(AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN…) UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL

Taylor would’ve been the first to admit she was out of shape.

Sure, she was skinny—had always been—but that didn’t mean she was fit. Her limbs weren’t toned or graceful like Sophia’s, and she definitely didn’t have the stamina to keep moving after her lungs began to burn. She was just an average civilian in every sense of the word, with no actual training, no enhancing powers, and no business trying to keep up with someone like Shadow Stalker.

So when the elevator doors slid open on the first floor and she saw Sophia already waiting for her, it wasn’t much of a surprise.

To be fair, it didn’t take a genius to figure out where she’d go. The hospital wasn’t exactly a maze. There was one exit anyone would instinctively go to—the reception area and the front doors beyond it—and Sophia had simply gotten there first.

She stood in the middle of the hallway, one shoulder leaning lazily against the wall, and mask glinting under the fluorescent lights. Her silhouette was all sharp lines and restless movement, the color of her costume making her look almost unreal. Behind her, the empty corridors stretched silent. Late-night hours meant no nurses at the desk, no patients wandering, and no one to hear if Taylor screamed.

Which meant this was it.

The first floor, the farthest she’d ever gotten. And, without the help of foresight from the loops, the first time she had no idea what came next.

Sophia’s voice broke the silence, a bit ragged with anger but still mocking. “You really think you can run from me?”

Taylor said nothing. Her heart was pounding too hard to speak, her breath coming in uneven gasps, and she had to force herself to meet the brown eyes that peeked through the mask. Every inch of her body screamed to stop, to just give up, but some stubborn part of her refused.

She was tired. Tired of the pain, tired of the dying, and tired of waking up just to start all over again.

That same anger that had fueled her escape earlier returned momentarily, hotter than fear, and heavier than exhaustion and apathy. 

“Fine.” The word rasped out between shallow breaths, almost a growl.

Then she moved.

She didn’t think about how Sophia outskilled her, and didn’t even plan a course of action. Driven by pure stubborn fury, vision tunneling, and fists cocked back, she just lunged forward with a raw, desperate burst of motion. 

Sophia sidestepped the clumsy attack, the movement almost casual. The blow that followed was fast and brutal, a sweep of her leg that caught Taylor’s shin and sent her crashing to the ground. Pain exploded through her shoulder when she hit the tile, the air bursting from her lungs in a hoarse gasp.

Sophia crouched beside her, the mask doing little to hide the amusement and cruel calm. “You never learn, Hebert,” she said, tone light, almost conversational. “Guess I’ll just have to make sure this one sticks.”

Her gloved hand raised a knife.

Taylor lay there, too dazed to scramble away. The edges of her vision were already dimming, black creeping inward. And yet, even now—knowing this would end like every other loop—she refused to scream or beg. She wouldn’t give Sophia that satisfaction.

So fine, kill her. She’d come back. She’d keep coming back. And with time, she’d win. Even if it took a thousand deaths, she’d figure out a way to turn this loop into a weapon and beat the smug bitch bloody.

She opened her mouth to spit the words, to tell Sophia she'd never get the last laugh—

“Drop the knife, Shadow Stalker.”

The commanding words rang out through the hallway.

For a moment, Taylor thought she’d imagined it. Then she saw Sophia freeze, every muscle in her body going rigid in response to the sound of her name from another person’s mouth. 

Heavy footsteps approached them from behind, almost intentionally slow. Whoever the newcomer was, they were cautious, and rightfully so. Sophia was an animal. 

Taylor turned her head, the movement slow and disbelieving. Blue and silver armor filled her vision, each plate polished to a mirror sheen. A halberd rested across the man’s back, servos whining softly with every step. The helmet’s visor hid the eyes beneath, but she didn’t need to see his face to recognize him. The neatly trimmed beard was iconic enough. 

Armsmaster.

Of all the people she might’ve imagined bursting in at the last possible moment, he hadn’t even made the list.

He stood at the far end of the corridor, the quiet authority of command radiating from his sheer presence. At that moment, he was every inch the enforcer of the Protectorate’s image. The ideal hero. 

Taylor could only see his lower face, but his voice carried an edge that left no room for interpretation.

“I said,” he repeated, each word emphasized by the subtle tightening of his fists beside him, “drop. The knife.” They were heavy with restrained anger. 

Sophia hesitated. For the first time since the chase had begun, she looked unsure, ironically enough like a predator suddenly uncertain of its place in the food chain.

Taylor still lay there on the floor, chest heaving, her mind spinning between exhaustion, disbelief, and something dangerously close to hope.

She hadn’t thought anyone would come. She hadn’t dared to even entertain such.

And yet, someone had. 

Armsmaster had.