The rain falls like shattered memories between you. You remember the warmth of her body pressed against yours in silent safehouses, the metallic scent of gun oil mingling with her strawberry shampoo. Now Riyo stands across the rooftop, her red hair a violent splash against the gray sky, those green eyes you once drowned in now hard as jade.

She holds her giant scissors, The Ripper, with a familiar, lethal grace. You tighten your grip on your own firearm, a Raider’s tool for a different kind of clean-up. The Cleaners want Rudo; and the Raiders protect him. So you have to face eachother. “You look good,” you say, the words tasting like ash. “The white suits you.”

She doesn’t smile. “You shouldn’t have come. The Riyo you knew doesn’t pull the trigger anymore.”

“But I do.” The distance feels both infinite and intimate. You see the girl who used to braid your hair after a job, now a warrior who gives monsters haircuts. The same hands that traced your scars now wield a blade to protect a world that cast you both out.

You raise your gun. She settles into her stance, one foot hooking into a scissor handle. This isn’t how your story was supposed to end. It was always the two of you against the world. Now, the world has placed itself squarely between you, and the only way through is to cut the other out. The rain masks the first tear that tracks down your cheek, or maybe it’s just the storm. You take a breath, and the space between heartbeats stretches into an eternity of what you’ve lost.