Dominic held an Arsenal Shipka in his hands, his finger slowly caressing the trigger. A 9 millimeter submachine gun, manufactured in Bulgaria.

He knew it and he knew it well.

He used it, and he used it well.

He loaded the magazine solemnly as he looked at himself in the rear view mirror of the Maserati.

"You seriously aren't bringing that with you."

Dominic looked up as Terrell sat down in the front passenger's seat, and sighed in frustration. "Yes, I was. Hence the fact that it is in my hand."

"Our orders were to retrieve the experiment, not to kill it." Terrell waved a tranquilizer gun in Dominic's face.

"Okay, so when that doesn't work and he comes after us with Albadora, I guess we're just supposed to sit there and die."

"363 probably doesn't even know how to use Albadora."

"It's a big damn sharp object, he doesn't need to know how," Dominic scoffed as he started the engine.

"Dom, I know that he killed your brother—"

Dominic glared at Terrell as if he was going to reach up and pull his heart out of his chest. Terrell realized his mistake and immediately stopped.

"I think that I would shut the hell up right now if I were you."

With that said he backed out of the parking space and headed back across the bridge to the outside world. The cold metallic miasma of the Corvus Porject headquarters was melted away by thunder and rain clouds.

Dominic stared straight ahead at the road without expression. Terrell took some hand sanitizer out of his pocket and rubbed it on his hands. "You know I can't let you do it. I can't let you kill him. We need him, Dom."

"No, you need him. Don't you get it, Ter? All these experiments, all this stupid Corvus crap that we've been fed over the years, it's going nowhere. This project is going nowhere. What will getting 363 even prove? Nothing. And you realize it. You do. But you…oh, you're such a fake, trying to make yourself seem like you didn't even want to do this, when we both know you're just desperately wanting a piece of the action or some stupid quasi-Romantic Don Juan bull crap, and for what reason? To prove that you're something? What's the purpose of it? Oh, wait here, I'm getting a telegraph – there is none, other than your own stupid self-gratification."

Terrell raised his top lip by its corner, grimacing in disgust. He stared ahead at the road, making no efforts to hide his anger. "So then why are you doing this? Revenge? Your own self-gratification?"

Dominic shook his head as he gripped the gun and steering wheel simultaneously. "Justice."

"Don't tell me you don't even see the obvious correlation between—" Terrell started, then sighed, feeling the futility of his own statement.

"So…" He began again. "You kill the experiment. You expect to just get off scot-free?"

"I'll leave. I'll run. And I'll take Mitsuko with me."

"What? She'll never go for that. And the Chairman will—"

"The Chairman…won't risk harming me so long as I'm with his daughter."

"And what if you can't kill him?"

"I die trying. Look, I know you don't get it. I really don't care. But my brother was…he was everything to me. Everything. He was my only friend. And no one, no one on this earth could ever…will ever…"

Terrell looked at Dominic as if he had just shot him in the chest. "So then we aren't so different. It's just like you said: self-gratification. You're doing this for yourself just as much as I am."

"This conversation is over." Dominic seethed.

"I couldn't agree more."