#jarrek

Well, these sure didn’t feel like anything, except a cold dark pit in his chest that was getting increasingly cold and dark, or so it felt.  There was a slight stifled yell from him before he staggered back from the shots, already mentally berating himself for being caught so off guard in this scenario.  Rogue Arcanists were always trouble.

Well, he probably didn’t have to worry about that for much longer, as the red stain on his chest was spreading, and rapidly.  Ripping apart his shirt, he glanced down at his body armor, the bullets having gone through it as if it were made of Styrofoam.   Fat lot of good it did him.  Probably outsourced to some cheaper Arcanists.

With a deep breath – or, an attempted deep breath, as he coughed and spat up some blood – he glanced over at Morena, who had fired a few shots at the attacker before he had fled.  She moved over and sat down, face somewhat impassive.  Jarrek guessed living a few hundred times as long as he did meant that this wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“Dammit, Morena, I was hoping I’d live at least as long as Star Wars Episode Seven.”  With a weak smile, he leaned his head back down to the cold ground, feeling something inside his chest begin to warm.  He’d heard that your life would flash before your eyes when you got to this point, but all he was seeing was Morena’s eyes.  Not a bad way to do, really.

God fucking dammit.

His breathing was quickly growing ragged, interspersed with coughs and hacks as blood filled his lungs.  He wasn’t going back from this one.  Not a bit.  Shame, that.  Of course it’s not old age or some disease that gets him, it’s some bastard Arcanist with weird-ass bullets.  Speaking of that, he was feeling something swell in his torso, and the heat was getting more and more noticeable.  He’d done something, and he didn’t want to find out what.

“Morena, I…kill me.”

“What?!”

“The bullets, he’s done-“ And he coughed again, splattering more dark red liquid over his front.  “He’s done something to them, and I…”  He met her eyes, his own a bit wild and desperate.  “I don’t want to know what.  Please.  Stop it before it happens.”

“Jarrek, yo-“

“Morena.  One last favor.”

He closed his eyes.  He heard some shuffling and then felt the still-warm metal press against his temple.  He sighed as best he could, clenching and unclenching his hands, his throat filled with the crud that shouldn’t be there.   He wanted to say something, anything, one last final word before she did it.

Nothing came.  Go figure.  Best time for a one-liner, and…nothing.