A/N: I wrote this just to let off some steam, another thing I was writing was really getting on my nerves. Might not make sense. Enjoy it anyway.

Disclaimer: I don't own these guys. Would be cool if I did, but I don't.

I sit slumped against the wall, not as much panting as struggling just to breathe. I tried my hardest, but I couldn't run any further. I look up, briefly enjoying the feeling of rain against my face, a bitter smile just crossing my face. A back alley that smells of garbage and urine, what a perfect place. Should suit him just perfectly. It's going to end here.

I'm going to die here.

I try to straighten myself up, but as I do, pain shoots up through my left arm. I bite my lip not to scream. It's already torn open and bleeding anyway, just as usual. Speaking of bleeding…

I look down. The blood from the shallow cut on my arm only trickles down my wrist and hand now, mixing with the water on the pavement. An odd, tingling sensation in the tip of my fingers is the only proof that this arm belongs to me. Try as I might, I can't move them. My arm hangs limp and useless beside me, the bones probably fragmented or close to it. Serves me right for trying to fight, I'm not looking forward to the point when my body can't block the pain anymore. I close my eyes as I feel tears burning, trying to force them back.

I'm going to die and I'm not going to go crying.

I breathe calmly. It's worked before. Amazing how much you can block out if you can just control your breathing. Almost involuntarily I reach down, my fingers only brushing against the cold metal on the only weapon I have. I grab it, pulling the gun out of its holster. The light from the streetlight reflect from it, making it look almost otherworldly. Its far too familiar weight in my hand doesn't comfort me. It won't help. I close my eyes again as I raise it, this time not pointing towards something away from me.

The gun nozzle is cold and wet, but so am I. I can't believe I'm doing this. I've thought about it, thought about how easy it would be. Just to pull the trigger and everything would be gone, I wouldn't have to care anymore. I have never gone this far before. I open my eyes again, seeing my hand pressing the gun against my temple out of the corner of my eye. Is this what I want? Do I want to end this way? But the only option I have now…

I gasp as I hear the disturbing sound of metal against concrete. I close my eyes again. It's probably his knife, the one he always carries with him. I can picture him letting it run over the wall beside him as he looks for me, smiling, and I realize what I must do. If it's really just a game to him, then I'll let him know that I'm more of a worthy adversary than he thinks.

I am going to defeat him the only way I have left.

He's softly calling my name. I grit my teeth, refusing the urge to scream out loud. He loves that. He loves to make me… angry, to make me frightened, and now I am going to return the favour. I can hear his steps now. He knows where I am. I can only guess if he's just found me or if he's been watching. He can't keep me in the dark anymore. He stops in front of me, looking over me. As I thought, the knife is resting casually in his hand. I meet Bryan's eyes, his icy blue eyes. They drift to the gun in my hand, pressed tightly against my temple, before they meet mine again. He grins. He knows I won't do it.

I know what he wants to do to me right now. I return his grin, feeling like I've lost my mind, before I point the gun towards him. The world has slowed down. He's still smiling as I pull the trigger.

It's like a dream. A nightmare I'll wake up from any moment. I watch without emotion as bullet after bullet tear holes open in his body, actually forcing him back from me. His knife falls to the ground. He screams, more out of surprise than pain, it seems. I've been quiet for too long. I won't let him touch me the way he wants to. I continue pulling the trigger, still grinning madly as I see the pained expression on his face. It might not do me much good now, but I can hurt him! The gun clicks. I don't stop pulling the trigger. The disheartening sounds seem to echo in the almost eerie silence. I let the gun drop from my now limp fingers. I hear a few jagged breaths before he steps before me again, looking down at me. Blood trickles down his stomach. I hope I hit a soft spot but know I didn't. I might have torn holes in some skin and flesh, but I can't scratch what's beneath it. I see the rage burning in his eyes. I've made him angry. Good.

He leans down, grabs the collar of my jacket and pulls me towards himself, I can't stop a pained grunt as bones in my arm scratches against each other and burrows into my muscles from the inside. At least I didn't scream. He must be proud of what he's taught me to endure without a sound. I'm not very much fun when I'm not screaming, am I? He holds me close to himself, glaring at me. I have trouble breathing, the collar of my shirt tightened too hard around my throat. I can't help but be afraid now when I meet those eyes. He's never had reason to give me that look before.

Snake Eyes. I'm going to die!

I remind myself of what he has done. To others, to me. I probably saved a couple of lives when he still found me interesting, when it still was a new thing to him, to fuck my body and my mind simultaneously. I remind myself of the scars I have to hide. I remind myself of what I want. I'm going to die and I'm not going to go begging. I meet his eyes, feeling a strange calm spread through my body. He gives a snarling sound as he suddenly hurls me away from him, almost effortlessly. I can't help but scream as I crash down on the pavement again, tearing skin off my face and hands, and the arm… I swear I can feel bones sticking out of the skin. I won't look. I refuse to see it.

Bryan picks me up again, like I'm just a rag-doll. He is grinning again now, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. He asks me if I've had enough. He asks me if I'll give up. I meet his eyes again. That look. I realize I only have a few minutes left now. A few, long minutes. I try to think about my loved ones, my friends and family, but can't. The only thing I can think about is that I once thought that icy blue colour was beautiful. He asks me again, his grip of my jacket tightening. I look down. His knuckles are whitened. I want to make him angrier. I want to make him loose all control. I'm going to die, finally in control of him. I want the last memory of me he'll have to be wiping splatter of my blood off his face and hands, knowing that I won, even after all the things he did and made me do.

I spit at him.

"Bitch!" I snarl. It feels good. He's said that to me one too many times. He's taken my freedom, my body and my mind one too many times.

I barely have time to see the punch before it lands. I spit broken off pieces of my own teeth out, the pain is almost too much. That wasn't a warning, like I've been given before, and that's not what I want now either.

I'm going to die and I'm going to go with a bang!

I say it again. And again and again, I scream it at the top of my lungs, mixed with snorting laughter. I've lost my mind and I only feel relieved, I spray blood and spit in his face and hope it disgusts him, I hope it angers him beyond that point I've never had the nerve or the reason to pass before. He'll have to wipe it off, it'll be his last memory of me. His last memory of me! It won't be watching me bleed to death before him, it won't be leaving my apartment, pleased in more than one way. It won't be any of the ways he wants me to go. It won't be him finally winning. It'll be wiping the blood off his face, knowing that I have robbed him of the chance to kill me the way he wants to. He knows about it.

He finally looses control. Finally, it's game over.

I've won.