Well, me neither, Rhydian thought with an internal groan, watching the young woman leveling her weapon at the couple again and only the split of a second later a shot resounded from the walls. His gaze dropped immediatly down on the other female in the room who hit the floorand he felt how his hand was curling into a fist, but he reminded himself to stay calm and to not jump the gun here. He was oblivious about Emily’s background and why she did all of this and to be honest, he didn’t care enough to put effort in figuring it out the past weeks. But the anger washing over his features the mere seconds after the shot fell was enough of a proof that he fed up with her.
“Oh, you’re having your feisty day, huh?”, he retorted, visibly unmoved about her threat. “If I would get a dollar for everytime someone’s trying to scare me, I could end world hunger for one year. So, go ahead, shoot me if it gives you some satisfaction but I can guarantee you that you won’t like what comes out of it.”
Again his eyes found the wounded woman on the floor and his fingers began to itch slightly at the sight of blood spreading on the floor. For people on the brink of death he didn’t share any compassion because you couldn’t change much about it anyway. But this very moment he was really bitter about not being allowed and able to stuff a fleeting soul right back into the body, the main reason being that it would piss off Emily. But there wouldn’t be much use of it, right? Maybe they’d get caught up in an endless loop of killing and reanimating, so probably it was just better this way. But there were other things he could do.
He approached Emily again and this time he was moving between her target and her weapon, pressing his chest against the barrel of her gun with a challanging yet warning look. “Now I’ll give you the count of three to put that thing down. If not… you’ll see soon what happens.”
Who the hell was this guy? Emily’s brow creased. If she didn’t know better, she’d say this was one of those incredibly realistic dreams that she’d wake up from dazed. She’d say maybe this guy that appeared from no where and tried talking sense into her was her conscious, trying to do her some good, steer her onto the right path. But she only ever had one kind of dream now, and this wasn't it.
Maybe she had taken this revenge plot one step too far, and now was her chance to put the gun down and return home and start her life over again. She’d killed enough people by now to earn herself a place in hell, hadn’t she? She should call it quits while she still had time to redeem herself.
Then she remembered. This was her redemption. This was how she would come to terms with the guilt of being the only one to survive. This was how she avenged the needless deaths of her friends. This was how she’d make sure their souls could rest in peace.
Emily couldn’t live with herself knowing that they were all dead and she was alive. Every one of them had been better than her, more important than her. Every one of them had a greater destiny than dying in that hell hole. It should have been her that died. She’d gladly take a bullet for every one of them if it meant bringing them back.
But that was a childish fantasy.
“I’d rather like to see what happens on your count of three.” She hated to admit it, but she was curious. This man sparked a curiosity that she hadn’t felt in months. For so long now, she’d felt empty. Nothing. And now, she was feeling something. It was stupid, but she felt like challenging him. Because she wanted to keep that feeling alive.
He pressed his chest against the barrel of her gun. Brave? Or maybe just incredibly foolish. They’d find out.
Emily brought the gun back, smiled at him, then aimed it at his leg and pulled the trigger. Again. How many bullets had she fired in one day now? Maybe she was becoming a little too trigger happy.
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