[ The cold metal burns against his forehead. It's different from the way the Evoker always felt- a kick-start, no matter how jarring— facing down the barrel of a gun now feels like everything comes to a stop.
This is how he would have died, staring up into Akira's grey eyes and the last thing he would see is his own face, eyes wide, unfocused, darkness crowding in from his periphery. He can feel his knees give, pain in his shoulder as he falls, the entirety of his weight where he's being held up by his wrist—-
--both wrists, arms out to either side of him, legs straight and bound together, him bound in the thick night air with voices shouting behind him. Something about being a sacrifice, a prophecy, a man that he trusted and a girl that he loved— they called her "Aigis." Barrels on the tip of her fingers, trembling as he stares down into them. Gunshots. Two. Blood, screaming, gunpowder, lights so bright and shots so loud that Minato squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself fall to the ground, not wanting to see or hear or know, but- Laughter. A gun in his face. Laughter, as the man steps backwards and tips off the edge into nothingness. It smells like death, acrid, and all the tears in the world can't wash that smell away.
There was nothing he could do.
That's wrong.
He didn't do anything.
He was bound and unarmed and held at gunpoint but he could have— he should have- ]
--I couldn't. [ Minato croaks out, throat dry and voice thick, answering Akira after however many minutes must have passed before he's back here in this room, opening his eyes and feeling sick. ]
was waiting for a regain, sorry for the delay!
This is how he would have died, staring up into Akira's grey eyes and the last thing he would see is his own face, eyes wide, unfocused, darkness crowding in from his periphery. He can feel his knees give, pain in his shoulder as he falls, the entirety of his weight where he's being held up by his wrist—-
--both wrists, arms out to either side of him, legs straight and bound together, him bound in the thick night air with voices shouting behind him. Something about being a sacrifice, a prophecy, a man that he trusted and a girl that he loved— they called her "Aigis." Barrels on the tip of her fingers, trembling as he stares down into them. Gunshots. Two. Blood, screaming, gunpowder, lights so bright and shots so loud that Minato squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself fall to the ground, not wanting to see or hear or know, but- Laughter. A gun in his face. Laughter, as the man steps backwards and tips off the edge into nothingness. It smells like death, acrid, and all the tears in the world can't wash that smell away.
There was nothing he could do.
That's wrong.
He didn't do anything.
He was bound and unarmed and held at gunpoint but he could have— he should have- ]
--I couldn't. [ Minato croaks out, throat dry and voice thick, answering Akira after however many minutes must have passed before he's back here in this room, opening his eyes and feeling sick. ]
I kept letting people die.