The stench of death was heavy in the air. Joe Brace drew another antagonizing breath and fell to his knees. He heard the voice of his attacker.
"The Disk!" He recognized the voice. It was his own.
"The bag!" he choked. The attacked nodded, and walked over to the thin canvas bag in the corner and rummaged through. Brace looked at the hole in his chest, slowly spreading blood over his shirt. He nearly passed out, and would've been grateful if he had.
His attacker had found what he was looking for. He pulled out a floppy disk from the bag, relatively old-fashioned now. Then he turned, and walked back towards Brace. Brace saw a pair of legs stop in front of him. He forced himself to look upwards. What he saw hit him like a brick wall.
The man was completely like him. Neat black hair, the same thin face, they were identical down to the last wrinkle. But they weren't. Looking closer, Brace could see a thin cut down the side of his attacker's face that had not had time to heal. But then the gun in the man's right hand took his attention. He concentrated hard to keep conscious, as he heard the last words he would ever hear.
"Goodnight, from Inkheart."