Disclamier: I do not own Bds or any of the characters in it. I might own some characters after a while. Depending on where this story is going. As of now I do not know.
A/U: Hello people. Huge BDS fan. Thought I'd try to write one myself. Dunno how it'll work out. So be nice. Hehe. Or be really mean=P. If anyone gets any ideas or anything they want in the story, lemme know;)
It was a cold and dark night. The moon was barely showing as the clouds had gathered for a meeting. No stars were showing. Down in the streets though, there were lights. High poles of steel were lighting up the road for everyone and no one.
The only sounds heard was the low humming of cars. Somewhere a rowdy cat made his matingcall, sadly there was no one to answer his frustrated call. Nature was cruel that night. Very few people was out at this time of hour. Those few souls walking the streets, where just shadows. Jackets covering them up. Shoes muffeling the sound of their feet.
A quiet night. Just the cat and the cars, at times the sound of footprints.
Only one sound broke the solace at times. A low moaning in an empty alley somewhere in a bad neighbourhood. A sound so low, it was would have been impossible to hear if it had come in the busy daylight.
Behind a dumpster in a dark alley somewhere, a shadow of a person could be seen. Slumped against the wall. His head lulling on his chest, as all strength had left him. If he was alive, there were few signs to show it. The slow and short rise of his chest would not have been detected in the darkness.
Eyes barely open. So little strength left that he could not muster a call for help. Not even if his life depended on it, and it did. His arms were hanging loosley by his side. In his right a rosary was held. One of a pair. It was darkened with blood now. Precious life-giving liquid. But the darkness covered that as well.
For a while he had tried to call for help. But his moans had long been silenced. Only by share will was he still awake.
At one point during the night a man had heard him. Someone had heard the sound of the dying man as he passed by. For a moment he had stopped. For a moment he had considered helping.
But this person was not a man with a heart. Thinking it was a bum, he ignored the sounds of pain and walked by. The person in the alley would soon have all his troubles blown away, he thought. And walked on. Never to think back on that night.
Back in the alley the beaten man drew a shaky breath. The shadow of a smile crossed his face. He had done his bidding. He had done Gods will. He had no regrets in life.
Then, just before darkness claimed him, a singel tear tore away from his eye. Yes, he had one regret. That he would not be able to tell his brother goodbye.
In nomine patri, et file, spiritus sancti, was Connor MacManus's last thought, before he lost his hold of concisness.
Just a moment to late his phone rang. The screen showing the name "Murph", but not showing the worried face on the other side.