(TYLER)
When it stops, I still have the gun to my head, and my hand is definitely shaking more now. Somehow, I'm still alive.
"The boss told me you got over that death wish of yours," says a familiar voice.
"Still comes in handy from time to time," I half-whisper. I open one eye, then the other. The kitchen doors are still swinging, and in the occasional light it lets in from the corridor outside, I see three men in paramilitary uniforms on the floor, all lying in pools of dark, spreading liquid.
As for me, I'm not dead, not dreaming, probably not hallucinating. I let out a laugh, my hyena laugh, but it's muffled by the mingled relief and disbelief in my throat.
"Well, shit," I say, dropping the gun from my head. I turn back to look into the storage room, where Burgess , Darla and Marco are all staring at me in confusion.
"It's okay," I tell them, still chuckling, slightly hysterical. "It's okay."