Tied to a chair, staring down the barrel of a smoking gun was not necessarily how I expected my last few moments to go.

To be honest, I always thought it would be alcohol poisoning, or choking to death on my own vomit or something equally as humiliating and demeaning. The type of thing that you wouldn't want to find on your obituary. Granted, "found with a bullet wound the size of Guatemala where mouth should be" isn't the best thing in the world to have printed on the local newspaper's confirmation of your death, either. For totally different reasons, though.

My assailant jams the gun into my mouth, right under my tongue. The very front of it still feels warm, almost as if it was just fired. I glance to my right to see some poor shmuck with massive gaping holes where his eyes should be, blood still pouring from them and down his cheeks until finally blending with the red of his T-Shirt.

Oh, right.

It was.

"Keep it nice and steady, and we won't do the same to you," says the man about ready to give me some improvised dental work as he shoves the gun further against the bottom my mouth. Apparently, he caught me observing his handiwork and felt the need to make some sort of threatening, yet vaguely sort of optimistic comment. Who am I to argue with that logic?

"And I can trust you, because...?" I ask, my voice muffled by my impending demise. I swear I can taste gunpowder, though without ever having tasted it before, I can't be sure.

"You really wanna play this game?"

His grip on the gun tightens, the index finger of his right hand creeps up, away from the others, near the trigger.

"No," I gag out, feeling the nerve that drove me to questioning him drain like spinal fluid after a spinal tap. He chuckles; a gruff, callous laugh, before slightly loosening his hold.

"Better. Now, you gonna cooperate?"

I nod, or at least try to, as the gun's barrel bobs up and down under my tongue. Slowly, he pulls back on the gun, removing it from my mouth. A thick coat of saliva bathes the newly freed barrel, of which a trail of clear liquid forms a string between the front end of the barrel all the back to my lips which I lick to break.

Now, my mind starts to wander, onto one subject in particular.




I walk down the halls of the Moda Center, wiping the sweat from my forehead and rubbing it off on my bare thigh while taking a deep breath to hopefully offset the pain in my oxygenless lungs. Honestly, I'm not sure why I just wiped sweat off my skin only to smear it all over another patch of skin, but I also really am not in the mood to find out. No, I'm much too ecstatic to care about little things like that. Holy shit, I'm actually smiling! Not too noticeable, but definitely a drastic departure from the stone cold expressionless, thousand yard stare I'm normally equipped with.

"You were fucking awesome out there!"


Kara, in an uncharacteristic display of both excitement and affection, turns around and wraps her arms around me. Unsure of how exactly to react to this, I continue walking forward, only to have the tightening of her arms stop me dead in my tracks. I turn my head to face her, only to catch a glimpse of the widest, most shockingly sincere smile I've ever seen on her face. Just like that, the smile on mine fades, replaced swiftly by a quizzical, puzzled glare.

"I'm really proud of you."


The pain in my lungs comes back full force, followed by the rhythmic beating of my heart against the narrow interior sides of my ribs. She lets go of me finally, and I feel safe to breathe again. I let a gust of air into my lungs and exhale through my nose as we continue walking down the hall, almost instinctively grabbing at her hand before awkwardly pulling back before she noticed. I don't know what I was worried about, but this whole pride and niceness from her is just rubbing me the wrong way.

"Th-thanks," I finally mutter, accompanying it with a quiet, croaking chuckle intended to alleviate the awkwardness in my late response, but in reality it only accentuates it. She simply nods in acknowledgement and lets her eyes wander down the floor, where she proceeds to scan everything under her as if she just discovered that she can look down. What a development. Maybe she'll look up next.

"Where'd you get those shorts at?"

"Your bag."

"I thought so... you're so fucking dead."


"What about how proud you are of me?" I shoot back, desperately trying to stir this little pot further. She looks back at me with a grin on her face. I like, and don't like that.

"Just you wait."


She punches me hard in the shoulder, which causes me to react like any normal, sane person would: cursing loudly and immediately rubbing the area in question to soothe the surprising amount of pain I'm now in. To say I walked out of the match itself unscathed would be a blatant lie, but I can only conclude two things about this new affliction. Either A, she hits harder than anyone in that match or, more likely, B, I'm starting to come down off the adrenaline.


"Who's your friend?" asks the unmistakably abrasive voice of Tommy Gunn, the (unofficial) Dragon of the Heyman Alliance, who also found himself tasked with the ever so important job of making sure I didn't get myself killed or something. I spin around on one heel to see him coming up behind me, which isn't always the most assuring of sights.


"Kara Livingstone, pleasure to meet you," she says, tucking some loose hair behind her ear with her left hand while sticking the right one out for a handshake, which Tommy accepts.

"You looked great out there tonight; though I'm pretty sure you always look good."

"Wow, smooth."

She leans in and whispers into my ear: "Shut the fuck up."

I nod and smile, before leaning against the wall, eager to see just how this little exchange will go down.


My pocket vibrates, or more accurately, the phone in my pocket vibrates. Good, I wasn't really hoping on sitting around, watching the events that would eventually lead up to Kara committing infidelity anyway. Pushing myself off the wall, I continue down the hall as I pull the phone out of my pocket. How I managed to forget to take it out of my pocket, and how it didn't break or fall out is a mystery to me.


I answer the phone without bothering to look at the number and turn the conveniently placed corner before leaning against that wall. Didn't want to get too far from the two, especially when losing her would lead me on a wild goose chase before I could even leave the building. I put the phone up to my ear, hearing breathing on the other end of the phone.

"Hello?"

"Kendall?" asks the voice on the other end, replacing the faint breaths.

"Mm-hmm?"

"It's me, your uncle David."


"Oh, hey," I say, instinctively looking around for anyone, as if someone could hear me and would realize who I was talking to.

"Is this a bad time or...?"

"No, not at all! What do you wanna talk about?"

"It's some pretty serious stuff Kendall, you alone?"

"For the moment. You should probably make it fast though."

"Understood. My guys and I, we may have gotten ourselves into a little situation that--"

"You killed someone?" I can't believe that surprises me, but it does.

"No! We may have done a couple things that we probably shouldn't have done though. Look, we gotta meet in person somewhere. You still livin' at that one apartment?"

"Technically. I'm not there though."

"Where are you?"

"Portland, for work."

"Oh, shit."

"What?"

"Nothing. Look, I'll, I'll call ya later."

"I don't like where--" click.


I slump against the wall and fumble with the phone before jamming it into my pocket. Taking a few deep breaths, I steady myself and emerge from behind the wall, walking back to where I left the others. Upon walking close enough to see them, I see exactly what I expected; Kara's pretty much trying to shove her tongue down his throat.