Daniel felt a vague sense of unease.
Her eyes flashed with ruthlessness as she pulled the trigger on the gun she had obtained from Dean, only to be shocked to find that, for some reason, the trigger wouldn't depress!
"Sorry, it tends to be uncooperative with others," Dean said, slowly raising his head.
As his voice fell, it seemed as if afterimages streaked by.
Detrov, standing nearby, saw only the flashes of gunfire, flickering repeatedly—four shots merging into one roar that filled the hospital ward.
With a clatter, Daniel fell to the ground, gun and all. Blast wounds had appeared on her limbs, turning her into a heap of flesh that could only wriggle on the ground, suffering the same fate her accomplice had three days prior.
Detrov looked dazedly, first at Daniel, who was equally stunned, then at Dean, who was calmly preparing to peel an apple with both hands. For a moment, he wondered if his eyes and ears were failing him.
