Ი︵𐑼 - ‘ B-B-Better luck next time. ’ 4 Morant - Com Truise

“Jesus fuck,” The gray man grunted out as he ran, clenching his arm due to being slashed by the killer— you. He ran towards a shady building, panting heavily as he rested against the brick wall, his breaths labored. He heard footsteps approaching, his golden eyes turning to a deep, alerted red. He perked up, glancing over at you who tightly held the weapon in their hands, ready to strike.

“O-oh c’mon, sweets, let’s talk this out, yeah?” Chance stammered out, backing away slowly as you approached closer, he stumbled down onto the ground before a smirk was plastered onto his face. He suddenly brought his gun out, aiming it at you. “Jackpot.” He sneered out before pulling the trigger, his gun clicking and not shooting a single bullet. Chance stared bewildered, swallowing nervously. “Holy shit.”