Guns are messy. They're loud and dirty and a general disaster to make look like an accident. Not that I cared if it looked like a murder or not – I wouldn't get caught – but it was the principal of the thing that mattered.

That was why the gun was nothing but a distraction. I had a better weapon.

In an instant, I gathered all the death I felt around me, all the horror that had taken place in this dark city, and opened the floodgates to my mind, allowing it to come pouring in. I hissed, feeling it fill me up, leeching away my life even as I drew it to me. As I did this, I turned my eyes to the man in front of me, allowing that sixth sense of mine to get a good lock on his life-force. And all at once, I pushed the death out of me, onto him.

The little light that was his soul flickered, overlaid against my sight, as I crushed him with my will and the city's power. He was dying, and I hated it. He was dying, and I needed it.

It dimmed, diminishing in size.

I was sickened, but couldn't stop. This was how it had always been and, probably, will always be.

It had almost faded away, and, in my real vision, the man stooped, skin drawing tight against his face, wilting and loosing the luster of life.

Then something strange happened.

His little light flared - snapping up at my own soul - the color of fire, and whipped at me, burning away the death and pushing me back. I cried out in sudden pain, feeling the edges of my being disappear, and lost my concentration. The death-cloud that I had wrought vanished, and the man stood up straighter, panting, but very much alive.

I had but a second to process this (the entire battle had been fought in our minds and so took less than a minute to play out). Suddenly, I was no longer seeing out of both my mind and my eyes, but collapsed on the ground, shuddering. My hold on the liquid cement didn't slip, though, and I was back on my feet in an instant, my gun back on Man's head, my muscles contracting to pull the trigger.

Of course, that was when my gut was blown into next Tuesday, along with half of my back. And my left shoulder. Goddammit! Why is it always that shoulder!

Apparently, I'm not the only one who carries a gun.

I grunted sharply, glancing at my guy's gun as I went down. A .44. He shot me with a fucking cannon. At this range, no wonder there was hardly anything left of me. And of course, whoever shot me from the back was an asshole and a bad shot. Not that I could see him anyway.

My concentration slipped again, and I lost my hold on the two accomplices. Dammit! The shot wouldn't kill me, at least, not right away, but if I didn't heal it soon I was going to be in some pretty deep shit. But I also couldn't get rid of all three of them, not with this blood loss and the damage my soul had suffered. So I made a choice.

I healed the wound in my stomach, feeling the energy drain out of me and my vision start to go black.

The last thing I heard was the voice of the veiled man.

"Looks like you were right, bro."

Hi everyone! Sorry it has taken me so long to update! I've been really swamped! Also, sorry it's so short (I'm too lazy to type the whole thing tonight, and I want to get this on here ASAP cuz i don't know when I'll be able to update again).

anyway, please review this, I want to know what you think.

Also, for those of you reading my other story, Things I Should Have Said, I won't be updating for a while yet, cuz I don't know how to get from where I am to where I want to go without making it painfully long, so be patient! More will come, promise!

Here's to new stories with possibilities!

-BMTW