don't believe me, you're welcome to try it on yourself."

With that, Ian kept his head down. Might it have been a bad batch? He had no one to test it on. Instead of arguing, he gritted his teeth.

"How can I get more?" He met eyes with the man on the screen. "I'll pay in advance. How much?"

An auburn eyebrow rose, smug. "You know what I want. Just finish that big job. And make it fast. Then I'll even give you a free bag to put that living corpse you call a wife in. Seeing you dote over it is pathetic."

Ian's blood boiled; it was all he could do not to give a colorful response.

"Right," Ian said, pushing off the wall. "The big job, then." He asked, doubtful, "And you give me more?"

The grin was slow but satisfied. "Hell, for that job, I'll give you enough to take out two sections."

Ian let the screen fade. All his hope faded with it. That job...that good paying job...that suicide mission he took but never intended to follow through on?

Eyes closed, he turned to put his back against the wall as he slid to the floor. He sat, knees parted, watching the concrete below. In his current condition, he had an even slimmer chance in hell of succeeding.

Weighing all his options again was foolish. If he'd had any left, he wouldn't have injected her with that poison...twice. His gut roiled at the thought, but he forced himself to scan the dingy little room they called a home. There was one very small silver lining—Rinn never had to witness this. Not the uneven colors of the gray floors or the aged walls. The spot was clean at least but it felt like a tomb some days.

With great reluctance, he settled on Rinn's listless frame.

Because once he was gone, she'd be locked in here—trapped physically instead of only mentally. Three days ago, he barely made it home. Tomorrow? What would tomorrow bring?

Finally, Ian admitted defeat. This was it, and there was no coming back.... This was absolutely it.

"Be a man, Ian," he told himself. "Be a damn man." As he rose to his feet, it was nearly a chant. "Be a man." One swoop to the ground got him the knife. The wrists. He'd...he'd cut her wrists. That was the gentlest way he could do this. The very thought had him tearing up.

But he could do this. He could do this.

"You can do this, Ian. You've gotta. Ain't nobody gonna do it for ya."

He found his resolve but couldn't look at her when he knelt this time. The black cushions that lined the ground were the softest he could afford. Each cost more than anything he had for himself. Every single machine that lined the walls were for her, too. Even this place. Five years... For this.

Fingers trembling, Ian reached out to pull Rinn's pale left arm into his lap. A tear escaped his eye. Despite the physical pain he himself was in, this hurt him more.

"It's enough now. Five years is enough. It's enough, love. It's absolutely enough now."

He fought back a sob as he gripped the knife tighter.

"W—wait," a voice wheezed. "Wait."

Frozen, Ian picked his head up to see two terrified brown eyes gazing back at him.

"Wait," the woman said again—clearer. "Please, please don't. Please."

They stared at one another. The look of terror Ian himself wore was one he saw reflected in Rinn's eyes. Then Rinn's steady gaze drifted to the knife and then the syringe on the floor.

She let out a ragged breath, trembling. "Oh shit. Who the hell are you?"