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Summary
It feels wrong to shoot a man with no defense. It’s a mercy bullet. Release. No more pain, no more memories. Finger on the trigger. Hesitation. Blue eyes staring up at him, narrowing. Barrel pressed against the matted hair. Hesitation. Safety on.
III doesn't care. Even blood bags with light behind their eyes he still considers husks. It's easier that way. Easier to put them down like dogs. Fangs don't care. They toss humans aside like soda cans once they've had their fill. III would know.
He was one.
But why was this blood bag wearing a muzzle?
