A gunshot echoed in the enclosed office. Sofia’s muffled screams were louder than ever, while my ears rang from the sudden loudness of the gunshot.
But shockingly, I wasn’t dead. I didn’t have a bullet in my brain or anything. Opening my eyes, I quickly discovered the source of the noise:
A b****y bullet hole stood out against Overkill’s chest. Overkill himself stared at the hole in his chest, apparently stunned. He touched the bullet hole and said, in a whisper, “What …? Who shot—”
Two more gunshots went off and a couple more bullet holes—one in the center of his chest, the other through his right shoulder—appeared on him. Overkill dropped his g*n and staggered past me, diving to the floor to avoid getting shot by more bullets that embedded themselves in the wall behind me. I also duc
