Go for the Knife!

I move, not fast or ****, but with a precise, controlled intent that narrows everything around me to a single, deliberate action. The decision settles in my chest like something cold and final, and once it does, everything sharpens. The space around me narrows to lines and angles and distance.

I focus on the details in front of me, narrowing everything down to Mars’ grip on my arms, Lizard’s stance in the narrow space, the gun in his hand, and the knife on the floor within reach, and then my attention settles fully on the knife. My weight shifts just slightly to the left. Mars tightens his hold automatically, expecting resistance, expecting me to pull away.

Instead, I drop. My knees hit the floor and I twist at the same time, ripping one arm down and forward. His grip slips just enough. Just enough. My hand hits the floor and scrapes forward until my fingers close around the handle, the cold plastic confirming I have it.

I surge up with everything I have, turning into Lizard and driving forward as the blade comes up toward his ribs. The gun goes off, and the sound inside the Airstream is deafening, slamming against the metal walls and swallowing the space around us.

For a second, I do not feel anything beyond the echo of the shot and the sharp smell of burnt powder filling the air. Lizard’s grin flickers for just an instant before settling back into place, not gone, just satisfied, and then the pain hits, not sharp but heavy, a crushing impact deep in my chest that steals the air out of my lungs.

My body stutters mid-motion, strength draining out of my arm before the knife ever reaches him. I look down and see the damage clearly, a dark, wet hole spreading quickly through my shirt and soaking everything around it, and all I can manage is a quiet, stunned breath as the reality settles in.

The knife slips from my hand and clatters uselessly against the floor. My legs give out next, folding beneath me while the world tilts sideways. The floor comes up to meet me harder than I expect, the impact sending a dull shock through my ribs that barely registers against everything else.

Mars lets go. He does not need to hold me anymore. The ceiling swims above me, the dim light flickering just enough to make it feel like everything is moving. My ears ring, drowning out whatever they are saying now. Their voices become distant, muffled, like I am already underwater.

My hands press instinctively against my chest. It does not help. Warmth spills between my fingers anyway. I try to breathe, but my lungs d not work right, bubbling and crackling. Each inhale is shallow, broken, like something inside me refuses to cooperate.

I turn my head slightly. Lizard stands over me with the revolver still raised, smoke curling lazily from the barrel. His grin has settled back into place like nothing happened. Mars looks down at me, expression unreadable for a moment. “What a waste,” he says. "At least the meat is still good." The edges of my vision begin to darken slowly, creeping inward from all sides.

The trailer feels farther away now, like I am looking at it from the end of a long tunnel. My last thought is not fear as the darkness closes in around the edges of my vision. It is frustration, sharp and bitter, cutting deeper than the pain. I was so close, and that is what lingers as everything begins to slip away. The trailer fades, the voices disappear, and the world finally goes quiet and dark.

THE END