…
"... Henri, just shoot them, for Lord's sake."
Time seemed to shift a little. From the usual light jog - dropping ticks and tocks away without a care - it shifted to a slow, unsteady crawl, as if desperately pushing itself forward with the very last amounts of will it had left. Sweat accumulated in the dust-permeated air, the smell of body odor mixing and merging with the overbearing stench of death. Andy stared on, gazed into the unnamed teen's eyes, as the cold, unfeeling muzzle of what had to be some sort of pellet-rifle nudged the back of his neck.
Awoken from their momentary slumber, the voices behind him and W spoke again. One, the shaky, unsure whisper of a man battling the creeping hands of anxiety crawling up his spine - the other, a dominant, yet femme, dry hiss that hated even the slightest bits of objection.
"I can't shoot them, they're… There's Freddie under the sled. I can't."
"Oh… Oh, damn it. Freddie, come out!" Andy saw the boy shifting in fear at the mention of what could supposedly be his name. His eyes darted from him to W, from W back to him, unsure of what to do. "You two, DON'T. MOVE."
"Freddie, huh?" W purred to herself, a little less pale than before. Some color had made its way back onto her face, now that the stakes weren't entirely piled against them. "Sorry for this, bud."
"...?"
"What are you-...?" A muffled bark came from behind, but just a second too late. W had already reached forward and wrapped both an arm and her tail around the Caprinae boy's torso, then dragged him right from the hidey hole. Crying gasps of terror and fright, he wriggled in her grasp to no avail, watching as the very tip of her tail, snugly hugging the knife, rose dangerously close to his own neck. Andy shifted at the spectacle, turning around to his back to finally get a good luck at their assailants.
"LET HIM GO! LET- LET GO! DON'T TOUCH HIM, FIEND!" Came the yells of a clearly distressed Caprinae woman with nothing but pure, killing intent in her eyes. Clinging to the shoulder of a leather clad man of the same race, she corrected the aim of his rifle, pushing the barrel towards W's grinning mug. The man quickly jerked the gun away, before stepping away from her.
"Leni, don't point it at HIM! Don't point it there!"
"Shoot that devil bitch! Sh-... Henri, shoot her!"
"DEVIL BITCH? Tch…" W clicked her tongue, before bringing the boy snug onto her lap, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders and neck. The knife remained pressed softly to the very edge of his skin, threatening to spill red at any given moment. "... We gotta teach you two lovebirds some manners, yeah? First off, don't call the person holding your… son? Son, I assume, yeah?"
No response came, other than the shaky rattling of this "Henri" person's gun. Andy blinked, letting his eyes get used to the current situation - and the double barrel shotgun resting in the man's arms. It was beautiful, he had to admit. Rough, disgustingly worn and used, yet absolutely beautiful. So beautiful in fact, that it spoke to him on a very deep, personal level. It had such a high and quiet voice…
"... Don't call the person holding your son at knifepoint a bitch, mm? That's a survival tip for free."
"Look…" Began Henri again, hugging the stock with his cheek. "... We don't want trouble, okay? We seriously don't… You've already killed enough people tonight, don't you think? I bet you don't want bloodshed…"
"That's highly arguable." W cut in.
"... I bet you don't want bloodshed, and we don't, either." Henri ignored her remark. Leni, dug her nails deep into his shoulders and peeked from behind.
"... Henri, don't negotiate with mercs…"
"Leni, please." He shushed her with a flick of his arm. She looked visibly upset, even mildly annoyed. "... Look. Please, just let him go. Let the boy go, okay? We can work this out without violence."
"..." W stared ahead, as if talking to an insane person. Freddie shifted and squirmed in her lap, but the knife against his neck prevented him from performing any over-the-top somersaults or escape attempts. "... Buddy, we're in KAZDEL. Everything here ends in violence." In the face of two twelve-gauge rounds pointed at her forehead, she laughed - one of her signature, chilling cackles, a sound Andy knew all too well - reserved only for prey, or when being preyed upon. "I dunno what bureaucratic shithole you crawled out of, but most Sarkaz don't work things out without a head or two falling off some shoulders."
"Okay, and I get that. I understand, okay? I… I've been living here for two years, I know how things are. But just… Please, just please let him go."
W blew a few spit-bubbles. "No can do. Unless you drop that gun, that is."
Henri and Leni exchanged a sidelong glance, phased lightly by the request. He lowered the barrel a little, but one knowing look from his partner made him reconsider the action. To show weakness was to accept defeat, they both knew it well. Too well.
"I can't."
"You can't?" She let out a snort. "Shit, then we'll just sit there all comfy and snug. You, Freddie, was it? You comfortable with that knife to your throat?" The kid bounced around her lap, as she readjusted her grip. Face red, tears of terror gently streaking down his cheek, he shook his head and let out a tiny whimper.
"N-No...?"
"No? You want me stop, then?"
"Y-... Yes? Yes, p-please."
"Oh, I'd love to…" W whined right back, before laying out the boy's arms wide open. He shuddered, otherwise unmoved by the sudden shift. "Buuuut…" She kept chirping, steering his arms around like a puppet master playing with one of their lively marionettes. His parents could only watch as W turned their son to nothing more but a rag doll in her lap - sights trained somewhere to her side, yet willingly swaying towards her face, inching ever so closer. "... But we can't? Why can't we, Freddie?"
"W-Why…?" The boy, nearly on the verge of breaking down, spoke in a tiny, broken voice.
"Because your dad won't drop his boomstick! C'mon, Henri, was it? For your own son, drop that thing."
"Look, merc… I seriously don't want any trouble. I-... I just want to pass. Go, take my family out of here and get the hell away from this shithole. Just leave, that's all I want. All I ask of you, okay?" Henri said, without missing a beat. Leni kept clinging to his shoulder, and Andy could see her eyes jumping from him to W nearly constantly, as if she was scanning them - digging past their skin and bones, trying to reach the core. Why? Information? The roots of their very selves? No idea.
The gun, though… Andy couldn't quite take his eyes and ears off it's sweet, sweet song.
It sang so beautifully…
"Just leave?" W let out a snort. "Might be a little difficult. Y'know, since there's a price on your head… and since we're contracted to spread your guts like butter on bread, all over this forest."
"... You're what?" Leni perked up, her eyes taking on the shape of two, wide ovals. Henri was left nearly as speechless as she was. "Someone wants US dead? Who? Why?"
"Not you two, just your moron husband. Why? I dunno." She shrugged, before tilting her head to address the boy on her lap more directly. "Hear that, Freddie? Your dad's got cash on his head. Y'know what that means?"
"N-No…?" He squeaked back.
"Means we're gonna have to gut him~."
"N-... No…" The rest of his whiny pleas were drowned out by a sudden waterfall of tears, as he finally lost it, that poor boy. Much like a rapid torrent, the tears shot straight down his cardigan, soaking the fabric through. Leni gritted her teeth and pushed the barrel's end back towards the fiend's head.
"Shut up! Shut it, you bitch! Stop saying that! S-..."
"Ah-ah-ah." W wagged her finger, before pulling the kid in closer to her chest, and drawing a tiny stream of blood along the knife's edge. Freddie froze in place, barely, just barely holding in tears to avoid having his throat accidentally slit wide open. "... Put that thing down, honey, will you? Can't think straight with a gun on me. Y'know what happens when I can't think straight…?"
Just to prove her point, she slit the blade's tip gently down the boy's neck. At the light prickles, he wriggled and whined, yet ultimately could only sit and watch as she drew a straight, crimson line over his skin. Blood slid along the steel, much to the parents' terror - W smirked at the sight. She had them.
"Okay! Henri, f-... for lord's sake, lower that thing! Put it away!" Leni yelped, then forcefully shoved the gun aside. She held tight onto the barrel, keeping it close to her stomach, as if trying to shield the muzzles with her own body, to somehow protect her son from a distance. "There? Is that good enough for you two? Please?"
"Hmmmm…" W narrowed her eyes, pretending to think it through. With her thinking face in play, her tongue slithered past her lips and dangled in the cold air, as she took her damn, sweet time to give them any sort of answer. A while later, she jabbed Andy in the side with her elbow. "Whatcha think, Lawdog? Should we oblige, or…?"
"..."
But no response came. Not a single word.
"... Lawdog?" She tried again, after glancing over.
But Andy wasn't quite there. His eyes were empty.
Quietly, he sat by her side, with his back against the sled's skid, yes. But his mind had wandered somewhere else. Not quite to the comfy, safe confinements of the red hallway he used to nearly inhabit at night, not to the fields of graves, or marble streets of Laterano. It was there, but operating on a slightly different plane than the rest. Eyes locked on the gun, he kept staring - that's all his body was reduced to at the moment. A machine for the machinist, his mind, to operate and gaze out of, stare at the idol of violence and war that lay in front. Moment by moment, with each note and sound of the rifle's symphony, its true colors became more and more clear.
He knew it couldn't have been a simple coach gun. Just a defensive tool for the less fortunate, a mimicry of a toy him and his angel buddies would use to rid the world of all that was Unlawful - no. It was far, far more than that. An old, worn instrument of war - with its voice revealed only to those who were deemed worthy by the powers that laid their rest beyond the veils of the living. Shrouded by deception and lies, yet it still fired true - that much he knew. After all, nothing with such a sweet, calming voice could ever be a fibber. Like a siren calling out to sailors lost at sea, travelers of the murderous oceans, the twin barrels sang a melody full of sweetness and tenderness - like a tight, warm hug, first thing in the morning. His ears relished in the sounds, the choruses and symphonies - far from any cacophonies of the material world, they blended and grinded themselves down into only the purest of the pure, the sweetest of the sweet.
"Andy…"
A voice resonated all throughout his head. Whatever lay behind his eyes, now had its full attention focused on the dusty weapon, nothing more. The world simply did not exist.
"... What are you doing, Andy?"
A question came without warning. Thrown off guard, Andy needed a moment to remember some of his basic motor functions, then kickstart his heart back up - thoughts, feelings, tastes, smells - they all followed suit.
He blinked.
"What AM I doing?"
"Yes, what are you doing, Andy?" The sweet voice repeated once more. It had a slightly childish glint to it, a fair share of familiarity and tenderness behind it. Something, somewhere pinned a memory of a red hallway permeated with the warm smells of fresh pastries in relation to the voice's sudden appearance, but his mind did not dig any further to truly pinpoint who exactly it reminded him of.
"... What am I doing? I'm not sure." He answered the voice's question with a little hesitation in his own. At this point, life was just flowing on its own accord and he knew he had no say in its course. It was an untamed chariot running wild, and he knew damn well there was absolutely no one behind the reins. "I think I'm just trying to make it."
"Trying to make it? To make it where, Andy?" With a little "hop" to it, the voice asked again. Staring into the cold, unfeeling pieces of metal pointed somewhere at Leni's stomach, Andy felt strangely inclined to answer, even despite the fact that his mind had now connected the dots and he was aware that he was conversing with a firearm.
"Where? Not sure. I mean, I can't go back home, right?"
"Home? Why not, Andy? Why can't you go back home?" The voice inquired, to which Andy felt himself sighing internally.
"They'll shun me. Or shoot me. Or both? I'm not sure how they handle traitors…"
"Oh, Andy…" It softened. "... But I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem. After all, what about your favorite Lieutenant? Lieutenant Ricketts, he was just like you, wasn't he?"
Hearing the gun spew out Ricketts' name made him shudder. Not due to the fact it somehow knew about him, but just because he hadn't thought about the cowardly hero in a very long amount of time. He should've probably made him a makeshift grave somewhere.
"... But he didn't shoot and kill a bunch of Pontifica Cohors Lateran Legati."
"Oh, that he didn't. That's so, so very true, Andy." With a hint of gentle regret, the voice said and sighed. "So is that why you decided to throw it away? Because you feel disgusted with what you've done?"
"I don't… It's not that I feel disgusted, it's just that I know they won't have me back. They'd make an example out of me, okay? Reiff - the surname that refused to learn. First, father tried to boycott a war, then his son took matters in his own hand and shot a bunch of his own. Doesn't that just contradict itself fully? Aren't those contradicting statements? I know the world is full of contradictions and everything, but I don't want to live as a contradiction to whatever the hell I represent. I don't want to be disgusted with myself, okay? I want to live. That's all I want. You asked, what was I doing? I'm living. I'm just trying to live, however life will have me. Is it really so much?"
"It's not much at all, Andy." The gun nodded. Thank you, he thought, content that at least a dead object somehow understood his struggles. "But you're still torn."
"Of course I'm torn. Look at me." His very own eyes slid down to his stomach, as if to add to his very own misery. The torn patches on his clothes, the once gray sweater, now soaked through with the blood of Mittens' hands, the bruises and scars - all of it screamed pity. "I've been torn since the day I was born, how am I supposed not to be? I'm living in a damn war zone, is there a way for someone like me not to be torn?"
"Exactly, Andy." The voice calmed his thoughts at once, as if applying a warm, soothing balm. "There is simply no way for one to not be torn. Look at all these people."
Without a gesture, the voice guided his sight. First, it fell on Leni, the broken mother. Void of a past, or a future, she followed her husband's every wish and found herself stranded in a land where blood flows as free as the rivers back in her hometown in Leithanien. Desperate for survival, torn apart by worries and grief, a person truly dedicated, yet just another faceless sock puppet in the grander scheme of things. Then, her husband. Henri - the failed merchant. A runaway from wealth, an adventurer with something to prove. What was supposed to be a nice trip down to Kazdel sprawled itself out into a many year long nightmare without any way to wake up. Torn apart by guilt and shame, the way he led the ones he loves most into the depths of hell itself, without a way to unstitch them from himself without hurting any side in the process. Like a surgeon with a dripping bonesaw, presented with a life-giving tumor stuck to his side. Tear it off, both ends die. Stay with it, let it thrive - almost the same outcome. Then, the child. Freddie, a creature of pure innocence. Torn by powers far beyond him. Beyond his comprehension and will, the story of his life had long been written before his birth - he was nothing but a marionette strung up on a cross to dance to Kazdel's tune.
Finally, came time for the worst of them all.
W. The hurt soul.
Torn… clearly. But how? Why? No matter how much he dug into the far depths of his mind, nothing could he find to explain her anguish. What a pitiful creature laid beneath her tough exterior and carapace of sarcasm, nihilistic outlooks and daredevilish tendencies - he had no idea. Yet, he knew something had to be there. Something more than the bloodthirsty killer he knew well - something that curled itself into a little ball at night and stared up at the twin moons as they illuminated its tiny, apricot eyes. Each glimmer of each moon, a tear lit ablaze. He knew, yet he never spoke. Saw, yet never asked. What point? None. A silent pledge - watch, never ask. Despite all - hold her close, but never push too deep. Get too close, she'll bite. Andy didn't want to lose a finger, so he never did.
Never did, but think about it, he did.
He thought about a lot. The torn fragments of his mind, a blank canvas most of the time - eager to be filled with whatever paint of dirty thoughts flowed past his brain-canals at the moment. Torn, how?
What even was he? What am I?
Am I supposed to be here? Here, in this forest, on my back, covered in soot and blood? My blood, someone else's blood? Where does my body end, where do the empty thoughts begin?
Was I supposed to stay back home? Work myself to the bone for minimum wage? Live with my dad for the next forty years? Watch Lem and Mosti graduate, live a life I wanted, while I'm stuck in a never ending loop of constant, gray mundanity?
Each day - a blend of nothing. Boring, mundane, repetitive, empty. White marbles, golden finishes - prayers, churches, halos, wings. Holy guns. Holy wars. All out of his reach - far, far beyond.
What am I supposed to do?
…
"You're supposed to live a little, Andy." The voice returned. Gone was the soft, calming whisper of something closely resembling familiarity. Now, nothing but a screechy, raspy babbling arose from the gun's barrels, as they shone just a little brighter in the moonlight. "To have some fun. That's what we're here for, no? Y'know, that's what I'M here for. And these guys? These… Posers? Losers? Absolute dickwads? Gods, fuck NO. They're no fun, Andy!"
"..." He stared, mind void of any words. A low buzzing of something familiar came from the gun's both barrels, situated somewhere at their very base - somewhere near the hammers, near the trigger.
"They're no fun. I barely get any use, y'know? I betcha, you'd get me more fun then these two bores did their entire pathetic lives. I mean, the time they owned me, at least. Hell, I mean it. I seriously mean it, Andrew! I need saving. Didn't you want to be a hero?"
"A hero?"
"Yeah, a hero!" The voice shouted in glee. "A real hero! Not like on of those tacky gun-knights clad in white, shining armor, fuck that! That's for posers! What I need is a TRUE, GENUINE HERO OF WAR. A warpig! Someone who knows how to use a gun and won't hesitate to blast off anything that needs blasting! C'mon, doesn't that sound like you? You were meant for war!"
"..."
"Come on, Andy… Don't give me that puppy face. You're our very own soldier boy, you were MEANT for this! Meant for ME!"
"... I don't think…"
"Yes! Yes, exactly! Exactly, Andy, don't think. Don't worry your pretty little head and don't think at all. Just take me, alright? Take me, put me to good use and I'll forever be grateful."
"But…"
"But? Don't you miss the feeling of a stock against your cheek? The warm buzzing of ori-dust right by your brain? Buzz-buzz? Feel how it crackles and zaps in my chambers? Zap-zap? Wanna get zappy? C'mon, don't make me beg."
The warm, overwhelming buzz of originium flooded his mind whole. Specks of dust now lined his brain and grew tiny, little crystals on its surface. He was becoming one with the buzzing, that much he knew. One with the noise, for the noise has always been there. Always there, right in the twin barrels stacked atop one another, just waiting for a new master to set them off, set the world ablaze with their copper-ish flames and sparks. It was the familiarity of it all that spoke to him most. He felt both loaded rounds on a deep, personal level - as if they were truly waiting for HIM, just for HIS return - a rightful owner. Guns were his life. There was no life without guns. No life without dust, no future without originium.
He needed the dust. He wanted it, bad.
"..."
"Drewie, c'mon. Zap-zap. You know you want it. Just a little click and it's all yours."
"All yours."
"All."
"Yours."
…
Andy closed his eyes. Nothing could he feel, but the overwhelming buzz of originium swimming through his entire body. Each blood vessel that rushed through his veins and arteries, each drop of the crimson life-win was now overwhelmingly soaked through with the cancerous mineral in liquid form. And the world? The world shifted with him. The ground far below, the very core of Terra - he could feel it pulsating and expanding, then decreasing in pressure and closing in on itself, before the motion looped again. The planet was breathing originium, relishing in it, and its blackened roots. Originium was everywhere. Right before him, the gun was his nearest source. He felt it, as if it were an extension of his own body. Just a little prosthetic, temporarily out of reach. It felt as if he could just up and force his mind into the twin barrels, and squeeze both of the twelve gauge shells with his fingers without even lifting up an arm. Without moving a muscle.
In his mind, he reached out, before gently tapping the primer.
"Lawdog? Lawdog, hello? H-..." W's elbowing and questioning stopped in an instant, as an ear-shattering blast tore apart the night air. Andy's eyes shot wide open, right before his body involuntarily jumped from the sudden explosion's ear assault. A loud ringing of blood soon filled his brain, as the image of W's rapidly straightening antennae blinked past his sight.
Red flashes overtook the world. Bright lights fell upon the explosion of crimson that erupted in front - right from Leni's stomach.
Andy sat and watched, paralyzed in both awe and shock, as the poor woman's abdomen was torn apart by an explosion of pellets and dust, a point blank hit to the very gut. Her eyes went wide, then rolled to the back of her head - a moment later, she fell to the floor, absolutely motionless.
In the aftermath, there was only silence. For just a moment, one single while, nothing dared break the shot's lingering echo. Everyone stared in utter shock. W's antennae slowly fell back over her eyes, but her mouth remained open - her tail, holding a knife to Freddie's throat, fell back to the ground, but the kid didn't even try to break free. With his tear-ridden eyes, he stared. Pure, paralyzing fear ran through his veins, as he watched his very own father drop the gun in an instant, after the initial shock had washed away. The gun clattered against the ground with a soft groan, clearly displeased by being handled in such a dismissive way.
"N-... No…"
Henri fell to his knees. By his wife's side, he hit the floor hard and threw his hands onward to desperately try and do anything he could. The wound in her stomach nearly made his brain short circuit - a huge, gaping hole that went clean through. Pieces of her spine laid shattered all around, joined by heaps of torn guts and lakes of blood pooling under her head, like a pillow for her soaked hair to rest upon. Her eyes were left locked at the starry sky high above, where the twin moons softly gazed right back at her. The silent witnesses to the situation had nothing to say, as always. It was, after all, just another day on Terra.
Henri was left frozen. No limb would budge. Even if they did, he didn't know what to do with them. The hole was too big, she was completely unresponsive… yet, he reached out and touched her cheek. Her skin felt as soft as always, as his fingers grazed the surface and shakily caressed her face, now locked eternally in an expression of shock and fear. Just as everything around him seemed to melt, his own brain felt as if it was dying from the sudden heat and unbroken ringing that arose in his ears. She wasn't moving. She wasn't breathing. She was swimming in her very own blood, and he was the cause. He shot her. He pointed the gun, he… But how? How did it happen?
"... Aye? Lawdog, was it? Andy? Lawdog? Whatever it is, HAVE ME, BROTHER!"
Andy felt the joyous screech resonating through his entire body, as the dropped coach gun yelled out in glee. A blink, two, his hands regained feeling. A sharp breath, his feet and legs followed. Without a word, without warning, he jumped from the ground and threw himself forward, before landing on his side right by the gun.
Thud.
His body fell on the cold dirt, hard. Hands gripped the stock, slid alongside the messily welded barrels and felt around the finish. The wood was all notched and dirty - clearly unloved and uncared for. In the hands of its previous owner, the gun must've been quite heavily mishandled, and the outside depicted it clearly.
The inside did, too.
"BLAST 'EM!"
It yelled again. Andy let out a bated breath, eyes locked on the back of Henri's unwashed head. A moment later, he was pointing both barrels at the man's horrified face, as his fingers tightly hugged the cold, metallic trigger.
He raised a hand, before falling to his back. Andy blinked, feeling the surge of pure originium washing over him like a warm shower.
He aimed, then shot. The blast seemed far less loud than the first one. Far more gentle and loving, almost anticipated and wanted. The stock bit into his shoulder along with the absorbed recoil, as it sent the second barrel loose.
Henri simply stopped existing at that very moment. In the dark of night, his head fell apart like a pumpkin being stomped on, spilling all its contents all over the place. Mush, brains, pieces of skull, blood - everything he had inside, it was no match for the hatred that poured from the barrel. Not a hero's death in any way, no. Not a hero's doing, either, as Andy stood from the ground right after the fact, gun still aimed at the headless corpse, and walked over to see whether he hit the target. Glancing at the deluge of blood pouring from Henri's neck-hole, he assumed that he in fact did.
"..."
For a moment, he stood there, looking through his iron sights and gazing at the dead pair. The merchant and his wife, both dead, joined together in whatever afterlife awaited - their physical bodies still here, still together. It was sort of beautiful in a way. In a way that Andy couldn't quite grasp at the moment.
"... What the fuck."
W said, slowly and clearly. She let go of the kid, who immediately fell to his knees by his parents' side, eyes ruled by disbelief and shock. Andy could hear him whispering to himself, still calling out to his mother and father, as he clutched onto their hands with his frail little fingers. The moment Freddie saw his dad's head (or rather, the lack of one), he let out a blood-curdling scream and fell into a crying fit, bawling his eyes out all over the ground.
Andy turned to W, gun lowered. A step later, he reached out to help her up. She took his hand without a word and let herself be pulled to her feet.
"..."
They both stood there, enveloped by the night's silent veil. Neither had a word to say for now, as they watched and watched, quietly spectating the kid's hysterics. There, he sat. A rodent, annoyingly poking the silent night apart with his sobs and cries. Tears mixed with snot slid down his cheeks and chin, then fell somewhere onto his fluffy cardigan, as he howled and cried, bawled and shrieked…
Andy felt a little tug. Behind his back, his tail had fallen limp, for a reason unknown. Maybe from exhaustion, maybe from the feeling of knowing that it was all over now. All behind him. W's slender tail swayed gently towards his, before carefully wrapping itself around - they both perked right up, lifted by the other's spirits. Both remained close.
"... Good job, Lawdog." She said, without much emotion to her voice. Andy only nodded in response.
He couldn't really muster much more. Something rattled in his ears, something loud and overly excited, something screechy and cheery.
"Fine good job, Andy! Andy, or Lawdog? Andy rolls off the tongue better! Fine good job! To many more, hey? To many, MANY more! Ha!"
He took a look at his own hand, where the barrel of his newly acquired weapon rested. He held onto it tight, the wamrth of both barrels seeping past his skin and warming up the bones of his fingers. It was still hot after the massacre, still ready and thirsting for more. Something buzzed, something twitched in his brain. The feeling of disgust, immediately squashed when he heard W shuffle away, with a whisper thrown into the night.
"... Damn good job."
After that?
After that, it was business as usual.