#option 14

You lash out at the creature, kicking it square in the chest. Its small form flies backwards and crumples in a heap beneath the window. You get up to finish it off, but before you can get to it an unearthly wail begins to come from the huddled shape. You fall to your knees, ripping at your ears as this sound carries into your body, digging into your ears and eyes and tongue as you pant for breath. You feel like you’re dying, the sound seeping into your lungs, clutching at your heart. The last thing you see before darkness overtakes you is the large green eyes weeping some sort of luminous ichor as it reaches out for you.

 You have died.

He shoots you. Your hands fly to your stomach, but the wound is too great. You cannot stop the bleeding. You collapse onto your knees and then onto your face, bleeding out in the light dusting of snow. You hate the snow.

You die.