Longshot sat in a place devoid of light. The only sounds were the rustling of loose papers, the wind coming in through the window, and his own heart beat. He sat with his hands folded, his heel pounding restlessly against the floor. He stared across the room at the picture of Cain, stuck to the wall by a pin through his forehead. Every time that he hunted down a murderer, he had the urge to fall into old habits, the simple instinct begging him to take a life, but his better judgement had always guided him, his sense of right and wrong told him that he didn't really want to do it, but this was the first time where even his judgement was consumed by hate. This was the first time he truly, truly, wanted blood.
His thoughts were plagued by the image of a bloodied corpse, maimed in the same way Olivia had been. Every fiber of his being desired to crucify Cain and feed him to the dogs. And yet, as much as rage filled him, as much as bloodlust poisoned his heart, he felt weak. Every memory of Olivia weakened him more, until he couldn't even muster the strength to rise from his seat. This was it. Cain had succeeded in his task. Olivia's blood had done what no bullet or knife or bomb ever had in their two man war. Cain had finally beaten him.
TWO YEARS AGO
Olivia was reading on the couch in the late afternoon. Her relationship had been strained the last couple months, since she tried to run away. The time he spent in New York had become less and less frequent. Most times, she would only see him one day out of the week, and whenever she did, he had an air of disappointment. He seemed tired, tired of trying to help her, tired of being responsible for someone so keen on self destruction. He was tired of her.
She turned as she heard something fall in the other room. She could hear the wind coming in through the window, and something writhing on the hardwood floor, dragging itself towards the door. The knob rattled and slowly turned, and Olivia watched in horror as the door opened, and Paxton was left standing on trembling legs, blood staining his gold and black crest. It ran down his arm, trickling from his fingertips onto the floor. His right shoulder had been torn open. The protective fabric of his jacket was frayed and ripped, the carbon fiber plating beneath pierced and dismantled. There was a long gash in his left leg and there was a bullet hole in his stomach. His eyepiece was cracked, and the red light was flickering out. He raised a trembling hand and pulled the mask from his face. Blood was trickling down his lip. He spit a tooth into his hand and slapped it down on the kitchen counter just before toppling to the floor.
"Paxton!" Olivia screamed, jumping over the couch and running to his side. He sat with his back against the counter, drawing in heavy, labored breaths as he bled out on the floor. She knelt beside him and asked, still in shock, "What happened? Who did this?"
"H-Horizon assassins... Ace and Kroll. Couldn't... AGH! KAFF! KAFF! Couldn't fight them. Didn't stand a chance. Had to get the fight away from civilians. Lucky to get away." He opened a pouch on his belt and pulled out a rectangular yellow box labeled FIRST-AID. It fell from his shaking fingers before he could open it. Olivia picked up the box and opened it, frantically pouring out the contents on Longshot's lap. He undid his quiver with his left arm and she helped him ease of his jacket. She took a pair of scissors from the kitchen counter and cut open the blood sucked black t-shirt. She had stitched her own wounds when she was little, she knew how, but she had never gotten a wound like the one on his shoulder before. Kroll used a set of steel claws to rend the flesh into ribbons. She clamped her hand down on the bullet wound and slapped a temporary bandage over it to stop the bleeding while she dealt with the more severe injury. Her hands were starting to shake. Her eyes turned red and teared up as she began her panicked attempt at stitching the wound.
He screamed, but she kept working. She dabbed the torn skin and cleaned it out, then continued. When she was done, she started on his leg. His skin had gone pale. He was loosing blood, and she simply wasn't fast enough. Her hand slipped as she was working and Paxton took hold of it, holding it tight despite the trembling of oncoming shock. "Olivia..." he began, "Look at me. Come on, look at me!" he forced her to look him in the eye as he continued, "I'm not... not gonna make it. I need you to--"
"No, you'll be fine! You're gonna!"
"Olivia, listen to me! For once in your life, listen!" he drew in a deep breath, the words to come just as painful as his broken body, "I've watched you... for two years... and I know that you hate me for forcing you to live a life you don't want, but the only reason I did it was to protect you. I care about you, Olivia. I love you."
"I love you too, Paxton..." she whispered wiping her eyes. She held him close and whispered tearfully to him, "Please don't go. Please.... don't leave me alone again. I don't wanna go back. I don't wanna go. I'll never fight again, I promise, just please... don't go."
"I have to go..." Paxton sighed, his breath running thin, "But I'm so proud of you, Olivia." He wiped the tear from her cheek, "Don't cry. I've had this coming for a long time. I'm just... I'm just glad that I found someone who'll miss me... someone who cared enough to try and save me, like I tried to save them." his eyes fluttered and closed. His breathing slowed. His muscles went lax.
"You didn't try to save me, Paxton." Olivia replied, "You saved me. No matter how much I pushed you away, you didn't give up on me... so I won't give up on you. I'm not going to let you die. You've never given up, now fight! FIGHT!" she kept stitching his wounds. She dug out the bullet and bandaged him up.
Olivia rose to her feet, hands still dripping with blood as she called out to him. "Get up..." she begged, "Get up and FIGHT!"
The archer's eyes shot open, breaking his dream like solemnity. He stared straight across at the image of Cain. He rose to his feet, shouldered his quiver, pulled on his mask, and ripped the picture from the wall before jumping out the window. The hunt was on, and he knew exactly where to look.
Only a short time later, the bowman's shadow descended upon the old meat packing plant. The air was still filled with blood and bad omens. The door groaned on rusty old hinges and Longshot stood there, shoulders bathed in the cold gray light of the evening, the same light that fell through the cracked, dusty old skylights and landed on Cain. He stood in the center of the wide open factory floor, all of the abandoned old machines pushed off to the walls. He was armed to the teeth, and knew exactly what he had brought down upon himself. "Right on time." he said. Longshot was still. His fists tightened and he simply stared into his foe.
"Ya know, archer..." said Cain, drawing a flask and unscrewing the lid, "Where I'm standing, EXACTLY where my feet are planted, is the spot where yer darlin' Olivia died." Longshot's teeth grated together and his eyes narrowed as Cain put the flask to his lips. He wiped his mouth and said with a wicked grin, raising the metal flask high, "Cheers." He poured out the rest of the contents on the cold concrete around his feet, tossing the empty container aside. He never broke eye contact. He simply returned Longshot's infernal gaze until the archer ran straight at him. He had no concern for his safety, no thought of a plan. He simply jumped into the air and kicked Cain in the ribs. The murderer rolled with the attack and landed at a crouched position. "So it's like that, then." he growled, reaching for his weapon with a smile, "Fine by me."
The Malicious Marksman drew his signature dual CZ75 pistols and took aim, unleashing fully automatic hell upon him. The archer skillfully weaved around his opponent's aim, dodging behind the control box of an old machine that rattled as its hollow frame was filled with bullets. As Cain's ammunition was exhausted, he jumped into the air, firing two arrows into the barrels of the guns. He landed atop the rusty old machine and drew another arrow. The twang of his taught bowstring echoed through the still, empty air of this decrepit place. The arrow sailed on its course, flying without fail towards Cain's right shoulder. Cain quickly tossed aside his uselss CZ75's and grabbed his backup, an M9 handgun. He did a quick barrel roll behind a crate of preservatives, the arrow passing just out of reach of his face and striking the protective barrier of the wooden box. The firm grip of his M9 practically fused to his hand as he shot off a few rounds at a rafter board above Longshot. The bullets splintered the old, termite ridden wood and a large section of it fell straight down at Longshot.
The archer dove down onto the conveyor belt, rolling down the line as the wooden beam crashed into where he was standing. Before the archer could even jump to his feet, he attached an explosive cartridge to an arrowhead and fired it into the wooden box, obliterating it on contact. Preservatives spewed out and rained down onto the floor. Longshot rose to his feet and waited, his keen eyes searching for Cain in the wreck.
There was nothing. He listened for Cain's heartbeat. He was moving. The smells, the dim lighting, and the awkward acoustics of the structure could be blamed for his inability to pinpoint the murderer, but it would be a lie. His rage overpowered him. His resolve was shattered by his hatred. His heartbeat pounded in his head, boiling blood pumping through him. Suddenly, Cain sprung out of the shadows, giving Longshot only enough warning to turn and face him. He hadn't even the time to evade or counter his attacker, and was tackled off the conveyor belt, landing hard on the floor. The glimmer of a knife caught his eye and the archer rose his right arm, stopping Cain just before he plunged the knife into him with lethal intent.
The two struggled back and forth seemingly without end. A vein bulged from the Irishman's neck as he forced the blade down. Longshot was only able to slow him as he forced the knife into him. It pressed painfully into him. It hadn't yet pierced his durable jacket, but he could feel the sharp point digging in already. Taking a roll of the dice, Longshot pulled his left hand away from the struggle and swung with a swift, precise, and devastating jab at Cain's ribs.
Cain fell to the floor in shock, but quickly recovered, rising to one knee. He drew a mini-uzi from his coat, one of the only weapons he had left, and sprayed hot lead wildly at Longshot. Bullets peppered the walls, boxes and machines behind and around their intended target. The archer rolled out of his path and snatched the knife left on the concrete floor. Two bullets hit his quiver as he rolled across the floor, shielding him from a much worse fate, but two more hit his left arm. The first struck the carbon fiber plate in his upper arm, piercing it and digging into his flesh. The second shot found hardly any opposition as it grazed his forearm, taking a fair piece of him with it. As the archer reached a safe place beneath the conveyor belt, he sprung up on the other side and cast the knife with absolute precision at Cain. Before the knife even completed its flight, Longshot jumped up onto a box, leaping to the top of a higher stack and finally, vaulted to the top of a wooden beam. Looking down on the factory floor, he raised his right arm, preparing to fire his grapple line at Cain to pull him into the air.
The Irishman's laughter was interrupted as he ducked the knife just barely. Cain looked around, searching for his hidden foe. "C'mon, Robin Hood!" he cackled devilishly into the shadows, "Are ya just afraid of some f**kin' mick with a gun?!" He was cut short as the hook caught itself under his clothes. Within an instant, the line went taught and he was pulled off of the ground. His feet kicked wildly in an attempt to find solid ground, but he found nothing, and instead, unleashed the hidden blades under his wrists, slicing the line that held him. He was sent plummeting back to the ground. Thankfully he landed in a pile of rotting debris, completely unharmed. He laughed with joy as he patted himself off, "Ohhhh Longshot...when will you learn? I don't think you understand, you motherf**ker."
Cain's eye caught the whiskey lying on the floor. He grabbed a zippo lighter and some of the smoldering pieces of wood from the crushed boxes. He quickly lit the whiskey he had poured out aflame and piled on the scraps of wood, starting a small bonfire. "Longshot..." he said, peering up into the dark rafters where his enemy lurked, "This's yer last chance to come down and let me put you out of yer mise-" he fell silent as a tiny steel disk flew down, grazing his cheek. He wiped the small amount of blood on the back of his hand and looked at it in disbelief. "No deal, then?" he asked rhetorically, looking up as he bellowed, "Okay! BURN MOTHERF**KER! BURN!" The Irishman laughed as he took a piece of flaming wood and brandished it as a makeshift torch, whipping it into the rafters. I
A hand shot out of the darkness and caught the torch. It was flung to the ground, cracking in half and fading into embers. Longshot jumped down from the rafters, landing straight down in the fire. He rose up, still standing in the midst of the flames. His red eyepiece reflected the flickering heat as he stared down his enemy with an unblinking, vengeful gaze. He reached out and took Cain by the collar, pulling him in towards the hungry fire. The Irishman struggled to get free as the flames licked at his legs. His boots held out the fire, but they wouldn't for long, and his pants would catch if he didn't hurry. He took the archer by the collar of his jacket and rammed his head into his nose. Longshot let go of Cain, falling back against a machine. A lever on the side of the old relic was caught in one of the straps of his quiver and the conveyor belt started up, old components whirring to life and shaking off years of dormancy. The machine sputtered and groaned, but it did its job still.
Longshot felt his airways clog with blood and his cheeks begin to swell. His nose was broken. Still, he sensed Cain coming and dodged just as a fist slammed into the side of the machine, denting the metal paneling.
The bowman took Olivia's murderer by the throat and slammed him down on the now moving conveyor belt. He jumped up and knelt over his enemy, his hands tightening around Cain's throat. As Cain gasped for air, trying to pry the archer's hands from around his throat, he couldn't help but wonder if he had broken his enemy, driven him over the edge. He had, and it was time to pay the price. Were he not blinded by rage, Longshot would have seen the dust coated old counter between the wall and the conveyor belt that they were fast approaching, and the haphazard cluttering of assorted cutlery which rested on top of it.
Cain, however, did see the old cutting tools. In his time with the I.R.A., he had learned to always keep an eye on his surroundings, and unlike Longshot, he had no distractions, just a clear, simple urge to kill. His hand shot out, snatching a butcher's knife. He made a quick stab for Longshot's head, but the archer deflected the attack, the knife rattling to the floor as his clamp around Cain's windpipe grew tighter.
Suddenly, his eyes went wide. His jaw dropped. His hands loosened from around Cain's throat and ventured to his lower back, feeling the cold steel of a meat hook buried deep inside him. There was a harsh twist of the hook and the archer couldn't conceal his pain anymore. He howled to the rafters and Cain smiled, drawing in long, labored breaths. "Feelin' alright, Olivia?" he jested in a dry, raspy tone, "Oh, I'm sorry... I meant Longshot. Ya scream just like her... like a stuck whore." Cain's manipulation was brought to an abrupt end as Longshot's fist crashed into his cheek. Despite the agonizing wound in his back, the hook still in him, Longshot raised his fist again. This time, it pounded into the conveyor belt as Cain jerked his head to the side.
The dark haired madman took hold of Longshot's arm before he could pull it back with his rough, calloused hand, and, just before the table was completely out of reach, he grabbed a small filleting knife and drove it into the archer's abdomen. Blood erupted from his mouth, seeping through the fabric of his mask. The knife was stalled by his durable jacket, but another thrust forced it in all the way to the hilt. Longshot let out a string of empty exclamations and toppled from the conveyor belt, landing hard on the floor.
With only a moment's preparation, he ripped the knife from his stomach, crying out in pain as he slid the blade across the room. Blood seeped between his fingers, pouring from the wound. There was also the whole in his lower back due to the hook. His head was spinning. He looked across the room from his position curled up on the floor, lip trembling as he reached out, clawing at the concrete and dragging his limp body across the floor. A trail of blood was smeared all along his path. He finally came to rest, gasping for air, and took hold of his bow once again. He rolled over on his back and shot across the factory, aiming to skewer Cain's hand.
Cain jumped down off the conveyor belt and was surprised by the arrow coming at him. Still, he utilized his impeccable reflexes and accuracy to take up the butcher knife again, using it in an attempt to chop the arrow in half. He failed and faltered into the path of the arrow, turning the target from his hand to his torso. The arrowhead sliced through his body armor with ease. He let out another sadistic laugh as he glared down at the shaft protruding from his gut. "C'mon..." he was interrupted as vomit burst from his mouth and splattered on the floor. Blood and vomit spilled out in a revolting mess.
"Hey... archer... guess what?" Cain wiped the blood from his lip as he spoke, "I knew you'd come lookin' for me here...so I prepared ahead 'a time..." Cain chuckled painfully, stumbling over to a wooden crate. He smashed it open with his fist and pulled out a USP.45 pistol with one magazine. "Say cheese Longsh*t!" Without any further delay Cain unleashed a hail of hot lead with the USP, hoping to get a hit on Longshot. A bullet struck the gold and black crest joining the leather straps that crossed Longshot's chest, cracking it. As the archer rolled along the floor, his quiver stayed behind. He ducked under the conveyor belt and waited out his enemy. After Cain emptied his clip, he fell to the ground, writhing in pain.
The archer's hand reached out of the shadows and he clawed his way back out onto the factory floor. He rose up on a weak and beaten frame, a rusty crowbar in his hand. He limped across the plant and his shadow came to rest over the tired, bleeding body of Cain O'Panell.
"Get up." the archer commanded. He got no response from the Irishman. "I SAID GET UP!" He bellowed, raising the crowbar and swinging it hard into Cain's rib cage. He let out a painful, bloody cough and curled up like a wounded dog. The crowbar touched the floor, Longshot's weak hand no longer able to hold it up. He took hold of Cain by his shirt and lifted him to his knees. The murderer's eyes were closed, his head hanging limp on his shoulders. His hair was matted to his scalp by blood. "On your goddamn feet." Longshot snarled, "I'm not finished with you yet."
Cain was silent.
Longshot shook his enemy to force him to respond.
"Sorry, archer..." Cain replied with a faint grin, cracking one eye as he pulled a Smith and Wesson .35 pistol from the cuff of his boot and pressed it to the archer's shoulder, "One more." He squeezed and the bullet burst through Longshot's shoulder. He screamed and pushed Cain back, staggering across the room and rolling onto the conveyor belt. He slowly rose to his feet and turned to see Cain climbing up on the conveyor belt behind him, the gun in one hand, the crowbar in the other. He limped along the moving conveyor belt, his enemy coming up behind him. "Don't you walk away from me!" Cain howled, hooking the crowbar around his ankle and pulling it from under him. Longshot toppled down and rolled onto his back to see the Irishman, eyes burning, lungs flaring as he raised the crowbar high above his head. "Nobody walks away from Cain O'Panell! You hear me?!" Before he could swing, he was struck in the chin by the heel of Longshot's boot.
Despite the unavoidable pain he was in, Longshot rose to his feet and punched the sore spot on Cain's ribs where the crowbar had hit. "I'm not walking away, Cain." the archer answered coldly, "And neither are you." He delivered a sharp kick to the side of Cain's leg, almost breaking his knee, but he was too weak to follow through. Cain swung his arm wide, aimed at Longshot's temple, but the hunter ducked and sprung back up, punching the Irishman in the cheek. The two struggled for the upper hand as the conveyor belt carried them around the plant, but neither could. They fought a seemingly endless stalemate. Longshot had his hands around Cain's throat, and the Irishman clawed frantically at the archer's face. He ripped off a piece of Longshot's mask, revealing his teeth, clenched tight in a perpetual scowl.
He stomped down on Longshot's foot, grinding his heel in deep, and punched low, right under the bowman's rib cage. Longshot staggered back and reached up, taking hold of the bottom rung of a shaky old ladder. He began to climb up and heard Cain laughing at him from below. "What do ya think yer doin'?" he chuckled, letting the conveyor belt take him to the ladder and climbing up after Longshot, "You're not the man ya once were, archer! I made you hurt, and now, yer broken. Ya can't fight. Ya got no reason to. Ya got no reason to fight, 'cause I took her from ya! There's nowhere left to run. Just accept the end with dignity. Make yer girl proud for once."
Longshot rolled up onto the catwalk, blood trickling down through the metal grate that supported him. The rhythmic rattling of the entire catwalk told him that Cain was fast approaching the top. "Come on. Now, yer just pissin' on my fun." Cain groaned, "It's over. Ya got no more tricks up yer sleeve."
"Actually, Cain... I have one more trick." said Longshot. As Cain reached the top of the catwalk, he wound up staring into the barell of his own .35, and Longshot's unwavering anger as he placed his finger on the trigger, "It's called sleight of hand."
The Irishman stared in disbelief, his eyes moving back and forth between the gun and the man who, despite every moral opposition, aimed it at his forehead. "That... is... adorable!" Cain laughed, "Archer, I live in a world of depravity, betrayal and violence. As such, I've prepared for any eventuality that could result in my demise. In other words, I never discard a loaded weapon. I needed one shot to put you in the red, and that's all I put in the gun. Nice try." Longshot tossed the gun down to the factory floor and lifted Cain by his throat, shattering the window behind him and holding the Irishman over the edge.
Cain looked down at the harsh asphalt far below and forced a grin. "You're really gonna do it, aren't ya?" he asked, "She really dug that deep into ya? Why? What did she ever do to earn any love from ya? There's a reason she couldn't stay away from a fight, archer, an' it's the same reason you shouldn't be so torn up about her death. In the end, she was just... like... me."
Longshot could feel his grip loosen as Cain's words reached his ears. He and his foe stared into each other. His fingers were frozen in place, but every thought he had was to let go, let go and deliver Cain to the fate he had made for himself. Cain kept his cracked, bloody lips contorted into a smile, daring Longshot to grant him death. To prove him right.
Just as he was about to drop his enemy, Longshot was bombarded by memories of the girl he once knew, the girl Cain had taken from him. If he gave in, if he killed Cain, he would mutate every lesson he had passed on to Olivia into a lie. Against the insurmountable tides of primal anger, Longshot threw Cain to the catwalk. He screamed and pounded the concrete wall with his fists, drowning out the sound of Cain's insults.
Police cruisers pulled in around the building and officers flooded in. They found Cain laying face down on the catwalk. Longshot sat on the rafters, watching in silence as they handcuffed Cain and dragged him outside. His mask was crumpled in his hand, his eyes glazed, his expression empty and cold. As the officers left, Detective Rafferty walked in, standing amidst blood and arrows and empty shells. He looked around at the evidence of chaos past, and turned as Longshot climbed down from the catwalk to meet him.
"Which one 'a you guys picked the venue?" Rafferty asked, taking the cigarette from his mouth.
"Cain's the one who killed Olivia Markopolos." Longshot replied, limping towards the detective, "You won't have any luck interrogating him, but he may be willing to betray the people who organize the tournament."
"Nah," Rafferty shrugged, "We're gettin' a lot outta that bookie you handed over to us. If we're lucky, we'll have the case wrapped up by next week."
"Good..." Longshot looked out the front door as they forced Cain's head down and pushed him into the back of a cruiser, "And what about him?"
"Well, there's not really much we can pin him with. There's no hard evidence that he killed anybody in the tournament, and I'm not sayin' he didn't, but there's just no case against him. We could probably get him for possession of unlicensed firearms, but there's really no conviction we can make that'll stick. I think he's gonna walk."
"He'll always walk." Longshot whispered resentfully as the cruisers pulled out and drove off. "I'll see you around detective."
"Hey, I don't like it either, red!" the detective called out as Longshot walked for the door, "But that's the way it has to be. No matter what he did to your girl, he'll be back out on the street in forty-eight hours."
Longshot paused. He glanced over his shoulder at Detective Rafferty. "I know." he answered, continuing through the door, "And I'll be waiting."
THE ATLANTIC OCEAN, U.N. METAHUMAN AFFAIRS HEADQUARTERS
Rows of chairs were set up on the deck of the ship, a decorated coffin resting at the bow. Melissa had been kind enough to claim the body. She delivered the eulogy, despite never having met or even heard of Olivia until four days ago. They were inspiring words, poetic words, and she began to tear up near the end, not for the loss, but for the man who felt it more than any of them. Members of the Champions and the Knights of Dawn were in attendance, along with others whom the archer had met over the years. Longshot sat near the back, looking blankly to the front. They each turned in their chairs to face him, to give him a pat on the back or an sympathetic gaze. None of them had anything to say. Akube sat in the front row, his hat in his hands and his head bowed in reverence.
"And now, we'll hear some closing words from the man who knew Olivia best." Melissa said, removing her beret and placing it over her heart as she stepped aside. Longshot rose from his seat. He didn't wear his costume, his quiver, or his mask. Instead, he wore a black suit with soft leather gloves and a plain black mask. He moved at a slow pace down the aisle, every eye on him. He kept his gaze locked on the front, on the polished mahogany box that held the body of Olivia. He reached the front and turned to face the crowd.
The archer cleared his throat and pulled a folded paper from his pocket. Trembling fingers tried to open the paper. He didn't have the will to memorize his speech. He looked down at the wrinkled paper in his hands, at the words which would summarize everything Olivia was, everything she would never have the chance to be. He paused. In his silence, only the rhythmic breathing of the ocean could be heard.
Finally, with another clearing of his throat, Longshot began, "Olivia was..." he stopped.
The man in black turned from the crowd and leaned against the coffin, the paper crumpling in his hand. "I'm sorry, I can't." he sobbed. The masked man stumbled away, finally falling to his knees off and away from the coffin and the prying eyes. Akube, Melissa, and a few others ran to his aide. They kept their distance, not wanting to upset him. He cried quietly and turned as one of them reached out to comfort him. "She was my daughter." he whispered. They closed their eyes and backed away. They simply let him cry.
ONE YEAR, TEN MONTHS AGO
Longshot sat on the couch of the New York apartment, his arm in a sling. He saw Olivia open the door and step out of her bedroom. She held a suitcase in her hand. "What are you doing?" Longshot asked innocently.
"I'm leaving, Paxton." she replied.
Longshot jumped up and walked into her path as she walked for the door. "What do you mean you're leaving?" Longshot asked.
"I can't stay here anymore." the girl answered, "I'm leaving to live with a family in Philidelphia."
"I can't keep being your responsibility, Paxton. You already saved me. It's time to go rescue someone else. Besides, this city has too many memories. I need to get away from here."
"Alright..." Longshot whispered. He was taken by surprise as Olivia dropped her case and wrapped her arms around him.
"I'll never forget what you taught me." Olivia said, "I'll never forget you. And... I'm not gonna disappoint you. I promise."
Longshot hugged her back and rolled up his mask, kissing her on the forehead. "Goodbye, Olivia." he whispered lovingly.
She closed her eyes and nuzzled into his shoulder as she whispered, "Goodbye... dad."