And if he was any good at it, all it meant was that he would get other people killed before his death claimed him.
Time ticked past in the isolated darkness of his cell and his mind churned. It could have been minutes or hours for all he could tell. It felt like years.
The slot in the door opened to give him a brief glimpse of what was happening outside his cell. A guard pushed in a plate of food, but unlike all the others he'd been given, this was covered by a piece of cloth.
He leaned forward and pulled the tray closer. It was too light to carry any food, but something rattled on the metal tray.
It was difficult to make anything out as the only light that filtered in was from the small sliver between the floor and the bottom of the door. It wasn't much, but it was certainly enough to see what was under the cover when he lifted it off.
The small knife was well-made, judging by the balance and weight of the steel. The handle was wood and something had been carved into it. His fingers traced the inscription to make it out in the darkness.
Love, A.
He sat on the cold floor and stared unseeingly at the small weapon in his hands. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he’d told Athena he didn't want to live in a world where there was no goodness and no chance for him to fix it. She'd remembered and turned those words back on him. There was no goodness, he reminded himself again. They were in a world of shit where everyone he tried to save either turned their backs on him when he was no longer needed or actively tried to kill him.
There was nothing that even came close to goodness, and every attempt he made to change that was met with indifference or hostility.
What point was there?
Anyone would agree that he'd fought his fight. Was there really any reason to continue now that he was stuck in this prison cell? Even if it would be Athena's ultimate victory and prove that she was right in the end, why would he question her?
The knife felt comfortable in his hands. It wasn’t the fanciest but it had been crafted by skilled hands, there was no doubting that.
"Courtesy for a gentleman," Hammerhand muttered and tested the edge on his thumb. The prick of pain and a small, warm wet spot told him how sharp it was.
It was more than effective for the task it had been sent for.
Chapter Seventy-One
He wasn't sure how long he spent staring at the knife, even though it was too dark for him to see it clearly. It was difficult to tell time inside his cell but it probably wasn't morning yet since they were likely to take him to the general population section once more when the time came.
Numbness seemed to tuck itself around him. He hadn’t seen something like this coming. Having deliberately chosen his kind of life, he had always known that he wouldn't die peacefully in his bed. Still, he had always thought it would come in the field of battle where he stood against impossible odds, fighting the good fight, as it were.
Not hiding in a dark hole with a knife to his wrists. One never really knew where one would end up, after all.
Hammerhand felt the prick of the blade against his skin. He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. He would join his friend soon.
Tinker’s face was the one he saw now. The man who had resisted the idea of surrender in the tunnels, who had thought they had the option of dying in battle instead of being slowly worn down by a life in prison. The man who would not stand for him ending everything simply because he didn't feel there was any hope to be had during a seemingly endless wait in a prison.
Without a doubt, his friend would outright slap him for that. He'd done it before when he thought he was being stupid and needed a little sharp reminder to wake him the fuck up.
He didn't know what he believed when it came to life after death, but if there was the smallest of chances for him to join his comrade, he wanted that reunion to come when the man wasn’t likely to simply kill him again out of frustration.
The thought of Tinker possibly watching him from the afterlife allowed him to reach a decision, at least for the moment. Quickly, he tucked the blade into his sleeve. Out of sight and temporarily out of mind. His eyes closed and he leaned back against the wall of his cell and tried to put the thought of Tinker's death out of his mind.
It wasn't easy, but sleep gradually pulled him in. He had no way to tell precisely, but it seemed like only a few minutes had passed before footsteps approached his cell. His eyes snapped open and almost immediately, Hammerhand knew what he would do next. It seemed impossible not to act on the decision his mind had made of its own volition. His pulse raced and the thudding in his chest increased speed as he straightened, his body ready to act as the door was unlocked and swung open.
The false daylight was a little blinding but he adapted quickly. His eyes adjusted to the change in brightness in seconds, and as the two men entered the cell to yank him out, he surged forward. His shoulders collided with them both and with a roar, he drove them out of the cell.
One lost his footing, rolled, and struck the wall behind him as the other tried to take hold of the prisoner, hoping to shove
