"Mark Hamill."
"What?"
"You'd be Mark Hamill. I'd be Harrison Ford." Shawn rubbed his nose with a finger before tucking his arm back into the space between his body and his legs.
"Star Wars? You could have done better."
"Yeah, but comparing myself to Harrison Ford helps my morale. That's what you wanted, right?"
Gus shrugged. "I guess."
The freezer rebounded to silence once more, until the hum of air to keep the area cold kicked in.
They had been waiting for help for a few hours now, but Shawn had no idea if someone would be able to figure out where they were. He didn't do paperwork on their cases, and he hadn't told anyone what they were doing, not even Gus, until earlier when he called him to come to the warehouse.
His phone gave a residual beep, making sure for the twentieth time that Shawn knew the battery was dead. He wanted the tone to go away, to stop repeating itself every five minutes, but that would include turning the phone off, and made him feel like he was resigning himself to death by hypothermia. And the fact that he was only wearing a tee-shirt and jeans didn't help.
Gus was in bad shape, too. He had extra layers that Shawn didn't, but they didn't make much difference when hypothermia was competing with blood loss and shock.
Comparing himself to Harrison Ford wasn't really helping his morale.
Gus dropped back to the ground, tire iron clattering loudly on the floor, the echoes bounding loudly against the walls in an attempt to outshine the gunshot from a second before. Shawn's hand came up to his mouth in shock, clenching into a fist as he struggled to gather his thoughts.
The figure with the gun rushed forward, and Shawn felt dimly in the back of his mind that maybe he should do something. Slowly, almost sluggishly, he leaned down to grab the tire iron that lay beside Gus. He wouldn't have time, though. He knew that, even as he bent down. His body wasn't functioning properly, something was wrong, and it had everything to do with his friend lying on the floor.
His disjointed movement brought him to an upright position just as the silhouette drew close enough to be slightly visible in the darkness. As it slammed into him in a tackle and pushed him to the cement, he had time for one fragmented thought.
It was that girl.
He groaned, gradually realizing that the weapon was pushed against his chest.
"Stand up." She whispered, which didn't really make sense since there wasn't anyone to hide from anymore.
Shawn struggled to his feet, glancing over at Gus.
He was conscious-though Shawn couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing-and his feet were moving with agony.
"Please," he said, quietly.
The woman pointed the gun anew and motioned for him to lower his voice.
He started again. "Please, let Gus go."
"He wasn't part of the plan, Spencer. He wasn't part of the plan."
What plan? He decided to play along. "I know that, and I'm sorry. He's my partner, so I decided to have him come, too."
"You can't just change the plans!" Her voice raised in pitch, but not volume. "It messes everything up. You messed everything up!"
Shawn glanced helplessly at Gus. He had. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't cut it." She hissed. After a moment's thought, she pointed the gun at Gus.
"Wait! He wasn't part of the plan." Shawn raised his hands defenselessly, but also in protest.
"I know; I have to get rid of him."
"If you do anything to him, how do you know that won't change everything else?"
"It can't be changed any more than it already has been!"
Shawn clenched his jaw, trying to get himself under control. "But… everything we do has a reaction. Any Syfy show would tell you that. Killing Gus would change me, and if you change me, that changes the plan too."
The woman paused thoughtfully, then nodded, gesturing with the gun for him to grab Gus. "Over here."
Shawn grabbed Gus by the wrists, glancing in the direction she pointed. A freezer that in some ways resembled a vault stood with its door wide open. The door must have been opened before she shot Gus.
It must have been part of the plan.