Disclaimer: I own nothing. QT has all the original ideas, and he sold it to whomever owns it. Not me.
Felt that this could be done, so I thought; why not?
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Prologue.
"Revenge is a dish best served cold."
Old Klingon Proverb
The sun. Burning the building to a bleached-out white on the outside, and glaring into the interior with a ferocious intensity.
The pools of blood slowly clotted and dried in the light, giving off an iron-rust smell. Bodies, strewn around like dirty clothes, were scattered on the floor. All dead. All murdered.
Except one...
Sunlight burned into the corners of her eyes and her forehead, and burning sweat trickled down her face into her eyes, stinging them mercilessly. Her breathing was laboured, each gasp a red-hot iron of pain.
Her bloody lips emitted a whimper of agony, but she was in too much pain to cry. Besides, she didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing her weep.
She half-shut her eyes, trying to twist them out of the way of the sun, and looked up, seeing all of them. Those who she once considered friends... The dull thumping of her blood in her ears seemed to grow louder, distracting her, and making her fell dizzy...
"Do you find me sadistic?"
It was a gravely voice, the voice of a man who had smoked too much, or had spoke too much, probably both. He stood just beside the sun, making him appear to be a black silhouette, nothing more. He kneeled down, and pulled out a small piece of cloth.
It rasped its way around her bruised face, wiping away the drying blood. The bride grunted in pain, trying to escape it.
"You know, I'll bet I could fry an egg on your head right now, if I wanted to..."
On and on he spoke, wiping her face with that pretentious cotton handkerchief. That gravely voice she had known for so long...
"You know, kiddo, I'd like to believe you're aware enough, even now, to know that there's nothing sadistic in my actions... well, maybe towards those other jokers, but not you."
His callused finger slowly traced her cheek, and he stood back up. The room span slowly, making her turn away in brief nausea, the sun still burning her broken body. There was the clicking sound of metal against leather, and the sun abruptly was blocked out. Her eyes widened, her breathing became more harsh and shallow.
"No, kiddo, at this moment, this is me at my most..." he trailed off, pursing his weathered lips momentarily. "...masochistic." There was the hollow, clanking sound of oiled metal as the hammer was pulled back.
Her lips, cracked and dry trembled. "Bill?"
He paused, the gun levelled at her head.
"It's your ba-"
He fired.
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Please R&R. If no-one seems interested, I'll withdraw it. If it attracts interest, goody gumdrops, more chapters will follow.
Next Chapter: Chapter 1: 2