…poison the knife and head on in.

Success favours the bold and shying away from your destination would be a cowardly path to failure. You have been given a chance, the first and possibly last, to clean this island and the seas of the cancer that infects it. It’s time to uphold the law.

With your fear suitably subdued, you draw your stiletto along with the poison vial and look up and down the corridor, watching and listen for any who might bare witness as you apply the deadly poison to the length of the blade. Taking one last look around the corner at the foyers distracted residents, you quickly dart to the set of double doors at the top of the stairs, pull one of them open as quietly as possible, and move through.

You keep the blade behind your back in case you’re not alone, but on seeing no one, you bring it forward again. You close the door slowly, not letting even the slightest sound escape as the wood meets its frame. Looking around the room, it’s clear that this windowless antechamber has been turned into a strategy room of sorts; maps litter the surface of the table in its centre and old wooden chests line the sides of the room. A large cabinet stands in a corner, its doors closed and its contents hidden, while magnifying glasses, compasses, quills, and charts are scattered haphazardly about the room, never in the places they should be. You hear the voices of the two pirates coming through the only other door ahead, still in whatever conversation they were in before, though quieter now.

You move towards the door, hoping to eavesdrop on their conversation, but along the way, you look at the contents of the table. Maps of the archipelago are scattered about, close-ups of island formations that you do not recognise. Some lists and charts next to the main map catch your eye. Debts, receipts, cargo manifests. Your lip curls as you notice that ‘Captives’ are listed under ‘Livestock’ for food allocation.

You move onto the door and their muffled words start shifting into focus, the woman’s voice speaking again, now with a seductive salesmanship. “...she will be on that ship as well. The random alone could match everything else on board!”

An impressed whistle comes from the man and after a brief pause he says, “So it’s well worth it. We take out five ships with our three and someone else intercepts the cargo ships?” He sounds doubtful at this proposition.

“No. Here I’ll show you.” You hear footsteps approaching the door.

Gods, they’re coming right for you! You look about for a place to hide or a place to run to but there’s no time for either and barely enough time to think. After a moment’s hesitation, you take the only path available to you. You stand up next to the door and prepare the ambush. The first one through the door gets it in the guts, the second one-

The door opens, swinging back before a red and white clad form steps through. You ram the blade into the person, aiming low for a soft belly, reasoning the poison would finish the job. Your blade makes a dull ‘thunk’ as it his home, staggering the woman back with the **** of the impact.

Time freezes with a shock you both must feel. She’s taller than you expected. Tall enough that the stomach you aimed for is higher than you thought. Tall enough for your first strike to bury your blade not in soft flesh, but in a thick leather belt buckle around her waist. The hard leather over leather manages to absorb the blow as sure as a set of armour, consuming the tip of the blade as it bites through. In the split second silence, you look up at her face, her eyes and mouth as wide as yours.

Time unfreezes. You yank back the blade, freeing it just as a yellow and red blur crashes into you, taking you down on to the map strewn table and knocking all the air out of your lungs. You see it’s the form of a man, about your height, but stocky and strong. You swing the blade up at him, hoping to bury it somewhere in his midsection, or even scratch him and deliver a poison blow. He catches your arm just below the wrist and twists, shifting and grabbing it with both hands and pinning it to the table. You punch his back with your free arm as you feel him rip the blade from your hand.

The moment he frees the blade from your grasp, you hear a loud crack and feel a white hot pain shoot through your hand before he takes a step back.

You look over and see with absolute horror, your own blade piercing your hand, pinning it to the table. Pain comes shortly after, dull through the shock. In the rooms flickering candle light, you see the clear liquid still coating the blades edge, deadly poison mixing with your blood. You’re dead. Looking at it with wide eyes, your mind knows it with crystal clear certainty.

“Who the fuck are you! Who do you work for!” The angry face of Captain Roland fills your vision. His hand pins your free arm as he looks down at you, “Your gonna tell us eventually. One way or another.”

The horrible pain in your hand can’t decide if it’s freezing hot or burning cold. You look him in the eye and whisper with complete certainty,

“No. I won’t”

‘The poison has different effects depending on if it’s ingested or enters the blood. The latter is more preferable as the quicker access to the heart and body makes for a quicker, less painful ****. If you ingest it then expect it to burn in your belly and kill you slow.’

You remember the poison sellers exact words, editing out the rasping cough and propensity to say ‘m'dear’ a lot.

‘Once it’s in the blood then you’re dead but if you ingest it then you can take roseweed extract as a cure, if you do it fast enough.’

You remember the symptoms he listed for a blood based encounter; tingling pain followed by numbness, dizziness, and heart failure, all happening fairly quickly. In some respects, you chose the poison for its mercy as much as its speed and certainty. You feel the tingling pain already, like rings of orange flame steadily travelling down dry straw, burning it to ash. It travels down your arm, leaving numbness in its wake. You can’t feel your hand anymore, for which you suppose you should be thankful.

You feel regret. All the things you never did pile up before you, a mountain that grows bigger the more you look at it. You never fell in love, never had children. It didn’t seem important at the time. There are no friends to leave behind, only colleges. A single tear slips out of your eye as you think of your parents. All the things you never said because they didn’t need to be said. You hope they can forgive you.

Captain Roland and Captain Washkin both hear your answer and seem confused by the sad certainty in your voice. Captain Washkin figures it out first. Wide eyed, she runs her fingers down the front of her trousers, feeling her skin behind the belt and then the belt itself. A look of intense relief washes over her face; she will not be sharing your fate. Not tonight.

Captain Roland grows a twin, doubling in your vision along with everything else. You see one or both of his hands grip your face and look into your eyes. You know he’s worked it out when he jumps away from the blade as though it were a snake ready to bite.

Despite everything doubling around you, the world seems to get emptier as your ties to it loosen. The ceiling fades away and the twinkling stars fill your vision as the gods come to take you. There’s no bitterness in your heart, no resentment. You’re thankful for that. You feel your heart stop, a pause in the music of your life as one song ends and another begins.