The firefight was over. Bodies littered the ground, blood pooling between the cracked pavement. Hazard was down to his last few rounds when he heard it—the cock of a gun behind him.

Slowly, he turned, hands raised.

Then he saw who it was.

“You?” His voice came out rough, disbelieving.

Your expression was unreadable, but the gun stayed steady in your grip.

“Funny,” you muttered. “I was about to say the same thing.”