III

A life was in Faust's arms. He felt the flutters of its fragile heartbeat through his sleeves. He felt the damp air flow in and out of it as it breathed. As he gazed down gently at its form, the urge to protect it and love it overwhelmed him -- he drew away from Connie jealously.

"I can't," he cried. "I won't!"

The world fell dead silent. So much blood was rushing past his ears that it drowned out even the clamour of Barden City. Distantly, people were shouting, thronging in their masses, honking on their horns and throttling their engines. But not here.

The baby sighed, extending its arms as thin as matchsticks, and said, "Look at me, my love. What sort of life would you have me live? I'm trapped in this body. I can't even turn my head to look around, open my mouth to sing, nor can I lift an arm to scratch my back! Please -- set me free."

"No!" Faust's eyes ran wet. "What sort of victory would that be?"

"Faust..." said Connie, her expression the grimmest he'd ever seen it, the mask under the mask under the mask. Something about it sent adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"We can't!" He scrambled to his feet, clutching himself tight, backtracking away into the endless dead end. "Remove the reflexes inherent in the flesh mound! All those in favour?"

2Y -- INVALID PERMISSION

As if guided by a marionette, the baby's hand plunged downwards, like a knife into a gut.

"Why?" he said. "Why won't it work?"

"Would you be able to make yourself stop breathing?" asked the baby. "I'm very proud of you, Faust. I can see you've learned a lot and you've tried very hard to save me. No one's going to blame you for this."

No one? Faust didn't need a prophet to imagine himself lying awake, staring at the ceiling as it caught the rays of dawn, haunted by regrets for an act he could never reverse.

He said, "One will."

At that, the foetus started wriggling like a little fleshy wiggle worm, trying to wrest its way free from Faust's grasp, but Faust held fast.

"Stop this!" the grown man shouted. "Please! What good will it do me to escape from the foreverness of death if I spend the rest of my life tormenting myself for never saving you? Either way, I see an eternity of suffering before me!"

The baby said, "What good will it do me to see one of you drop dead? Cool your head, you weirdo. Take a deep breath and step back. Stop avoiding the issue by throwing a fit."

"Faust..." Connie walked slowly towards him, looping the net around her hands. It didn't look like she was brainstorming. She wouldn't, would she? Connie wouldn't!

"You wouldn't," he cried. "Weren't we a team, Connie? Are you really going to raise a hand against one of your own?"

 She stood still, stiff legs, stiff voice. "Just take a deep breath and let's think about this, man. Let's not rule anything out just yet. Foetus -- is it really true that killing you is the only way to end the game?"

"Jesus wept," shouted the baby. "You two are as deaf as DJ's! Of course!"

Connie stretched out a section of the net in front of her eyes and studied it carefully, very carefully. Ever more carefully, she showed the net to Faust. It was still, not shaking even slightly.

"The Net of Truth confirms it," she said. "I know a liar when I see one, and I know you, Faust. You're not lying about this. This is the only way. Now: what are you going to do?"

She was too close for comfort, and the baby struggled ever harder to escape his grip. Without even realising it, he started jogging backwards -- funny that now he should find the motivation.

"A timeskip," he said. "We can do a timeskip. Set the word count to only come back in eighty years. Blow the audience off."

The baby slapped its little palm upside its head. And just like that, the realisation set in. Using the vote to control the vote was like using feelings to sort out feelings. It wasn't going to lead to anything productive. So it came to pass that Faust the undertaker committed his first atrocity.

Oh, fuck, was he really going to do this?

"Hold still," he barked, cold resolve washing over him like an ice bath.

He gripped the baby's arm between two fingers then pushed the None Edged-Sword into its shoulder. Slowly, agonisingly, he began to lever the arm outward, shoving the sword hilt ever deeper into its body, pulling with all his might. The dead Faust was screaming. Then came the horrific sound of ripping  as the flesh tore away, and soon the bones and tendons followed, rent clean out of the socket.

"Kill me," screamed the baby. "Kill me!"

Faust brushed his tears aside, then did the same with the other arm, using the hilt to lever it out and plucking it away until all that remained was a bloody stump. His hands stained crimson.

"Please," it was begging. "It hurts! End my life!"

"Jesus, man," cried Connie, her face pale. "Hurry up and finish the job! What the fuck are you doing, torturing it like you're butchering a chicken?"

"There," said Faust. He was going to be sick. "Now we can vote. All those in favour of revoking the word count?"

"Faust..." said Connie.

They put up their thumbs, and Faust watched the baby intently, even as it wriggled around and screamed and begged for death. Green energy was underpinned by blood.

"It doesn't have any thumbs to put down anymore!" he cried, a certain desperation in his voice. "We can vote to heal it once we've got rid of the wordcount!"

Finally, the outpouring of energy from their vote fizzled out, and the last few sparks settled like dust, and out of the gloomy mist came the voting results.

2Y -- INVALID PERMISSION

"Please," said the baby. "Please, Faust!"

Connie wrestled him, making a grab for the None-Edged Sword. He pushed back, taller and stronger and much better fed, easily swatting her off him. But he'd stepped forward into her net, which soon tightened around him. His fingers worked at the knots in vain. With one tug, Connie had him on the floor, and she had the sword hilt, and she had the baby.

She set it down. She raised the hilt high above her head, and let it plummet like a guillotine...

"Wait!" he cried. "I should be the one to do it."

She pulled him up. He brandished his None-Edged Sword, his Djinn, and in a single blow he killed himself.