The revolver had fallen from his hand about a minute ago, his wrist too fucked-up to hold on to the pound of metal. The recoil was another bitch and a half to deal with, the sudden force of it making him take a deep breath that hurt like everything in the world at once. It was a vise, gripping his chest and tightening even more with each short, raspy gasp he gave as his body struggled for air.

I shot him.

Despite all that, his hand still shook at his side, his finger twitching uncontrollably as it continued pulling at the trigger that wasn't there. I shot him.

The gun lay at his side, spent.

He only had one shot.

One bullet to make it count.

Yesterday - or maybe two days ago, he didn't fucking remember - he held up a convenience store with that gun... took every damn thing he could. Enough food for him and his boys for a good month and enough money to keep all eight of them in product for a while.

Other than the change you made off dealin', you had to provide for yourself as a Merchant. Skidmark didn't do handouts.

He had used five bullets.

Five out of six of the last bullets he had left.

Shot the clerk. One in the head.

Served him right for trying to pull a gun on him when he thought he wasn't looking.

Shot two cops who showed up, the blue fucks making him waste two shots each before they went down in their own blood.

Down to his last bullet and he uses it to waste some Wards wannabe fuck probably still in middle school.

Ricardo fought to keep his eyes open, his gaze locked on the cape kid's unmoving body. He had to be dead, right? Blinking, the lone conscious Merchant tried desperately to assure himself of that despite so much telling him otherwise. I shot him.

His other hand twitched at his side, remembering how his machete had plunged deep into the boy's shoulder. The kid had screamed as the edge cut into the side of his arm, blood spraying from the jagged wound.

Yeah, the kid had definitely screamed.

Once.

After that, he just went back to the fight, throwing punches like nothing had happened. The kid didn't even try to stop the bleeding. He didn't even pay the wound any attention, using that same injured arm to punch him in the throat a moment later.

He was stronger than he looked. Not too fast, but fast enough to be tricky. They hadn't taken him too seriously at first, even after the kid had taken down four of their group with a surprise attack. The rest of them were surprised too, the young-sounding voice almost as big of a shock as the obvious powers the kid had thrown around.

They almost booked it until they saw the kid, eyes nervous and wide as he waited for them to make their move. When they didn't back down, the cape kid ran and they took off after him, smelling blood in the water. How fucking retarded.

The kid let them chase him for a couple minutes and then jumped back to meet them, not even out of breath after sprinting for so long. That was their first clue something was wrong.

Ricardo shivered, both from the cold of the night air and from remembering how the kid moved, taking a hit and then ignoring it a moment later to launch his own.

It was like fighting a fucking Terminator.

The gun had been his saving grace. He hadn't wanted to really use it. I mean, cape or not, it was a fucking kid he was talking about. He just… he didn't know what else to do.

A single shot, right through the chest, had sent the kid sprawling with blood splatter flying from his chest.

Ricardo was surprised, shock overriding the pained expression on his face as the boy fell to the ground, completely still.

At first, he had thought it hadn't worked. Why would it?

The kid had ignored knives and a machete tearing into him, none of them bothering him for more than a short moment.

What difference would one bullet make?

Yet over a minute later, the cape was as unmoving as he had been since he first fell.

Ricardo had actually let out a relieved sigh, despite how much it hurt, when he realized that it was finally over.

The Merchant took in another shaky breath, his chest screaming as he wheezed. Despite the uncomfortable position he was in, and the disgusting wetness that was liquid garbage seeping into his clothes and skin, he couldn't find it in him to move.

His chest stung with deep welts and bruises, forcing him to take shallow breaths that still managed to almost make him tear up in pain. His eyes slowly began to close, the dark hold of unconsciousness falling over him.

Then, he heard it.

Breathing, slow but steady.

Brown eyes forced themselves open with tremendous effort, locking onto the only one that could have made a noise like that. A rush of panic hit him, the fear itself jolting him back into full consciousness. No. No. I shot him.

The boy's body began to twitch, heavy breathing audible from where he lay just a few meters away.

No. Ricardo tried to stand, his arms trembling like a baby's as he tried to push himself off the ground. The cape's breathing came quicker, speeding up until he sounded like he was having a heart attack on the alley floor.

It was too late, anyway. No. I shot him. I shot him!

As if waking from a nightmare, the cape surged upwards to a sitting position, his body visibly trembling and eyes wide beneath his white mask as he heaved for breath. He gasped, a deep, trembling inhale of oxygen that Ricardo wished he could emulate without pain, and there was silence.

A moment later, the night was filled with a gut-wrenching scream, not of pain but fear as the cape stared at his own bloody hands, his voice a testament to his fear. Frenzied blue eyes snapped to Ricardo's. The Merchant desperately tried to crawl away as those eyes locked on to his, fear mixing in with anger as the cape stared at him.

The kid jumped to his feet as if he hadn't been shot, hand sweeping up the bat at his side without even looking. He rushed forward, still screaming fearfully as he swung the bat back over his head, the weapon gripped in his two gloved hands.

Ricardo trembled in his slumped position, unable to move and unable to breathe.

The Merchant closed his eyes. No.

The bat came down.