Tsuyoshi ran into his room, wiping his hands as he went, and looked for something solid to use.

The sword lay on the table where he'd left it months ago. Still sitting there like a concealed threat. It had to be perfect.

Tsuyoshi picked it up and walked out, no stopping him. Fucking Niall Turner was following behind, like a bad smell you couldn't get rid of.

"Are you angry because she talked about me like I was the brother type and not you?" Niall asked.

Tsuyoshi drew the sword. "Fuck off."

Even Niall stumbled back at that and gave Tsuyoshi time to get away.

The zombie robots outside were waiting. Facing them with a weapon was hands on, active. Better than sitting in a hospital room waiting for someone to die. Tsuyoshi didn't really know what to do with a sword but it couldn't be that hard, right? People used them in cartoons all the time.

The woman Jin worked for started yelling at him as soon as he walked out the door, but she leaned away from the sharp thing he was holding and didn't stop him.

He slashed out at the nearest thing that moved at him – wow, swords were heavier than he expected – and hit off the edges. It was hard enough not to injure himself with it. He moved with the sword again, still no idea what he was doing, and hit the monster. The creature coalesced around his sword, its movable mechanical parts rearranging in a grotesque shape. He pulled. The sword was stuck.

Completely useless.

He still had the sheath or scabbard or whatever the hell it was called in his other hand. Shrugged and figured that would do. Anything could be a weapon in the right hands, and Tsuyoshi's hands longed to do some violence.

He brought what he had down on the monster's neck, again and again and again, until its mostly mechanical head looked in danger of falling off. The machine oil lubricating its parts spattered everywhere, all over his filthy clothes. He started to laugh. He hit it again until it went down, then kicked it for further measure. Just to be sure it wouldn't move.

"I'm sorry, Ivan," he said, but he wasn't sorry at all. "I saw you do worse things to people's bodies. Fair's fair."

He got steadily more coated in muck and sweat as he went. Somehow, in the rough centre of the space between buildings, he bumped into Zelko, who was weirdly clean, other than a strange shininess to his face.

"Are you wearing lip gloss?" Tsuyoshi asked.

Zelko rubbed at his face. "It's just sweat. Why are you out here instead of inside with all the hospital bullshit?"

"I want to do violence. I want to do a lot of violence."

Zelko held out a gun. "You picked a good time for it."

Tsuyoshi grabbed it and checked that it was loaded. He wasn't sure the feeling on his face was the edge of a smile or the beginning of psychotic laughter. "Yeah."

"You really are the most beautiful man I've ever met," Zelko said, like he was sad about it.

Tsuyoshi turned around to shoot something. "I better be."

*

It was more quiet in the hospital, even with Gael's pained moans. Everything through the window looked like a TV show, like nothing that could be real, except for the brilliant glide of Tsuyoshi's body through the space. Angharad bit her lip trying not to worry. She'd look up for a moment just to see he was still okay, and then back down to Gael when she remembered to worry about him instead.

She smiled, as much as she could, and put her hand over one of Gael's, so he'd know he wasn't alone.

"I can't believe I'm going to die a virgin," Gael said.

"Would your death be any less sad if you weren't a virgin?"

"No, but... It's just not fair."

Angharad changed her grip on Gael's hand. "You're right. It isn't fair."

She didn't want to cry, but it was so hard to hold back that feeling that the edges of her eyes were heavy with tears.

"Could I ever get a girl like you?" he asked.

She laughed out of the side of her mouth, and then bit down on it again. "Sorry, Gael. You're not my type. It was never meant to be."

"That's cold," he said, and laughed. "Even when I'm dying you can't give me a lie."

"What kind of person would I be if I lied to you when you were dying?"

"That's nice. You're an honest person. I like that." His voice was soft, sincere. "Would we have been friends if we met elsewhere?"

"Yeah, I think so. If you were at my school we totally would have got along. I would have introduced you to all my friends."

"Any cute girls?"

His question turned into a coughing fit. He turned his head to the side and coughed right on his arm. For a few minutes it seemed like he couldn't stop, but it trailed off into nothing. She put her hands to his forehead and wiped back his sweaty hair, then picked up the hand towel and wiped the blood from his face.

"Yeah, plenty of cute girls," she said, when it was quiet again. From outside she could hear something get shot. She wanted to get up and look but knew she shouldn't look away. Someone had to be there for Gael. "Eliza would have liked you. I would have set you up with her."

"What was she like?"

"A mean, vivacious, fashion-obsessed, rich redhead."

"Like Tabitha?"

"Nothing like Tabitha," Angharad said, and laughed. "That only sounds alike because you never met her. Eliza loves boys and Tabitha hates all people. They're totally different."

"You miss her," Gael said.

"I do."

"I miss my mom and dad," Gael said. He coughed again. Angharad tried to be more careful as she stroked his hair to the side. "I miss everything." He rattled against his chains. "It's okay. You don't have to watch me all the time. You can go check on that guy."

Angharad felt her face get warm. "Are you sure?"

Gael nodded. Angharad took her chance and let his hand slip from hers as she made her way up and to the window. Outside, perfectly framed by the window sill, Tsuyoshi was dealing out violence with a steady hand. Maybe that was why he told her he wasn't a very good Buddhist.

He shot something down, and stood up straight and tall, eyes hot, breathing heavy. He shook his head, and she watched as he leaned back and wiped the blood from his face and pushed his dark fringe of hair behind his ears. Her hands shook as she watched, and she swallowed at nothing.

"Why do you like that guy?" Gael asked.

"He's my friend. He took care of me." Better than I'm taking care of you, she thought.

"He's such a dick. And he's not into you like that."

"It's not like that." Maybe it was a little like that, sometimes, when he smiled like the world was burning and she couldn't help but feel dazed. But not really like that. Not enough to matter.

"Why do girls like guys they can't have?" Gael asked.

"Do I like people I can't get?" Angharad asked herself. She looked down, to the side. Thought of Josephine under her umbrella, untouchable and irresistible. "Maybe it's better when you can't have someone. It's not worth the effort." Angharad looked back at Gael now that she'd looked her fill of Tsuyoshi. "Anyway, technically I guess I still have a boyfriend. It's not like I can break up with him from here."

Gael took in a deep, shaking breath. "What kind of guy gets a girl like you?"

Angharad moved back to her chair and took hold of his hand again. She was ready to be the person who could sit there and watch this. "Pretty much the worst. James is terrible."

"What does Tsuyoshi have that other guys don't have?" His voice was slow, like everything in him was slowing down.

Angharad caressed his hair again. "He doesn't hit on me. He'll never hit on me. He makes me feel safe from that. But that's silly, because you're safe, too, Gael. You're a very safe, nice option. I wish we'd met somewhere before this. I would have loved being your friend."

*

The conversation slowed. After a while he didn't really speak anymore, only made noise. She held his hand through it, through every shaking fit, even as his chains rattled and the metal moved under his skin.

He apologised once, hoarse voice, and she soothed him with an, "It's okay, it's okay, I'm here." And then every time after that when he shook, even when his throat couldn't speak.

It took less time than she thought it would. The sounds of his shakes and the hoarse noises from his throat built and built, until it reached a crescendo in one final death rattle. And then he stopped and everything was quiet. She kept stroking his hand for a while, eyes wet as she looked at his body.

He was dead. He smelled dead. His open eyes shone like glass.

She started to cry and wiped at her face, breathed in deep until she was so full of air she had to stop. It wasn't the time for tears.

His body was still. And then the thing under his skin moved again, and she remembered why his body was in chains, why she wasn't supposed to be there alone.

"I'm sorry," she said, as she rushed out, and slammed the door behind her. She wedged it tight and locked it as best she could with sweating fingers.

As soon as it was locked she slid down the wall and sat in the hallway, back to the door frame. Now she couldn't stop herself crying, no matter how much she tried.

The chains started to rattle again.