Black Lagoon: Roberta -

“Scotch,” she said. Her voice was a rasp, like a blade being dragged across a whetstone. “The cheap kind. I no longer deserve the good.”

Her parasol is not for rain. It functions as a heavy shotgun (PIG-38) and a concealed shield.

She stood up, turned her back on him, and walked away into the fog. black lagoon: roberta

She tore the photograph in half, letting the pieces flutter to the ground. The half with her younger self landed face-up. The other half, with Ochoa’s smiling face, she crushed under her boot.

The door to the Yellow Flag burst open, not with a bang, but with a weary sigh. “Scotch,” she said

Roberta slowly lowered her rifle. She looked at the circle of guns. She looked at the dying man in the wheelchair. And then she laughed. It was a hollow, horrible sound.

“You fool,” she said. “You absolute fool. Did you think I came here to kill you?” I no longer deserve the good

The rain returned to Roanapur the next morning, washing the last traces of blood from the old wharf. Roberta stood on the deck of the Black Lagoon, her few possessions in a duffel bag. She was no longer wearing the tattered trench coat. She wore a simple grey dress, and her silver hair was brushed and tied back.