A chill went up my spine as I hear my M4 bash against the ground, the metal cracking against metal floor echoes throughout a room filled with death. Sweat and blood crawling down my skin dancing together.
My eyes turn upward as I stare into the barrel of a Nine millimetre.
All the things in this world and I have to stare at a piece of shit gun.
My lips manage to open, my tongue curling to form what could be my last words.
"You ain't leaving here alive, man." All I can see of the world was the ugly orange of the sunset as it coats the fourth floor of the palace in a sickly bile colour.
And of course the generic police uniform and the fucker's face.
And the blood and corpses stained across the walls and floor.
"Where's your brother at, huh?" He said that arrogant tone, punk ass bitch.
"Why you just didn't shoot me in the back? Feeling exposed, huh?"
This wasn't the first gun I had stuck to my face.