“Do you know what you stand accused of?”

“Having ambition?” Cargo wheezes. They’ve punctured his stomach.

It’s hard to maintain dignity when coughing up blood. He spit on the concrete. Aunt V. didn’t raise a quitter. He lifts his chin and stares the man clothed as death in the eye.

“Tell me something?” The man requests toeing at his wounds. Cargo coughs again body strained with the effort shirt seeped in red. The being grins wide and genial, “I’ve always been curious, what does it feel like to kill a man?”