Time seemed to have stopped; everything felt like it was happening too fast. Kabir looked up. He felt no pain. Brandon looked fine, too.
"Who got hurt?" Brandon asked, and they turned. Claude stood still; he had not planned it, but now it happened. He did not feel as much pain as he had thought. His mind was chaotic, and his lips curved up painfully.
"Why?" Brandon staggered forward. But Claude held up a hand, stopping him. The hole in his chest was too deep, and blood flowed without bounds.
"Aren't you happy I am paying for my deeds?" Claude smirked bitterly. Hot tears rushed down Brandon's face. There lay his sister, all dead and cold; then their father was barely holding on, and now Claude had decided to take his life with the same gun he had used to kill the others.
"I… I don't want you to die," Brandon's voice cracked. His hands reached forward, but Claude stepped backward. He did not need comforting; he did not want it.
