[He wonders if it's possible to bleed to death from a gunshot wound and, if so, how long it would take. In a way, it's funny how he's never considered the scenario when he lives in a bottom-of-the-barrel city. Seki's line of work is hardly legal, but it's not dangerous. He's never had to worry about being caught in gunfire, or about pissing off the wrong people. He's the messenger, under the protection of one of the big kings ruling the city. What trouble could a prole like him run into?
God, how wrong he turned out to be.
Up against the alley's wall, Seki presses trembling hands over his leg. His jeans feel damp-- or maybe that's the sweat clamming his skin. He slumps, hisses through his teeth:]
no subject
God, how wrong he turned out to be.
Up against the alley's wall, Seki presses trembling hands over his leg. His jeans feel damp-- or maybe that's the sweat clamming his skin. He slumps, hisses through his teeth:]
Shit.