After the discussion with Babylon Knight of Mercury--he’d met so few knights, they must be a small faction, but he still felt more peaceful talking to Babylon than he had when he spoke to the Guardian Cat--Spinel wound his way through the streets to the body of the senshi he had attacked and stolen the starseed from. It wasn’t a very long walk; Babylon could have taken the starseed and walked it; but he’d asked Spinel to do it, like a test, and Spinel always felt obligated to pass tests, he never wanted to fail. So he turned down the alleyway where he’d dumped the body in a dark, shadowy spot that would not lend the young girl to being seen by wandering eyes. He knew it only because he knew what to look for, the barest curl of white-gloved fingers.

Spinel turned down the alleyway, producing the starseed from his sleeve. It shone weakly with flickering firelight, within the cage of his fingers.

He wondered if she’d even remember. If she would wake up and want his blood, if she would want it even after he purified--if he did purify. Standing there over the body that was still breathing, but empty of soul or something more intrinsic, Spinel realized he didn’t know. He could be creating an enemy if he did this, someone who would never see reason and never let him be. But she may not remember, he thought, she may never know what I did. And that was the question, wasn’t it, would she remember and if she did would he deserve whatever happened to him?

That question led to one deeper: if character was who he was when no one was looking--and no one was looking--what sort of person was he proving to be by continuing to hesitate? No one was looking, no one would know. If he waited, though, he risked attracting an audience. Not necessarily Sailor Europa, not necessarily even someone who would hurt him or misread the situation, but he could be seen. At any moment, they could see him… so better to do it now, in the dark. Before anyone saw.

The senshi was small. Very small. She’d been so easy to carry to this secluded little place. He had considered it a benefit, then, because the smaller she was the easier it would be to hide her. I need to just do this and go, he thought, but he was caught by the play of her dark hair and her dark lashes like smudges of ink against her skin. She looked like Shay. All the senshi looked like Shay anymore. He saw her in every single body he hid, in every person whose energy he stole, in the giblets left behind by every youma.

He exhaled and knelt. If he could have, he told himself, this is what he would have done for Chenoeh, he would have put her starseed back and let her go, he would have given his sister that second chance at life. If he would ever atone, if he ever could... it had to start with this. With things like this. He pressed the starseed against the senshi’s broach, a flame-colored opal peeking out beneath a cracked smooth shell, but he did not push it through her sternum to the place where it was meant to rest.

Just as he gathered the courage to do it--wasn’t it sick that this required force of will, required courage, to do--he heard a laugh. There, on his mental radar, right on top of him, was a General.

“Somebody has not learned his lesson about being a senshi sympathizer,” said Avalon, sing-song, from where she stood at the mouth of the alley. Spinel rose slowly to his feet, starseed still in hand. He could take the girl, make a break for it--or he could--or he could--

Avalon shook her head, the shattered pieces of Earth sigils glittering in the light of the streetlamp, a sick faded sunset orange among the dark of her hair. “No no. Come here, Super Sailor Spinel. It looks like you need another lesson in what happens to those who are disloyal.”

He went. Slowly, and reluctantly, but he still went.