The Last Stand

I draw like a gunslinger from a cowboy epic and my muzzle spits titanium hollow-point explosive shells. He moves like timeís taking a cigarette break, shoving the body of one of the silverbacks in the path of the bullets then hurling the bleeding, hole-riddled corpse at me down the hall.

Two tons of meat and metal smash into my chest at a hundred miles per hour, and I hit the ground hard, consciousness bleeding out as pain consumes me.

Iím barely alive as he stands over me, framed in the blaring lights.

ďThatís for killing my sister, you bastard,Ē he says in his empty voice.

The world fades away.


Try Again.