"W-wait! Wait, I'm sorry!"
Sorry? Isaac doesn't register the word. The man's voice is just intelligible babbling in his ears, a mix of gurgling and white noise, drowned in the sound of blood rushing in his ears.
Before him isn't a man: it's just a sorry excuse for one, crawling and crying and trying to run from responsibility.
Isaac doesn't speak. He doesn't need to. The man sobs as Isaac steps closer, calmly stands over him and points down. And even still, the wretch tries to plead.
"Please, I didn't mean it! I'll make up for it! He wasn't even seriously hurt, I..."
Those words, they cut through the noise, crawl to his spine, make him tense and his hair stand up on end. Not seriously hurt?
Before him isn't a man: it's the scene from half an hour ago. A boy, sprawled on the ground, fair hair all tangled and all over the place. Covering the bloody mess that used to be the brightest blue eyes. Just a boy, a precious friend, cut and violated and left to die.
No, 'not seriously hurt'.
Worse.
The man still has the nerver to plead. "Please, I swear--"
"Shut up." Isaac's voice is clear, and cold, ringing in the silence like struck metal. The man sobs and tries to crawl up, one final attempt at escape.
Isaac won't let him. He stands still, eyes fixed on the target, and points.
Pulls the trigger, and never even blinks.
