You'd never expected to see someone like this before; see him like this before. Seated against the wall, skin paling, eyes glazing over. One arm, the blood still soaking his sleeve from where the other had been amputated.

The gun felt heavy in your grip. Of course, they always were — but it was different this time, knowing you'd have to press the barrel between his eyes.

"I know it's hard, sweetpea," he tried, voice hoarse. "But do this. For me."