I've never believed in destiny or fate, or in some mad puppeteer pulling my strings. That's just absurd. Life is a series of choices, a million forks in a road. I'm only here, trapped behind a crate in the freezing rain, because I've taken a few wrong turns. Nothing led me to this moment, and nothing is going to have a hand in my untimely demise. Not that I'm going to have an untimely demise. I know better than that. I was The Institution's not-so-golden boy, their pride and their bane. Honestly, I should have seen this betrayal coming. It was inevitable really.
So why is it now that the inevitable has come to pass, I feel completely paralysed? This isn't fear. I know fear. I can deal with fear. This is something so much worse. I've hit a dead end, and I can't seem to find a way around it. I can't move away from this crate, not unless I want to die in a hail of bullets, and that's not how I'm gonna go. Bonnie and Clyde just isn't my style. If nothing else, I want to take them all out with me. Not that it'll ever come to that. I'll get out of this, I always do. I just... I need a plan.
Maybe Matty was right, maybe I do rely on my power too much. Why shouldn't I? There are those that can sing and those that can dance. I can create portals using glass. True, it's an unconventional gift, but I don't think that means I can't use it. It's useful. Versatile. It makes my job much easier. What's wrong with relying on it? Then again, this might be what's wrong with it. If I had spent more time developing my other skills I might not have gotten separated from those two idiots. I might not have been forced down this blasted quay. I might stand a chance of surviving tonight.
No. This isn't the time to be so defeatist. There'll be time enough for that when... When what? When I escape? Somehow that doesn't seem very likely. I don't think I've ever been in a situation this bleak. I've got nothing left, no tricks or ploys or stratagems. Nothing. All I have now is a crate of fish. All the mirrors and glass I carried with me are gone, smashed into a million useless pieces. This blasted rain isn't helping either. It's swallowing those piece and sweeping them off the quay. I've got a hunting knife – Mark insisted on that – but it's no use against snipers.
Somewhere behind me, beyond the protection of the crate, I think I can hear the soft shuffle of footsteps. It's hard to make out over the surging waves and splattering rain, but I'm sure it's there. He's coming for me. It makes sense. It's what I'd do if I were in his shoes. Play it safe, isolate the enemy and take them out one by one. For an annoying little twit he's learnt pretty well. Still, it is a little unpolished. He should have tried to take me out from a distance before closing in.
I lean back against the crate, staring out over the dark waters. The Thames is completely deserted. There aren't any little boats bobbing on the swell, and the brightly lit cruise boats are nowhere to be seen. The stream of lights along the South Bank is completely uninterrupted. The only flaw in that perfect skyline is Him, but He can hardly be helped. He just wafts there, floating high above the water, His orange scales gleaming with an unearthly light. But I don't want to think about Him. I'd rather think about that perfect, unbroken skyline. I've never seen the Thames like this, it must be the work of The Institution. I had no idea they were so determined to get rid of me. It's almost flattering. Almost.
When did this all begin? When did they decide to get rid of me, of all of us? Above all, why? We were a great team. We were the best. When did we become a liability? Half a year ago everything seemed normal. Half a year... It sounds like such a long time ago. It's hard to believe that I've – that we've – been running away for that long. I don't even know how we got away in the first place. It all seems so ridiculous.
I shut my eyes against that sparkling skyline. It's too familiar, too nostalgic. My flat wasn't too far from here, back when things were normal. Well, as normal as things can be for a hit-man. I wonder if there was some hint of what was to come back then. There probably wasn't, knowing me. I'm not exactly one to trust, I know that. Matty was pointing it out for years before... before she died. Even if she hadn't done, everyone has been mentioning it these past six months.
There's no point thinking about any of that. I should be thinking of my mum or Him or something, anything but all the rubbish that landed me in this death trap. I know I should be, but I can't help myself. I can't help going over the last half year in my mind. I really can't.
