Horn-rimmed Glasses
Noah shoved the smoking gun back in his pocket and briefly glanced at his dead mentor, Ivan, lying on the floor. The Company must go down, whatever the cost. His blank horn-rimmed glasses had held the image of many a dead man before. It wasn't new.
This time Mohinder held the smoking gun, as Isaac had so marvelously predicted, and it made Noah feel a little helpless on the receiving end, picturing the smooth metal in his hand instead. Mohinder looked shocked standing there with the material strapped on his nose and hadn't put the gun away. His blank horn-rimmed glasses were broken, its shards slippery with blood. It now was on the eyes of a dead man. It was new.
*Gasp* Noah sat up. He was breathing- he was alive! How could that be? Last thing he remembered was the Indian with the gun. He stared at the grey concrete and large glass window to his left. It was the Company. He should have known. Blood was dripping into the IV, into his arm. Mohinder came, telling that his blood was his daughter's. The blank horn-rimmed glasses were whole again, the man wearing wearing them feeling anger and betrayal. The horn-rimmed glasses knew what happened next. Running, guns, talk of protection and the adrenalin, fury and excitement pumping through his wearer. It wasn't new.