Ren stared at the silver gun loaded with silver bullets. He could use it with his eyes closed but right now, he's lost too much blood to function properly.
His vision was blurring and his hands… they were shaking.
"I can't... I can't aim, Cilian. My hands are shaking too much," Ren admitted.
Cilian looked at his soaked fabric and felt a pang of pain in his chest.
"Then don't aim. Just fire," Cilian replied, his voice soft for a second. "At least one bullet will hit him and it'll throw him off balance."
Ren's fingers felt like lead as they curled around the grip of the pistol. The silver metal was cold, a sharp contrast to the sticky heat of the blood soaking his clothes. Every time the SUV jolted, a white-hot flash of pain surged from his abdomen, making his head spin.
"Cilian..." he gasped, the word barely a breath. His vision was tunneling, the world outside the window turning into a smear of gray and orange.
