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[When the video comes on, it shows a suddenly timid Sinclair cleaning up the remnants of the bloody sheets. The five dogs (for the two ripped apart by m!Jack were granted life again by the mansion) are sitting across the room, staring at him, as if they don't know what to do. Sinclair's quietly murmuring to himself, unsure of how to properly
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Surprise!
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I'm sorry, Mister Cohen!
[ She hands him the gun. ]
I didn't think you would want to do it.
[ She pats him on the shoulder and steps aside. ]
Please, do go ahead.
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[He looks beyond pitiful. The blood flow on his lips is getting worse.]
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[ He aims the gun at --
-- oh god, what if he has to watch her die, what if she bleeds a lot, he's never shot anyone before, she's going to kill them both --
-- starts to aim the gun at Lamb, but hesitates when it's half-lifted and takes a shaky step back. ]
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Tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk. I can tell this is your first time.
[ From carefully observing his regular Cohen will be very familiar with the red cloud that suddenly appears in Lamb's place.
She will be gone for a moment, but fear not, for she shall reappear, right behind Cohen and whisper into his ear in a soothing voice: ]
I'll walk you through it.
[ Don't mind her hand touching your neck and rubbing it while holding something that feels sort of cold, sort of wet and sort of Hypnotise Plasmid-y ]
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He draws in a sharp, terrified breath when she whispers in his ear - then twitches at the touch of the plasmid, his expression smoothing out, his breathing slowing, shallowing.
The reeds of bright green smoke curl around his head and shoulders, brush his cheeks. His heart adopts a lazy rhythm, squeezed, though not uncomfortably. It's a welcome change from its previous frightened patter. Because there's no reason to be frightened of Lamb. All she wants is for the best. ]
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[ She walks over to Sinclair and pokes his chest. ]
...right for the heart. Here.
[ She returns to her place next to Cohen, speaking as she does so. ]
Aim carefully, really take your time. Savour the moment, take a deeeep breath and then-
[ She leans in to whisper into his ear. ]
Pull the trigger.
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He brings up the gun purposefully, shifting it left and right by fractions until he's sure it's pointed at the spot Lamb indicated.
...is what he wants.
Cohen's experience with firearms is approximately zilch, but he knows which way to point the barrel and what to pull to make a bullet come out, and the target is right there in front of him, so it shouldn't be too hard. Still, he really takes his time, trying to get the barrel right into his line of sight so that the shot is accurate.
And her order...
That's not a target, something in him is trying to say, stifled, sick. That's Mr. Sinclair. Your friend. Stop. This is wrong. This is wrong. This
...is his action.
He breathes in slowly, keeps breathing in until his lips numb and the smoke pulses in his lungs like a second heart. Then he pulls the trigger. ]
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The bullet hits him and rips through his body, almost to the point of exiting through his shoulderblade. Luckily for him, it only punctured his lung instead of tearing through his heart. Unluckily for him, he was fucking shot.
Gus lurches forward with a muffled groan of pain, and that's when he starts to sob, the pain from every single wound overwhelming him. He coughs up another solid hunk of blood and falls to the ground, sobbing pitifully.
Can anyone blame him? He fucking got shot.]
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One part of him really feels sick now. Some of Sinclair's blood flecks itself thickly across his face, hands, clothes; he sways a little, then stills. One part of him is screaming.
He drifts gently away from it. ]
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[ Lamb curiously looks at Sinclair, then at Cohen, then back at Sinclair, then finally at Cohen with an appreciative grin. ]
...made it last longer! Very nice!
[ Then she walks over to Sinclair, kneeling and grabbing him by the hair so that his ear is turned to her. ]
Now, do you see what happens if you don't do what the nice doctor asks you to do?
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I-I'm sorry, I'm s-so sorry, j-just st-stop...
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Of course. Of course, I will...
[ Then her grip on his head tightens and she twists. A sickening CRACK can be heard. ]
There. All better now. ♥
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At the crack, he lets out a whimper, eyes widening. Not because the second reality has won, but because it's making a push through the cloying smoke.
Still he doesn't - can't - lower the gun. ]
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Hmmmmmmm~
Not quite right.
[ She doesn't turn to look at Cohen when she speaks. ]
I'm going to need... I think... scissors. Get me scissors.
[ A quick glance at the artist. ]
And put that gun away, he's not getting any deader.
[ Then she steps over Sinclair's body, apparently looking for something on the other side of the room.]
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He's aware that he's moving, but he's shut the gun away in a drawer and pulled some scissors out of the closet before that awareness is anything more than fractured. It's an odd sensation, walking back from the closet to Lamb. He can hear feet, presumably his, hitting the carpet in a quick rhythm; but he can't feel them touching a thing.
He holds out the scissors dutifully, and stops moving again, another task completed. ]
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