'Do not go gentle into that good night/…Rage, rage against the dying of the light.'

-Dylan Thomas

According to his watch, Byer had died nearly five hours ago, but the final words of the director were still rolling over and over in his mind in sync with the movement of the underground subway as though they'd been said five seconds ago. Sin eaters… both of you. I made both of you. And the implied accusation that he's just like Byer. A carbon copy, forged through the pain and grit of Outcome.

He turns away from the window, rubbing his eyes. His body aches from the recent fight. The dead assassin, Byer's blood speckles his shirt and jeans, June walking away back to LARX. Sleep, I just need sleep and I can put this behind me. It's almost surreal when he look up across the aisle and meets eyes with Bourne who's slumped against the window with yesterday's copy of the Times. Funny, all that time searching for the fugitive, taking down Byer and now on the run with Treadstone's Most Wanted. He'd given the director the killing shot, did his hands feel any cleaner? The other agent turns away, turning the page—the movement just enough to give Aaron a peek at the slightly darkened patch at his side. Blood must've started soaking through the bandage Marta had set. They had to stop.

"Find one yet?" he murmurs to Marta. "We've got to stop for the night."

She shook her head. "It's either ridiculously priced or a roach-infested hostel. There's no middle ground in this city."

"How about that one? Park Central. It's only a couple stops up if we switch lines."

"Over three hundred a night…"

"We can manage with one bed. We wouldn't all be sleeping anyway." His attention drifts back out the window.

Beside him, Marta sets down the phone and stifles a yawn. Her hand goes back to holding his on the seat between them. "We'll switch to the orange line at 34th St."

Aaron only nods in response. If Byer's dead, who does that leave to pick up the program? Far as he can't recall he can't remember any other names besides Mandy. It's not over until they're all dead…or we are. Or you join us. Sin eaters. A hundred crimes and blood of innocents are on your hands, Outcome Five. No matter what you do, your past will still drip red on your future.

No more.

As long as you have the enhancements, you'll be a part of Outcome. Part of us. Part of me.

I'm not you. I'm not anything like you. Lying, murdering bastard. He clenches his free hand enough to make it go nearly numb. The voices should've ended when Byer died… instead, they're getting louder.

"Aaron" a tug on his hand and he looks to see Marta standing when the subway pulls to a stop. "We transfer here."

Bourne folds the paper closed and gets up too, but not fast enough to hide a twitch of pain that flashes across his face. "Subway" he mutters, disapprovingly. "And people enjoy doing this daily?"

"Orange line" Marta leads the way, pulling Aaron with her.

They won't have picked up the trail this fast. Still, Aaron scans over the handful of other commuters they pass looking for the tell-tale signs of another agent. There could be hundreds of those upper-grade assassins. And if June's part, who knows how many of them are former Outcome agents.

"The first shot was fired close, but it wasn't direct enough to be the killing bullet. Those samples of blood we pulled here were two different types. There was another shot, probably in the chest and a third close to the throat. He would've died soon after." Noah Vosen, now acting director of LARX, demonstrated the murder to the two NYPD officers.

"You're sure it wasn't a suicide."

"There were at least two other people in the room."

The second officer waves a hand. "Just covering the bases. Did Eric Byer have any enemies?"

"Enemies… enemies…" Vosen muses on the question. "He was the director of a secret government organization with hundreds of agents under his command. How many enemies do you suppose he might've had?"

The officers glance at each other. "If you can come up with a list of names for us to go through…"

"Of course, of course, Eric deserves that much." Vosen sees the officers out then leans against the edge of Byer's desk, staring thoughtfully at the crime scene. "You reached for the prize too fast, Eric. Patience was never your strongest suit." The detailed reports were due to come back from the lab in a matter of hours then it would be a question of matching blood types and fingerprints to possible suspects. If only the security footage had been left intact; the fact that it wasn't made him suspect he was dealing with an experienced agent. Or at least someone who was actually using his head.

Mandy had been working closely with him. Where had her body gone?

Vosen frowned, thinking back to the moments he'd witnessed of Mandy trying to seize controls of projects. She would have had the opportunity and time to get close enough to Eric to shoot a gun.

"I'll find them, Eric. I'll find them and make them pay."

It's not until 3 am that they reached the Park Central Hotel. Marta could've counted the seconds spent walking since it had taken the concentration just to stay awake. Every bruise the female assassin had left on her she could feel throbbing. Even Aaron had lost his energy reserves. His face was drawn and troubled whenever she'd met his eyes. It couldn't still be about having to pull that shot on her to get to Byer—he'd known that was necessary. Her hand went involuntarily to her side, tracing the bandage underneath her shirt.

"Is there any room available? We got out of a show and found our car stolen." Aaron keeps it short, reaching for his wallet to shift through the bills in it and pull out his ID. "One night for now."

The clerk looks at them all a bit suspiciously—there can't be too many other customers this early in the morning, but it is New York so it can't be uncommon. "We've only got a single left." She's gauging their relations to each other.

"It'll do."

Jason waves it away like it's nothing. "Floor works for me."

Watching Aaron sort out a number of twenties and fifties, the clerk enters the reservation info into the computer, prints out the contract for him to sign and hands him the key. "Third floor, room 330, Mr. James. I hope your situation works out."

"Yeah we'll contact the police in the morning. Thanks."

For nearly three hundred a night, she didn't think it was much to look at. One king-sized with a flat-screen across from it, a desk on one wall and two sidetables. "Three hundred"

"Two-eighty eight" corrected Aaron.

"Rip-off" said Jason. He held up his hands visually measuring the floor space, then poked his head in the bathroom. "I think the shower is bigger than the main floor space."

"Hey, you want to sleep in there, be my guest."

"I'm going to have to put one of those 'do not disturb' signs on the door so you don't try to steal my turf."

Shaking her head at their arguing, Marta pulled off her shoes and jacket to slip beneath the covers with a luxurious sigh.

"She got a decent shot on you," said Aaron, carefully pulling the soaked bandages from Bourne's side. "Must've nicked an artery."

"We're getting her back. That better be part of the plan."

"Working on it…"

"You didn't think that far ahead, did you?" There's an accusation in Bourne's voice that he remembers from one of the Outcome trainers. Put some brain in it, Five. You think you can pull through a mission on a half thought-out plan? "They turned Nicky into one of those assassins for helping me."

"I'm working on it. Cut some slack, Treadstone."

Bourne stares him on. "Prove you can handle it, Outcome. If we're pulling together in this, I call the shots too. Just because you're advanced doesn't make you the better soldier."

Aaron keeps silent as he preps the clean bandages, concentrating on ignoring the ghosting scorns of his trainers.

"I read your file. I saw where you came from before the program."

"Want to make something of it?" he mutters. While he gets the new bandage on, the seconds drag by and he can feel Bourne's eyes boring into him. I don't need the judgment from you. Not all of us were legacy material; some of us are just the next stage of soldiers. "It's on the priority list."

"Good." Bourne gives him a nod of thanks. "Wake me if you need a shift covered."

Three twenty one a.m. doesn't make sense to start shifts. Aaron figures he's the one with the enhancements so he can keep an eye out for trouble. What's one more night anyway. But right after the thought crosses his mind, he snaps back into rational mode. How are you planning to work out a plan if you're half dead, Aaron? Go to sleep and you might face the nightmares but at least you'll have a clear head in the morning. He wanders to the window—there's occasional signs of life out, but mostly the city has shut down for the night.

You're running ahead without an objective. What do you think would happen when you killed me? You take out your purpose. With authorities after you and the rest of Treadstone on your tail, you're not going to live a quiet life, Cross. You're going to be hunted down and shot like an animal.

You had it coming, Byer. I didn't pull the shot.

You think we can't manufacture a cognitive degrade? You'll be screaming for the end to come.

"Aaron?"

Marta worrying tone snaps him back to reality and he glances over at her. "Nightmares?" He comes closer to take a seat on the edge of the bed.

"I'm worried about you. You've been acting strange since…" she trails off. It doesn't need to be said aloud. She reaches out to take his hand. "You can tell me."

"It's…" Aaron releases the breath he's holding. "…it's nothing. You should get some sleep while you can. No telling what will happen tomorrow."

"The life of fugitives"

He smirks. "A lifestyle fast and furious with nothing slowing us down."

"Sleep deprivation might. I know your biology, Aaron. You might be engineered to go longer than the average person, but that enhanced brain of yours is going to start shutting itself down."

He makes to argue, but shuts his mouth. Damn, he can't argue that logic when he can barely shut out Byer. Raising his hands in surrender earns him a smug grin from her, "Fine, you win." He goes around to the other side to pull back the sheets. "We're probably safe for tonight." Settling against the pillows, he focuses on the comforting weight of Marta against his side; uses it as his anchor against the voices in his mind. It's like the night she had the nightmare— only this time he's the one who needs to have her close.