Quite frankly, this was disgusting. The body was nobody's hero - Great Dreamers he was the quintessential jerk, truth be told - and while he considered himself a man of some honor, he listed 'breathing' ahead 'vengeance' by a considerable margin. He should have been 10 minutes gone the moment Maruchi went down; instead he was still here, forcing half an inch of imitation steel into a very angry, very dangerous, very unharmed swordsman. It was the damned kid's fault... and the mind's, of course. His partner had found some bleeding-heart boyscout code in Maruchi's mind and simply refused to let it go.

If only Vossler could have finished him off, it would have saved both of them a bucket of trouble. In truth the boy was a far cry from doomed. Harvy had spent terrible moments inside the head's of dying men; experienced mortality to the fullest extent of which a living being was capable... and while the fighter was in rough shape, the body gave him a solid day to find a healer.

None of that much mattered now. Monroe had taken the blood-gushing stab in simple stride, impossibly more aggravated by the wound than pained. There was no chance for victory matched head to head with this bastard, no chance of quarter after an assault like that, and certainly no chance of Dreamer damned retreat. Ah well; he die with dignity at least.

Harvy hefted the make-shift blade and attempted Vossler's perfect pose: no dice. The man's skill had abandoned him; faded completely out of muscle, thought and memory. He made a desperate grab into the fencer's head and found no purchase. His opponent had dropped his focus, had completely forgotten about the beloved blade... but why in the world would --- Damn!

As the detestable assassin wrapped his grip around the revolver, the body lashed out with all force he possessed; simultaneously tearing at the tenuous ties that bound it to the mind and flinging his partner into most extreme depths of their shared world. Consciousness thought winked away... and was instantly replaced by titanic pain; the abhorrent loss of half his being filled him, drowned him, consumed him. Torment burned away his eyes and burst out his ears. Harvy became a creature of purest anguish.

The body was simply that now; a hollow, soulless shell. Everything about this new creature contradicted the perfect, united existence it had once desired. There was nothing human here but dross blood and brittle bone... chemical instinct and electrical reaction. The first bullet was still seconds away, but the beast knew it would come high... the second shot would break left and the next back to the right... two still in the clip; one shot low and one saved for-

No longer hampered by a pointless consciousness, synapses fired at light's speed. The first forward dive was natural clockwork; a symphony of perfect motion. The right spiral was mechanically sublime and the backwards leap a kinetic miracle.
The fourth shot was miles off.
The fifth slammed brutally into the creature's upper arm.

The body's pain mutated - took a new, desperately physical quality - but then, pain was everything. It had no thought to give to the newborn fountains of crimson; no reason to change its programmed course. It completed a perfect dash to the large red heap, positioned itself as closely as possible to the subterranean river, clasped the shuttering bundle around the middle, and, with a tremendous grunt, flung itself into the rushing flew.

Fleeing a world of crushing torment and ravaging water, Harvy gave himself to darkness.