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Dylan

“You should’ve trusted me.”

…None of you give a fuck!”

“She’s not okay.”

Who?

“‘On it, Ghost. On it, Ghost. On it, Ghost…’”

“And you, Titan? You pulled the fucking trigger.”

Titan.

“…put a bullet through Titan’s head…”

Titan.

She called me that now.

Titan.

Titan?

Titan.

Not Dylan.

Not…

Titan

Titan didn’t flinch.

Titan didn’t blink.

Titan didn’t breathe .

He sat in the chair.

Still.

Too still.

The blood on his hands wasn’t real.

He’d washed it.

Scrubbed it.

Burned it off.

She didn’t look back.

Not once.

Didn’t hesitate.

Just walked away like he was already gone.

She had every right.

Because I—

No.

Titan had aimed and fired.

The memory played on loop.

Not a flash. Not a scream.

Just the recoil.

Just the sound.

And the way Kabir dropped.

He wondered if Kabir was dead.

He hoped not.

But Titan didn’t hope.

Titan didn’t wonder.

“Dylan?”

The name rang out.

Fell flat.

Meant nothing.

Titan didn’t recognize it.

“You okay, brother?”

Brother.

That word.

Like it still belonged to him.

Titan wasn’t a brother.

Titan was a weapon.

And weapons don’t get forgiven.

They don’t get names.

They wait for orders.

They take the shot.

Then they wait for the next one.

But there were no more orders.

Just silence.

And blood.

And something like a scream, buried too deep to make it out.

Something clawing at the inside of his skull.

Something that might’ve once been Dyl— no.

Titan didn’t let him out.

Not anymore.

Titan sat in the chair.

Still.

Unmoving.

Unmaking.

Titan didn’t blink .

Titan didn’t flinch.

Titan didn’t blink back on.