Chandrelle's POV:

I couldn't believe what I did. I did it. I killed him. I pulled the trigger and I killed him. I felt sick to my stomach, like I was going to vomit. I fell to my knees and began to cry uncontrollably. I held my stomach as I doubled over and threw up. I wiped my face and stood up shakily. What have I done? Oh God, what have I done? I've killed somebody. A living, breathing person. I ended their life before it was time, I played God.

I needed to sit down. My eyes fell on a small wooden chair a few feet away. As I sat down and pulled my hands into my lap, I noticed that I was still clutching the gun. My hand was wrapped tightly around it, my finger still over the trigger. I clenched my teeth in rage and threw the gun across the room as hard as I could. It landed with a clang on the steel floor and echoed throughout the room. My eyes drifted to his body and I struggled to keep the acid rising in my throat down. He lay there motionless, legs slightly spread apart and arms crossed over his chest. I looked at the mask covering his eyes. I was tempted to pull it off but I decided against it. Out of respect for the deceased.

Suddenly, a gloved hand was placed on my shoulder. I guessed I was supposed to be comforted by this but I wasn't. Nothing could take away the pain I felt. The pain of killing someone. Taking their life. I swallowed hard. I couldn't stay here. Once the others find out what I've done...I don't even want to think about it. I turned to the owner of the hand upon my shoulder. "I'm leaving." I stated simply. "There's nothing you can do to stop me." And with that I stood up and walked to the nearest zeta-tube for the last time.

"Recognized, Sparrow. B08"