Liam lay on the ground, gasping softly. Dust clung to his skin. Smoke stung his lungs. His ears rang, a high-pitched whine that drowned out the chaos around him. His eyes were barely open, flickering like a failing light bulb. His thoughts… scattered.
Where… am I?
His vision spun, the night sky and scorched earth trading places over and over again. His muscles ached. His bones groaned. He couldn't move—could barely think. His senses fought to reboot, but everything was distant and dreamlike.
He didn't even hear the footsteps approaching.
A shadow cast over his sprawled body. A figure stood above him—tall, wrapped in black combat gear, Crimson Hand insignia on his shoulder. The man stared down at Liam with a blank, emotionless expression as he raised his gun. He didn't shout. He didn't say a word.
He simply aimed.
Click.
The metallic click of the safety going off was the only warning.
Then—
BANG.
