They were all around him now. The visors disguised their faces, the black uniforms rendered them non people, both sexless and ageless. There were a lot of them.

The weapons in their hands were all pointing in one direction, at him.

The wail of alarms had ended but the red glow of the warning lights still tinged the suddenly dark room. As a backdrop it had all the dramatic subtlety of a neon outlined arrow, one with ‘this way for tragedy’ etched in glowflakes along its length. He looked down at the body again, the hard red light turned the blood as black as his jacket, giving the fallen man a demon’s crimson eyes to wear with the ‘don’t trust me’ scar.

Avon would have laughed if he hadn’t been so out of practice.

He swallowed and tried to slow his racing heart and calm his gasping breath. He’d heard the others fall, the thuds counting down to the ending. Vila had been the first down and Tarrant the last, so he’d won his bet.

His eyes drifted down again, to the face at his feet; he took in the half closed eyes, the stubbled jaw, the splatter of blood spreading up towards the exposed chest, and he allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, of justified pride in his achievement. No one could have done it better than he had, not anymore.

Behind him he heard more troopers emerged from the shadows. The end was approaching. He cast one final glance at the body on the floor before looking up to watch them closing around him with ostentatious care.

They made no move to disarm him, but nor did they attempt to take him. Such restraint sitting oddly alongside the ruthlessness with which they had gunned down the others. He reviewed his calculations, stun weapons he was almost sure of it. Not that it mattered. Not now. Blake was dead at his feet. He could only go on to the end.

He brought the gun up into position, feeling the weight of it settle comfortable into his hand.

How much longer would he have to wait?

The troopers shifted slightly as their guns came up to bear on him, fingers hovering nervously around triggers but still not making contact. He could taste the anxiety in the air and fought to check his own surging impatience. They were waiting for a reason so it wouldn’t be long now.

Ah! There she was.

Her smile was beautiful, but not kind. Gleeful, triumphant, assessing, but beautiful all the same. Now it could end.

She took a step towards him; that smile caressing him across the distance between them, even as it taunted him. He brought the gun up to line on her but her smile didn’t slip. His finger moved to cover the trigger and, seeing it, her brows rose in mocking question. The seconds stretched as her eyes flickered over something behind him that he couldn't see, then drifted around the ring of troopers before coming back to his. Gently she shook her head, her widening smile inviting him to come to her.

Avon smiled in return as the model for the android at his feet slid into the corridor behind her and nodded once.

Servalan died still smiling.