There's a glare of white, sunlight on glass. Walker sees the dust clouds before he sees the vehicles themselves. Even from this distance he can tell they're military, American, and headed in his direction. There's something purposeful about their progress. This is not some blind poke into the dark. They're searching for something.

They're here to rescue him. He can finally go home. It's too easy. This is cruel of him, cruel of his subconscious to dream up such a tidy way out-

No. No. That entire line of thought can go fuck itself. If this is a real search team then Walker can't ignore them. If he does, he'll die knowing they might have been the last living human beings he saw. Somewhere, deep inside his withered heart, he might even want to be rescued. It's an unfamiliar feeling. Almost like hope.

They're going to find him anyway so he should make it easy for them. The Tower isn't far from and it's the most obvious landmark. They can't miss it.

"Commander, this is Falcon-1. I think we found him."

They're on him now, lined up in the sunlight like a firing squad.

Walker sits patiently and waits for them. Cradled in his lap is a AA-12 stamped with the Damned's insignia. It's heavy and solid in his hands. "Captain Walker", they call him. He had a mission once. A team. They're gone now, taken from him or freely sacrificed for what he thought was a higher purpose. There might be enough left of him to crawl out of this hellhole.

"Look at his eyes. Something's not right." They're studying him now, warily, like hunters staring down a tiger.

They've been through this city, they must have seen what it does to people. What it did to men who thought themselves good. And whatever Walker is now, whatever he's become or always denied he was, he's an unknown quantity and he's holding a weapon.

Part of him insists that he can't inflict himself on the world, not again. Someone has to make a judgement call. Maybe it's over. And maybe Walker has time to make one last mistake.

"He's shell-shocked. Give him a second," says their leader, calm and steady and doubtless well-meaning. He extends an open hand to Walker.

He left himself open. Sloppy. He'd be dead before he knew what hit him-

"Just hand me your weapon, Captain. We're here to take you home."

The gun slips from Walker's fingers.

It's over.

The sky above is a veil of clouds obscuring the sun. Dubai's already growing distant. It feels less like leaving and more like waking from a nightmare. His eyes are open, fixed on his unknowable black void of a future. Wherever he's going, it feels like home.