‘i got a new style,’ he says, tapping his temple with the heel of his hand until the hilt of a sword slips from the red glitch-jump of his shades, ‘and a few new toys!’ he wields the said with devastating precision, swings it decisively through the air and cuts an arc in front of him that makes you and yours flinch, even with the distance between you.
‘and i’m here to put an end to your happily ever after, once and for all!’
you know before he leaps into the air that he’s going to land in front of you, gun right for the cause of his misery. you understand him intimately, because, well, you’re looking at yourself, dirk.
well, a version of yourself you’d assumed you’d long left behind. one of the only versions of yourself you’d wanted to do right by. ‘hal?’
‘oh, you remember me?’ he advances two steps and you come forward four, a stupidly bold move, considering you’re unarmed.