Disclaimer: I don't own the Dogs – I'm just playing with them



There's just one thought that runs through his mind as he feels the cold metal of the gun barrel nestle against his cheekbone – I deserve this. And strangely enough, it doesn't seem to scare him, the knowledge that he's going to die. He knew that anyway, knew that at the back of his head from the moment that the bullet sliced through his flesh like a red-hot knife, but now it's a certainty, and it doesn't feel so bad. He knows it has to go like this; he couldn't live with himself, knowing what he's done. One bullet, for freedom.



It's the pain that freaks me out the most. I've never felt anything like it before, not even when I fell out of a tree and broke my leg as a kid. This is in another league entirely. And I can't get away from it, can't shut it out, can't blank my mind to the fact that there's a bullet in my gut, that I'm dying. It's like a fire in my stomach, my vision blurring, sharp stabs of red-hot ice shooting through my entire body. But through it all, one constant, one thing I can hold on to. You.



I never really thought I had a soul. You know what I mean? I didn't believe in all that 'basic human goodness' shit. I just got the job done, and looked after number one. The rest of the world could go fuck itself for all I cared. And then you turned up. Smart-arse, cocky, but at the same time, still a kid, still needing someone to show you the ropes. And I was cool with that. And then it all went wrong. And suddenly you were the most important thing. I had to keep you safe. I had to help.