There was a voice. Two voices belonging to one. Chris shook his head, trying to make sense of what was happening, sat back into the arms whatever was holding him. He could tell that much was safe, his mind reeling too far to make out anything else. Being separated from the gun was okay, it was more than okay, better than when he ended up almost shooting his grandfather in an adrenaline-fueled reaction when Victor showed up late to the birthday party. This was okay.

Everything was losing its focus around him. Was that okay? He wasn't sure. "There's nowhere else to go," he said plaintively. If everything was disappearing, would he disappear, too? No. No, he couldn't do that. He couldn't disappear with all of this still pent up inside him, this rage and boiling anger ready to burst at any moment, uncontrolled without a focus. He couldn't just lay down and die after all that.