[ Mr. H hears his name and gives a low noise of acknowledgment, but there are no coherent words to it. How long has it been since he was hit? One minute or five? Time's moving in an odd way and he can't tell, but he knows that he ought to fix himself soon, that shots to the abdomen are bad and he'd really prefer not to die from something like this.
His legs won't hold him up and his vision is doing something odd, but Hanekoma's not wasting any more time. He's out of here. Won't even shoot for home, can't think clearly enough to shoot for home -- anywhere is good so long as it's away from here.
There's a slight shift of light and Hanekoma is gone. ]
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His legs won't hold him up and his vision is doing something odd, but Hanekoma's not wasting any more time. He's out of here. Won't even shoot for home, can't think clearly enough to shoot for home -- anywhere is good so long as it's away from here.
There's a slight shift of light and Hanekoma is gone. ]