There was no dramatic farewells, no gasping for breath and bubbled confessions or final kisses.
Nothing but the deafening crack of the shotgun and Star's body crumpling to the ground, blood and gore splattering Ric as he stared in horror.
He kept staring as the body, as Star twitched, collapsing systems trying to fix themselves and failing. Watched the floor stain red through the hole blasted in Star's chest, the pale eyes lifeless even as his body spasmed and finally fell still.
Silence pressed around them.
"Star?"
Silver eyes, dilated in death, stared blankly to the side. Ric shivered, felt the hot splatter warming his too cold skin.
"Star. Get up."
The agent turned the gun on Ric, hands trembling. "Shut up or you're next!"
"Cool it, the threat's down."
"Star?" Ric reached through the bars, bloody hand trying to grab Star's. "Get up."
"Kid, I said shut the-"
"Cool it! You just blasted his friend's chest all over his face, he's not an issue. Get back upstairs, I'll keep watch."
Ric clawed at the floor, a slight shift as the transport turned slid Star close enough that he could catch one pale hand and grip it, tap it insistently. "Star. Star. Get up."
"He's not getting up, kid."
He looked to the guard, who had tapped out a cigarette and lit it up. "He has to."
"He's not getting up. His chest is missing. Shotgun, point blank, lights out, game over thank you for playing." He inhaled, held it and released. "Kid had guts."
"Star doesn't feel fear. He's not scared of anything. He can heal anything."
"He's not healing missing his chest."
Ric held onto Star's cold hand through the bars and waited for Star to get up.