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"Psst, Jonny. Hey, Jonny!"
Jonny groaned and turned towards 'Merlin', who was currently hanging upside down.
"Insubordinate piece of brass," Jonny grumbled. "A prophecy for Lancelot?"
Merlin—Brian— hummed. "No, it's for one Jonny d'Ville."
"This better be good." Jonny shoved his gun in its holster.
Brian cleared his rusting throat. "Jonny. You, as the sureshot you're becoming, will soon encounter... Family."
Jonny froze—the doctor. The doctor is here. The doctor is going to take Arthur and Guinevere, and she's going to crash the station.
"Relax," said Brain, rolling his eyes. "Let me finish."
Jonny didn’t let down his guard.
"Your family has returned from the stars to gain knowledge, your family has left a quicksilver trail along the space station."
Quicksilver.
Jonny drew his gun once again. "This is a sick joke, Drumbot."
If Brian could put up his hands to surrender, he would. "It's not a joke, Jonny. I know how you feel about-"
"Don't say her name," he growled. "Don't do this, Brian. You are sick."
"I'm not-"
Jonny fired out once into Brian's leg, and it dented the brass, before storming away.
"There are reports," Arthur started. "Of a woman... With a silver helmet. The only distinguishable feature is that she doesn't use a gun."
Lancelot suddenly felt very antsy, toying with the safety of a pistol. "Anything else about her? How do we know she's a woman and not just... Female presenting?
Arthur just sighed. "It's easier for the reports to say 'woman'. Not everyone is as cool as we are."
"That is very true."
"Do you want to investigate?"
"...Not really."
"I'm not really giving you much of an option."
Jonny could tell a bit of Marius was slipping through. He liked being in charge, for once. Not much a doctor can do to override the first mate back home.
"You are lucky I find you extremely attractive when you're bossing us around."
Marius smirked. "And I am extremely aware of this."
Lancelot was in the mood for violence. He was whistling and brandishing two guns, ready to fire the very second he saw this mystery woman. She was, allegedly, refusing to speak at all and just using gestures or even computer codes. She wore black leather gloves and a silver helmet that covered nearly her entire face. She was hiding.
If she wasn't using a gun, perhaps she was searching for one. The X Caliber was very important, after all. Even a skilled gunwoman would have trouble handling it without years of training.
But when he turned the corner to where he'd heard about the lead, he saw a shimmering on the floor. He knelt down. He thought it might be oil, maybe from a gun or a bike, but no. He knew that smell anywhere.
It was mercury.
He didn't even get a chance to stand before he stumbled back. He looked down the hallway and saw it trailing down the steel floors. He could hear the steady drip, drip, drip, growing fainter.
She was near.
He got up, nearly slipping on the quicksilver, and ran down the hall, panting and with tears pricking at his eyes. He turned again and saw a long, black coat adorned with icy crystals. He saw the back of a silver helmet. And he saw the blood trailing from beneath the heavy, brown boots.
"You've found me," a strained, disappointed voice murmured from inside the helmet.
"N-Nastya, what are you...?" Jonny felt Lancelot slip away from him as his crewmate, his baby sister, shook out her blue-tipped hair while removing her helmet.
She was supposed to be dead.
She turned around to face him. "Hello, Jonny." Her Cyberian accent was just as crisp as it was hundreds of years ago.
"You... How did you...?"
"I believe you know what I'm looking for."
"The... The gun?"
She laughed. "I don't use guns, Jonny. Lancelot. No, I'm looking for the G.R.A.I.L." She held out her gloved hand. "Dindrane."
He just stared at her face. She looked so sick. Her skin was almost entirely grey now. Her lips were more black than blue. Her cheeks were sunken, and her eyes were dim.
Jonny didn’t shake her hand.
He pulled her in for a tight hug and buried his head in her shoulder. She did not reciprocate.
"That stupid hanging man," he hissed into her coat.
"...Brian told you about me?"
He pulled away. "You know that he's here? Wh-Who else knows that you're here?"
She swallowed. "I'm afraid I can't tell you. I really wish I hadn't run into you."
"M-Marius told me you were here, and..." He trailed off. "Wait, hold on, you're... You're looking for the G.R.A.I.L.?"
"I am. So you and Marius, huh?"
"Well, and Guin- Don't change the subject!" Jonny shook his head. "What do you want with the G.R.A.I.L.?"
"Who's Guin?"
"Nastya. What do you want with the G.R.A.I.L.?"
She sighs and hesitates. "Jonny, I can't tell you that.”
“I… I have an oath to protect Mordred.” Lancelot poked through. “I can't let you leave. I can't let you look for the G.R.A.I.L.!”
Nastya smirked. “But you just told me where it is, Lancelot.”
Dindrane held out her arms to hug Lancelot. He, of course, couldn't help but fall into it. He felt her hand rub up and down his back before reaching the back of his neck. He suddenly felt a sharp shock down his spine. Her hand was bare. As he fell to the ground, paralyzed, he watched her slip her leather glove back over the Cyberian ports on her arm.
“I'm sorry, Lancelot, but I suppose it's genetic.”
She reached into his pockets and grabbed his keys and one of his guns. She stood for a moment and looked at his face, still and unscreaming. She put the keys in her long, Cyberian coat and pulled her helmet back over her head, stepping over his body.
“I did miss you something awful, Jonny.”
And she walked away to finish the job.
Dindrane didn't feel grief. She never had. She was always pushed to the side, and she would not be grieving the people who shoved her down.
But Nastya did.
They clashed often.
As she passed the hanged man, he called out,
“Dindrane! A prophecy for you, my dear.”
She turned to him and gestured for him to continue.
“The boy under your wing, the prince! He shall bring you-”
Nastya sighed and removed her helmet. “I already know.”
Brian frowned. “Well, you could have humored me.”
“Haven't I humored you long enough? He will bring me to the G.R.A.I.L. He doesn't have a choice, anyway.” She looks over his rusted form, and a sad expression dawns on her face. “A machine should never look this way.”
Brian did his best job at shrugging. “I'm used to it. When all this is over, I'll take a vinegar bath and be good as new.”
She shook her head. “You're worth more than that.”
“I'm glad you think so, Nastya.”
They sat in silence for a while. Nastya knew she was in danger of being found out at any moment. She was wasting time.
“For what it's worth,” Brian said. “I miss you. We miss you.” He hesitated, opening and closing his stiff jaw a few times. “She misses you.”
Nastya nearly turned to walk away.
“She- She doesn't speak anymore. She doesn’t know who she is. I think a part of her went out when you did. We do almost everything manually now.”
“Well, it's a good thing I taught you how.”
“...What are you planning, Nastya?”
“You of all people should know.”
“All I know is that you're going to do something you shouldn't. I'm trying to stop Mordred from driving us into the sun, but he won't listen to me.”
“If Arthur thinks you're bullshitting, chances are Mordred will, too. I've tried… Reaching. He won't even smoke a cigar.”
Brian sighed. “So Ashes is really in there. Like the Toy Soldier.”
Nastya's brows furrowed. “I haven't seen it yet.”
“You haven't heard? It's Guinevere.”
She nearly gagged. “Jonny is with… The Toy Soldier? There has to be some consent barrier there.”
“That's exactly what I said!”
They laughed, and for a second, it was music. They were best friends again, if only for a moment. It faded just as quickly as it arrived.
“I'll miss you. Again.”
Nastya pulled her helmet back on. “Not after what I'm about to do.”
“We all survive. We always survive. You know that. The only ones here that die are the people we are pretending to be. Jonny, Marius, and Toy Soldier will all survive this.”
“It's not about who survives. It's about who doesn’t.”
“And who doesn't, Dindrane?”
“Me.”
The Pendragons weren't going to kill each other. That much was obvious. You could see how in love they were just by the gleams in their eyes.
It sickened Dindrane.
Dindrane did not love. Just as she did not grieve, as both were rooted in each other, she could feel admiration. She felt pride towards Mordred. But the thing she felt the most was hate.
She hated Arthur
She hated his intelligence. She hated that he knew so much that Dindrane would never know. She wanted him to fall on his face. She wanted to hear the devastating crack of his skull against the steel floor.
She hated Lancelot.
She hates his skills. She hated his aim. She hated his stance. She hated that she loved him. That was her brother, she knew that deep down. But she just didn't feel that love run deep in her soul.
She hated Guinevere.
She hated her speed and her strength and the way she put up with the two imbeciles beside her. She hated the lack of control she had over herself. Were her husbands a ruse? Was she truly in love?
Dindrane hated Galahad.
She hated his insanity. She hated his commitment. She hated the fire she saw inside of him. And she hated that he knew about Avalon before her.
And Dindrane would miss Mordred.
For a few moments, she felt something like a mother. She knew that she would never see him again. She came to the realization as they marched down the hall to the Pendragons. She always knew she’d never be a mother, but it was fun to pretend for a little while. She could do what her mother never did. Nothing that had happened was Mordred’s fault.
It was a shame that everyone in that room would die.
Dindrane and Mordred stopped in the doorway as the Pendragons all came to a conclusion. They knew what would happen. Fort Galfridian could live again if Arthur moved them away from the sun. He could repower the entire station, bringing peace the way he always knew he would. The two nodded to Arthur, and he stepped forward to make himself captain, to declare himself the leader, reaching out with a metal hand.
Then Mordred raised his arm.
Three shots rang out.
Guinevere fell to her knees before falling face forward with a hole directly through the back of her skull.
Lancelot barely had time to stumble as the bullet shot through his chest.
And instead of his skull, the third bullet shot through Arthur’s hip, and he, too, fell to his knees. Dindrane felt bile rise up in her throat.
No, all three of them were supposed to die.
All three of them.
Mordred walked forward, with blood on his hands and tears in his eyes. He held Arthur in his arms.
“I’m sorry, father,” he sobbed.
“Don’t cry,” Arthur choked, cupping Morded’s cheek with a hand stained red with his own and his partner’s gore. “You’re perfect. You were always… Perfect.”
Dindrane couldn’t handle this.
This was not supposed to go this way.
And it was almost high noon.
So Dindrane did the only thing she could think to do. She took off her helmet and threw it to the ground. She removed Jonny’s gun from inside of coat and slammed it against the back of Mordred’s skull. He collapsed within seconds. She squinted at his body, watching for the rise and fall of his chest, satisfied when she saw the evidence of a beating heart.
“N… Nastya… What have you done?” Arthur—Marius stared up at her with a terrified expression. “That’s… No, you can’t…”
Nastya just stared down at him for a second, watching as the sun approached.
“You’re the once and future king,” she whispered.
She grabbed them by the back of their collars. Arthur groaned and attempted to thrash. Mordred didn’t move. She felt like she was moving on autopilot. She remembered doing this as a joke back on the… Back on her old vessel. She remembered shooting Jonny out in a lifepod. He came back weeks later with a big grin on his face. She thought about that often. It kept her awake in the depths of space as she froze and froze until she found herself… Here.
The doctor was right about one thing.
They would all eventually find their way back to each other.
Both Arthur and Mordred fit in the lifepod. She wasn’t sure how long the bath would last. But realistically, they would both wake up fully healed, and their ship would find them. She knew they would be okay.
Nastya released the lifepod and watched as it shot out of the airlock. She almost smiled at the irony, but she couldn’t bring her mouth to move.
And now she was the holder of the G.R.A.I.L.
With the sound of her family's death buzzing in her mind, the grief-filled Nastya Rasputina chose the new Captain and set a course for Fort Galfridian’s engines.
And as high noon rang in her ears, Nastya rode that rotten world into the sun, and herself with it.