being a detail oriented man, he systematically checks his person & the care package she’s brought him to ensure everything is prepared for his departure. hands dip into each pocket, quick & efficient as he locates both his keys & pocket knife. then he reaches out for the unmistakably gelid steel of the handgun on the counter. wick balances the firearm in his hands, getting a feel for the weight & quickly aiming down the sights at the lamp in the corner of the room, testing ergonomics. once he’s got a feel for how he’ll be handling the gun, he hastily moves to holster it. but when she poses her question, his movements slow to a thoughtful crawl. barrel pointed down, the sig sauer slips quietly into it’s home. 

        john has no delusions of grandeur. he doesn’t possess a god complex, either, knowing perfectly well that anyone of these people could kill him at any time. but his focused is unmatched – so long as he keeps his eye on the ball & manages expectations along with confidence, he should be able to adjust accordingly, & eventually come out the victor. but even then, he knows this life doesn’t end in peace.

        nobody lets the devil rest in peace.

          “ you know the answer to that. “

        john replies quietly, voice low & hoarse. no, they won’t be escaping to an idyllic island with polynesians. death, he means to imply, is how he sees it ending. “ but before that, “ he adds, 

          “ i’m coming for THEM. “