I looked into the eyes of the man I was going to kill and smiled. My smile grew slowly, almost reluctantly, or so it seemed, until it broke into a quiet restrained chuckle. I nodded my head slowly and chuckled again while I played with my drink. The glass rotated in my hand, causing the Lament to roll up against the sides of the blue tumbler it was in. The base of the glass tapped the mahogany bar top with each rotation. The dark blue Lament melded perfectly with the glass as it slid back down the sides.

I titled my head back and lifted the glass to drain it of its contents. The glass grew longer, launching itself down into my gagging throat and into my stomach, leaving only the original blue tumbler behind, held tightly in my white knuckled grip. The illusion now over, I relinquished my death grip, surprised that the glass had not shattered at the intensity of my grasp. They must have thought of this when they made it especially for serving Lament.

The initial panic now over, I found myself able to concentrate on the effects of the drink itself. I could feel it clinging to the sides of my throat, its descent slow and methodical. The cooling affect was fantastic. It felt as if the inside of my throat was lined with liquid ice, causing the involuntary shudders to violently wrack my body. I closed my eyes and relished the feeling-wonderfully cold on the inside, warm on the outside-as my body attempting to retain its normal temperature. As long as it remained, I felt I would never need to drink again. But piece-by-piece, the warmth knocked chunks of coldness from my throat, and with one final shudder, I felt the last of the Lament slide uselessly into my stomach.

I reluctantly opened my eyes and could already feel the numbness taking hold of my body, even more than it had after the third Lament. My thoughts were beginning to slow down. If I wanted to speak, I'd actually have to think about what I wanted to say before I said it, or it would come out garbled. Worst of all, my instincts were becoming dulled. I wouldn't be receiving my usual warning signs and internal alarm bells. It was becoming more difficult to pry below the surface of reality. Things were slowly becoming only what they are on the surface. After a few more drinks, there would be no more hidden meanings to me, or any cause and effect, as far as I could tell. This was, of course, why the drink was so popular, especially on the Moon. Most people prefer not to see below the surface here. Things are more pleasant that way.

After four Laments, people are usually drooling on the bar in a numbed stupor. I'm not bragging or anything, but I'm still fairly functional after four Laments. And I was smart enough to take a counteracting drug beforehand to stall the brunt of the effect for about ten hours. After those ten hours, it would all hit me at once. I'd wind up passing out after only one or two minutes of stupefied reality-a reality where nothing exists if I can't see it. This includes a few necessities, like gravity and oxygen. Luckily, the human body doesn't cope well with that sort of thing, so it'll just shut down and hope that when I wake up, everything will be back to normal…well, as normal as things can get with a massive hangover. Like I said, I figured I'd deal with that later.

The bartender was refilling my glass with one hand and wiping a tear from his eyes with the other. He and the three others at the bar were still laughing insanely at the bartender's story. I had to keep from laughing too hard myself, to maintain the image that I was actually under the full influence of those Laments. I simply did what is expected when everyone around you is laughing and you can't figure out what they're laughing at. You chuckle along nervously-enough so that you don't offend anybody, but not too loud in case you turn out to be the punch line.

I faked an appreciative smile at the bartender as he closed the bottle of Lament and pulled out a bottle of alcohol for the others and himself. I was sort of in a Catch 22 here. Now that I was well on my way to supposedly being unable of free thought, it was impossible to turn down another drink. To me, this drink should be nothing but another drink. Every good bartender knew this, and some would take advantage of this for a good laugh, or to amuse the rest of the customers. Unfortunately, Tranis was a damned good bartender, but that's not the only thing he seemed to have a talent for. He got a little too good at something else, enough to get my employer to hire me to make sure he didn't get any better at it. The bartending was my main problem. He seemed fully aware of the fact that I wouldn't turn down a glass of Lament if it was given to me in a friendly manner.

Needless to say, I accepted the fifth Lament. Doing anything out of character might have proven deadly. I wasn't the only one who was armed at the bar, and the last thing I wanted was a firefight. I'd already determined that the furthest one from me, Niko, was definitely armed. I could see the very slight bulge of a stun blaster on his right side. He would occasionally shift to the left so that his jacket covered the side his gun was on. It was a natural reflex, which told me that he was accustomed to carrying, and didn't want to advertise the fact.

The inexperienced gunners, usually the young gung-ho rebels, almost always felt that they had to announce the fact that they were carrying. At every opportunity, they would pull their jacket back for a moment, just long enough so you could catch a glimpse of the butt of their gun. They assume that by doing so, they would be taken seriously and treated with respect. But all that meant to me was that if it ever came down to it, the butt of their gun would be the only part of it that they'd be able to show.

Then there were the few new gunners who were insecure with what the gun brought them: the new responsibility and burden they had undertaken. They were just as easy to spot, always brushing their hand against the gun to make sure it was still there, where they'd left it. It'll never come down to it with these jokers, I thought. They won't screw with me or anyone else who handles themselves. They're cowards, but they'll live a lot longer than the others. I guess it depends on what your idea of living is, though.

So, Niko was experienced. His weapon wasn't exactly deadly, but it would hurt like crazy if you were hit by it. And it would kill you after two or three shots, but I liked to think I was good enough to take him out before it ever come to that. I didn't survive my gung-ho, gun flashing period solely from luck. Tranis was the one I was more concerned about. It was safe to assume that he had something behind the bar for when things get out of hand. Every bartender does. The question was what. My guess was an energy rifle, or maybe even an auto laser rifle-neither of which I wanted to tangle with. Considering everything Tranis was supposedly involved in, he'd be a lunatic to carry anything smaller. I decided I would just have to get him out from behind that bar. Once he came out, he'd be dead meat, just like the other three jokers.

I watched Tranis refill the customers' glasses, and then his own. I couldn't tell what they were drinking, but it was a brown liquid that smelled like cedar wood. Stuff must have been strong, because the other three were starting to get pretty relaxed and silly. Tranis was taking it slow, but one had to expect that from the owner of the establishment. He was responsible if any of us got out of hand. Niko was only on his second drink. I made a slow mental note to keep track of how much he drank. I also noted that he looked really tired.

I shifted slightly on my stool as Tranis continued, "So, the next hand, the same guy gets dealt a thirteen. Meanwhile, the dealer's sitting there with a fifteen. Everyone at the table waves off the hit, like they should. I'm sitting here with a nineteen, so I wave. And here he is, our supposed anchor, and he's fucking sliding more money across the table!" "No!" one of the two drunks shouted as he smacked his hand down on the counter and leaned over the bar with intense interest.

"Yes!" the bartender exclaimed. "The idiot was doubling down! So, here we are, ready to kill the guy, because you know he's stealing the dealer's card. The guy next to me just slams his hand down in disgust and starts yelling, 'What the fuck is wrong with you, you piece of shit?' He's got this real thick Irish accent, so the fucks are coming out real pronounced, you know, like fuuuck with this really deep 'u.' He says, 'The fuuucking dealer's got a fuuucking fifteen,' and 'You're taking a fuuucking card when you have a fuuucking thirteen?'"

"So, what did he get?" one of the men asked.

"Well, the dealer can't even deal because this guy's yelling and everything, so the pit boss comes over and asks what the problem is. The guy goes berserk, screaming about the other guy who doubled downed. Meanwhile, the guy who double downed is just smiling, without even defending himself. He's just smiling at this guy and waiting for him to calm down.

"After the pit boss tells the guy he'll be kicked out if he doesn't calm down, the guy relaxes and doesn't saying anything anymore. He just stares at the guy. So, both the pit boss and the dealer start telling the guy that you never take a card when a dealer has fifteen, and that you never double down on it! The guy just nods and leaves his money there, so the dealer finally goes to pull the card. The guy is still smiling and says real calm like to the dealer, 'Give me that six.' The other guy smacks his hand down on the table again, grazing the side of his glass and sending some of it spilling onto the bar."

"Well, then what happened?" Niko asked.

Tranis stood there for a second, smiling and shaking his head. "The bastard gets dealt a six!" Tranis-completely into the story he'd been telling, and shouting in excitement because of the two drinks he'd had-finally wrapped up the tale. "And to top the whole thing off, the dealer then pulls a nine and busts! So, if this lunatic hadn't pulled a card, the dealer would have dealt himself a twenty-one!"

"That's just incredible!" one of the men screeched, laughing so hard that some of his beer actually dribbled down his chin.

I watched Tranis smiling weakly, almost able to read the look in his eyes as he stared at the drunk laughing. The drunk must have read Tranis' look as well, since he seemed to lower the volume a bit. Looking down at my fifth Lament, I decided I needed to risk nursing this one. My vision was getting a bit blurry and my skin felt a little prickly. I continued to stare at the drink. Then a cold wave washed over me. The blue on blue continued to get blurrier as I gazed. I watched it happening slowly, but noticeably. This shouldn't be happening. I had taken the antidote!

I looked up quickly to see why things had gotten so much quieter. The drunk over to my side was still laughing, but it suddenly seemed muted. I was having trouble focusing on more than one thing at a time. I focused on the laughing drunk, but he was still blurry, and I couldn't even make out Tranis in my peripheral vision. Realizing all this, perhaps a bit late, I quickly turned to Tranis. It was a struggle to keep him in focus, but I did so enough to confirm my suspicions. They'd drugged me.

With a low growl, I pushed myself back off the barstool, my hand whirling to my side, drawing my gun.

Another misjudgment. Whatever he'd given me was powerful enough to negate the antidote I'd taken earlier. My legs quickly gave out as I tried to stand, sending me sprawling to the floor and landing square on my ass. I adjusted the gun, immediately aiming it straight at Tranis' blurry head.

"Campbell, you're out numbered. Drop the gun." The voice was so quiet, and I could vaguely tell that it was coming from the left. Niko, I thought.

I ignored him and slowly rose to my feet, using my free hand to pull me up while the other kept the gun aimed at Tranis. I could barely feel my finger resting against the trigger of my blaster. All of my senses were fading at a slow but deliberate pace.

"Guys? What's going on?" one of the drunks asked.

I just kept trying to focus on Tranis. It really wasn't that hard to do; all my peripheral vision was gone now. All that was left was his blurring figure before me.

I took a step back and a bit to the left, holding my free hand behind me, finding a table top and grabbing hold.

"Campbell, you're not getting out of here," Tranis said. "We set this up. Just for you." I frowned, trying to figure out where I crossed him along the way, but I quickly decided that it didn't matter at this point. Stalling, not speaking, I took another step to the side. I could almost feel Niko's blaster aimed at me, but I ignored it. All of my vision was for Tranis now, and the blurry fool was staying perfectly still.

"Campbell…" Tranis began slowly. It was time.

"Shut up." I spoke calmly, barely able to hear myself speak.

My vision was reduced to small circles. Clouds of darkness filled everything outside the circle, but within it rested the hazy form of Tranis' head. I pulled the trigger, not actually feeling my finger do it, but trusting my body to act. The blast was a small muffled thump to my lost senses. Swinging my arm to the right, unable to make out any shapes, I began firing at random. I reeled off six shots, all waist high, in a controlled sweep. Each blast was lower than the last; I didn't even hear the last two.

Suddenly, I felt a small burning sensation in my side. It ached momentarily, then the pain was gone. I had the sensation that I was moving, being thrown backwards. I fired two more shots and then felt a small push against my entire backside, as if a three year old had just ran up and grabbed me from behind. Standing for one last shot, I fired, then pushed myself to the left. I fell, unable to see where I was landing, but praying it was behind the table I'd turned over. No way of knowing.

I curled up in a ball, pressing my knees against my chest, but unable to feel whether I was accomplishing the feat. My vision was no more than a small speck of light. The blackness closed in, pushing the light to a pinpoint. And then…

---
....Nothing
..............---

I'd taken this drug only once before. That time had been quite voluntary and under much more desirable circumstances. It had been maybe five, possibly even six years ago. I don't really remember. It was the last time I'd been to Earth. I was visiting an ex of mine down in Old Boston, but she wasn't an ex at the time. Nothing serious, just two adults nearing middle age who were trying to have a decent time. My last night there, we were drinking at the cafes on Newbury street, soaking in the antiquity of the city, when we were approached by a mutual friend who was ready to do a pickup. My girlfriend had obviously had it before, the way her eyes lit up, so I agreed to it, figuring it couldn't hurt. An hour later, after a quick stop at the grocery store, I found myself back at her little Back Bay studio with a pair of peaches and some low African music playing in the background.

It is simply referred to as "5." I always assumed that was in reference to the five senses it mangles, but I don't really know for sure. Back when I first took it, it was cutting edge stuff; all of the scenes were taking it in massive doses. Now it's pretty much just a standard hit, still effective, but there's apparently some much more interesting stuff out there.

5 is a manufactured drug, programmed to aggressively attack portions of your brain and start screwing with your senses. She explained it quickly to me and it sounded interesting. Besides, now that I was at her place, there was really no turning back. She wanted me to take it alone first, and once I got the hang of it, we were going to do it together. So, smiling a little nervously, I laid back on her leather couch and dropped the orange pills.

It started off subtle enough. Reclining comfortably on her red divan that stretched the back wall of her apartment, the drug slowly took hold. At first, it seemed as if nothing was happening, but then steadily, I began to notice slight differences. My vision was beginning to cave in ever so slightly, the peripheral vision pulling in towards the center of my eye. The sounds of the traffic outside began to fade. What had always been a constant din now seemed nothing more than an annoyance. The music was also leaving. All I could hear were the dull muffled thuds of the music's conga drums, none of the shrill windpipes or poetic chanting could be heard. Even the couch itself seemed to change. What had before seemed so plush against my body now began to feel vacant, as if I were just floating and nothing was beneath me to support my weight. I began concentrating on the sense of touch; it just seemed the most bizarre to me. I can close my ears or eyes anytime, but I've never been unable to sense my own surroundings as they pressed against me.

Paying so much attention to the sense of feel, I barely noticed that my eyesight and hearing had degenerated into nothing. Suddenly, but too late, I realized that my sight was nearly gone. I looked up, panicked. Only pin holes remained within the clouds of my vision, and on the other side of those minute holes sat the smiling face of my girlfriend. Then nothing. All was gone. Complete blackness. Even silence normally has a sound, that subtle hissing intertwined with a low buzzing that is always there in the back of your mind. But it too was gone now. Complete deafness. Complete lack of touch and smell. I couldn't even taste my own tongue resting within my mouth.

I was hovering in emptiness, hanging in complete sensory deprivation. It was impossible to hold back the panic. But what is panic without being able to feel, see or hear anything? It is nothing but an emotion. An emotion that seems hard to justify when the body returns no signals to the mind. So, the panic is held at bay, dissipated, and all you are left with is waiting-an eternity of waiting.

Then, from the blackness came a slight grayness, and from the gray came a tiny pinpoint of vision, expanding as slowly as it had closed a lifetime ago. As my touch returned, I found myself clutching the sides of the divan, my entire body as tense as a board, despite the calm waiting my mind had felt. Were the signals to my body also cut off by the drug? I had wondered. Was my mind unable to pass on the surrender it had accepted?

As everything returned to normal, I noticed some things for the first time. The dull clicking of her imitation cuckoo clock. The drip of her bathroom faucet. How smooth the fibers of the divan felt against my open palm. The gray specks that were scattered across her wide blue eyes as she stared at me in amusement-enjoying, through me, what she must have experienced many times before.

It was almost like a religious experience that my body was going through. Now that it had its senses back, it wanted to use them to their fullest. I began to feel every pore across my skin, the roughness of my jeans pressed against my legs, and the comfort of my shoe soles pressing against my heels. I could feel my hair swaying slightly. I could not only hear the ticking of the cuckoo, I could now also hear the gears shifting with each rotation. The shadows of the apartment took on a whole new structure, each dancing, swaying, a myriad of grays and blacks, no longer just a black shape cast to the floor. My mouth agape, I turned to her to explain and saw her bemused expression, then understood. This wasn't my body celebrating. This was the second phase of the drug. What it had once taken away it was now returning ten fold.

She handed me the peach. I nearly dropped it in surprise, feeling for the first time how thick and soft its small fur coating was. I just held it for a moment, caressing it, learning its each and every little dimple, bump and depression. I brought it slowly to my mouth, tasting its thick aroma surrounding me, absorbing every other scent that had once been there. My tongue salivated before it was even at my lips. I pressed it against my mouth and took my first bite. It simply exploded across my tongue, each little morsel scattering, sliding within my mouth. I could taste the subtleties of the fruit itself, the center being a bit sweeter than the tougher outside. The pieces blended across my mouth, but it didn't matter, I could still discern each tiny taste packet. The juice slid over my lip, burning it slightly with its citric acid, then down my chin. Pore by pore, I felt its descent. I was nearly deafened by my own moans of delight as I made short work of the rest of it, spending particular care to suck the soft pulp off of the hard riveted pit.

I have no idea how long it took for my senses to return to normal. She told me it usually takes five to ten minutes each way, the whole experience lasting only about fifteen minutes. It had felt like hours. By the time the pit in my mouth was nothing but a dull tasting piece of wood, she was gently patting the juices from my chin with a napkin, smiling wildly and displaying two more doses before me.

"Ready to take it together?" she asked gently as she began unbuttoning her blouse.

All I could do was spit out the pit and nod dumbly.

---
....Blackness to grayness.
..............---

I could see. The small circle was already beginning to expand, the hissing returning to my once deaf ears. Somehow, I was alive. I whirled my head around quickly, trying to capture as much of my unknown surroundings as I could with the limited scope of sight I had. Amazingly, I was behind the overturned table, as planned. I was facing the wall with my back pressed against the underside of the table. The wall was pushed in slightly and the indentation seemed fresh, so I assumed it was from me. No one else was near me, so I also assumed the whoever was still alive was camping out, waiting for my move.

Holding my gun with both hands, resting it steadily on my bent knees, I waited. They hadn't come for me while I was sitting here senseless. They obviously had no confidence in whether the drug was working. They weren't going to come for me now. I was in control, and I had no intentions of moving until I at least had most of my senses back. And back they were coming.

A dull ache was beginning to form on my left side, followed almost simultaneously with a faint whiff of smoke and maybe even burnt flesh. Looking down briefly, I saw that I'd been hit by what looked like the stun blaster. From the damage, it looked like it had been a full force hit, which meant that this was going to hurt like hell when my senses returned to normal. I didn't even want to imagine what it would feel like once my senses began to enhance. I suddenly didn't have as much time as I'd hoped for. Resting my head on the table's bottom, I cursed silently and began concentrating on the scene behind me.

My hearing was still somewhat suspect, but I was able to pluck out sounds from the cloud my head still seemed to be in. A constant leaking was the most predominant noise, the low sound of something overflowing and pouring into a puddle on the floor. I was under too long for that to just be the liquor pouring out of broken bottles, so I assumed I hit some kind of pipe behind the bar, maybe even the sink itself. Breaking into the constant fall of water was a low moan, changing in pitch, growing a bit desperate, and then back to a low guttural garble. I nodded my head once in satisfaction. I'd obviously hit someone in my firing spree.

"God…help…Niko…help me…"

Slowly, I made sense to the moans in the background. Even though I knew I wasn't lucky enough to hit Niko, I still felt a surge of disappointment after making out the words. I was going to have to take him, and as of now, he had everything in his favor: time and position. That's all it took. Just have the higher ground and wait for the other side to have to move and you'll win 90% of the time. Here's to hoping for that tenth percentile.

I shifted slightly, turning and resting on my knees while making damned sure my head didn't pop out above the tabletop. I couldn't help but wince slightly at the growing pain in my side. It had wrenched slightly when I turned and was really beginning to burn now. I'd been hit by one of these twice now in my life, and from the pain I was now feeling, I knew that my senses had almost returned to normal.

Gritting my teeth to help ignore the hurt in my side, I pushed my pistol down the side of my pants so that it rested there for me to grab later. Bracing myself, I inhaled deeply to try and calm myself. Then, grabbing the upper left and the bottom right legs of the table, I exhaled and launched from the floor, holding the table before me like a shield.

It took less than a second. A sudden crackling noise exploded over my lowered head. Splinters from the top of the table rained down on me as I charged forward. I adjusted slightly so that I was rushing straight on to where the shot came from. He was right behind the bar, just as I'd expected, obviously no longer wielding the stun blaster. I tightened my grip on the legs of the table and stormed toward him, desperately trying to keep momentum as the awkward table continuously rebounded off other tables and chairs. I quickly dodged to the left, ducking low, ignoring my own shout of agony as my side screamed its protests. The blast came almost immediately, the blue beam roaring past my right side, just wide of its mark. Without hesitation, I lunged back towards the bar, knowing that if I could only maintain this pace, he could get in only one more shot before I reached him.

There was no way to dodge this one. I was too close to the bar. Charging onward, I cringed, awaiting the eminent blast. I ducked low, knowing it would be any moment now.

The right side of the table exploded, blowing the table nearly into two pieces. Howls of agony erupted from me as the blast singed the underside of my arm. The usual slight burn was enhanced, rivaling even the wound in my side.

My left arm suddenly found itself trying to hold up the larger portion, nearly three quarters of the table. Still gripping the smaller piece, I pushed the larger portion forward, grunting from the effort. The tabletop hung dangerously for a moment, as it seemed I didn't have the strength to truly force it forward. It seemed to hover, dangling in my outstretched palm, tipping downwards, allowing me to see Niko for the first time. He stood firm, braced behind the bar, his legs spread slightly, ready for the impact. A small scowl of frustration was painted across his wrinkled face as he rested the blaster rifle against his shoulder, waiting for it to recharge. Then suddenly, the table crashed down onto the top of the bar, no longer hovering, no longer needing my strength to support it. As I took my final steps to the bar, I thrust my arm out, hurling the tabletop towards Niko.

Niko easily sidestepped the sliding missile, but the distraction was all I needed. As soon as he stepped to the right, I was over the bar, leaping onto its top and then crashing into Niko. Both of us spun wildly backwards, crashing awkwardly into the glass liquor cabinet behind the bar. A fury of glass enveloped us, a thousand tiny needles plunging into my skin from all directions. The agony was so blinding that I couldn't even scream. I simply fell to my knees, paralyzed, my mouth agape from the shock that something could actually deliver this level of pain. The tears streamed helplessly down my face, coating my cheeks.

Niko's sudden crushing kick to my midsection knocked me out of the trance of suffering. I felt each rib crack one by one like dominos. It hurt brutally, but was nothing compared to what had gripped me earlier, and this was enough to allow me to focus for a moment.

Niko arose unsteadily, blood running down the sides of his face. I didn't need the enhanced sight to see the pieces of glass jutting haphazardly from his wounds. Splinters shifted in my hand, breaking the skin, slicing my palm as I clenched my fists. Somehow, I was still gripping the smaller piece of the table. Niko lowered his head and rushed me.

Howling from the pain and shrieking with determination-I swung the table in a wild arc. The collision rattled the bones in my fingers and arms. The sounds of Niko's jaw dislocating drowned out all of sounds as the blow knocked him to the side. He fell past me, crashing to the floor.

Pivoting on my knees, my voice growing hoarse as the glass dug further into me, I brought the table down again. Niko attempted to roll over, but his eyes only widened in horror. His jaw dangled uselessly, stretching the skin around his mouth. He was unable to cry out as I pushed his face back with my final blow.

Mere seconds after Niko fell back to the floor, I collapsed myself. Crumbling into the debris, the adrenaline was no longer enough to override the pain blasting throughout my body. I lay on the floor with my head turned uncomfortably to the side, which offered a view of Niko's devastated face upon his still breathing body. Beyond him lie the headless corpse of Tranis, slumped against the back wall, his palms stretched open to the ceiling. I reached out, gripping the floor, pulling myself towards Niko. I coughed furiously, and each cough wracked my body with new tremors of destruction. It was becoming unbearable. I could nearly feel my body preparing to shut down. The numbness was already trying to spread. A light warmness tickled through my body, tempting it to just surrender, to end the agony.

Instead, I pulled myself forward even further, resting my head against Niko's shallowly rising chest. This had to be far enough. I let my other hand fall across Niko's chest. It was getting so hard to control myself. My hand shakily reached into Niko's pocket as I whimpered uncontrollably. Nothing. I wept in frustration, willing my hand to his other pocket. He had to have it. I didn't have the strength to get to Tranis. My fingers found and closed around a small plastic bottle. Clutching it, I pulled it from his pocket. My body, suddenly understanding the plan, cooperated for one last effort of will as I turned my body over. My shaking fingers pushed the top of the bottle open, and holding it slightly above my face, I held it over my open mouth.

I wanted to cry in joy as I watched the pills tumble from the bottle into my mouth, but I was out of tears. All I could manage was a desperate gurgle as I swallowed without chewing. They were wonderfully orange: the color of more 5. I shook the last pill out of the bottle, then dropped it, allowing it to bounce off my teeth and roll to the floor uselessly. I'd taken enough to overdose a large horse, but it didn't matter. I just needed to stay alive long enough for the pain to start to subside, then make it to a hospital before it began to climb again. If I didn't, I was dead anyway.

Groaning from the intense pain, I rested on Niko, waiting for it to subside, fighting to stay conscious until it did. In the meantime, reaching down, I gripped the holster of my gun. Shuddering from the effort, I pulled it from my pants and brought my hand back, and dropped it behind me. My arm lay limp across Niko.

I shifted ever so slightly and brought my hand around, each movement hurt a bit less. Finally, the barrel of the gun made its way to the remains of Niko's face. Closing my eyes, I pulled my finger, my ears rattling as the gun erupted. My head shook slightly, rose one last time, and then sunk. I had passed out.

The next thing I remember is staring up at the ceiling, barely able to feel the puddle I was currently resting in. The pain, once so fierce and ever present, was now only a dull throbbing throughout my body. I rose slowly, gripping the bar for help. I was shaking badly now, my body trying to fight off a certain overdose. I dragged myself out around the bar and nearly tripped over the body of one of the two former patrons. I'd hit him twice in my blind firing spree. He looked as if he was lucky enough to have been killed instantly. I stepped over him and continued on, staggering past the second patron, the drunk who'd been laughing so hard an eternity ago. He lay on his back, whispering at me, bubbles of blood blowing from his lips as he spoke. I ignored him and rushed out the door as quickly as I could manage.

I made my way awkwardly down the near empty street. Hunched over, still gripping my gun and bleeding heavily, I lurched towards the hospital. Anyone still on the streets moved quickly out of my way, probably not even noticing my weapon. I could vaguely see the look of horror on their faces. I grunted low orders at them to get out of the way, but they were only whispers to me now. I fell to the ground, unable to feel my legs beneath me. I could see only a small pinpoint of the sidewalk as I crawled forward three more feet. I murmured an unheard protest as the darkness pushed in, pressing the pinpoint even smaller until…

---
....Nothing
..............---
Copyright 2000 Harry Raden

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