There was suddenly a suction cup on his back, keeping his lower back pressed against the earth as Zubin stood over him, looking pale and slightly colourless as the SMG raised to point down at him. Hansel saw himself from above, staring down at the two of them as Zubins finger curled around the trigger, felt his throat go raw from screaming at his bloody, wounded counterpart, lying pathetically on the grass floor of the park. He saw barely a man curled there - bandaged face, missing fingers, seemingly more gauze and will than flesh and bone.
He saw wounds - starting with Theos, moving to Mallorys bruise and Rays insults to Virgils amputation and KKs stabbing. He felt as though he should be experiencing pride at how long he lasted, success in some measure for managing to drag his way this far, but all he felt was a bone dry weariness, an exhaustion that seeped into all elements of his being.
He felt as though hed just ran a marathon through glass, having taken every shortcut, every obstacle, every single jarring step, only to realize at the very end that there was the option to walk along the path of pillows and they neglected to tell half of the contestants.
He saw himself raise an open hand, spreading his fingers wide as Zubins finger continued curling, his mouth opening in a croak as he said Wait-
A crack of thunder.
Flash he was yelling in a forest on his back as crimson stained leaves were around him and he was forcing out the word faggot as the little fucking coward starting sprinting away from him
Flash he was walking stone-faced towards the fresh corpse of a classmate under the angry stares and loud voices of the small crowd that had gathered around it
Flash he was opening fire on a duo from atop a hill
Flash he was lying on his back, bleeding from the stomach, bleeding from his chest, bleeding from his face his hands his shoulder and suddenly rage gripped him as he saw this man who thought he could waltz to the finish line, not having suffered, not having to do anything other than come in at the end and pull a fucking trigger-
His hand twitched as it shifted, dragged across the earth towards the back of his waistband. He shifted, trying to roll as his hand gripped at the hard object digging into his back, reaching for the SMG buried there. Hooking two fingers on it, he pulled, his arm screaming with pain as the gun was freed and he fell flat on his back again, the SMG resting beneath his hand.
He exhaled, breathing slowly, carefully.
Then, he rotated the SMG so that the barrel faced Zubins back, lifted it slightly, and pulled the trigger.