I walked.
Or maybe I floated. I couldn't tell the difference anymore. My boots made no sound, even though I knew they should. The blood on the floor should have squelched with every step, but it didn't. Everything was silent. As if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
I passed the shattered helmet.
A cracked lens still reflected the twisted light from the emergency strobes overhead. It looked like an eye. Watching me. Judging me. But I didn't turn around.
Not because I didn't care.
Because I didn't feel anything.
The body was back there. The pale man—or what was left of him. Just another smear on the floor. Another statistic. Another error in this world. He was gone. His name, whatever it may have been, didn't matter anymore. Neither did mine.
I tried to breathe. It caught halfway in my chest.
There was blood on my tongue. Not his. Mine. I must've bitten down too hard.
