The Arrival

Tuning In...

Darkness.

That's all that he could comprehend at the moment.

Why was it so dark...?

He was sure he had left the lights on in his apartme-

Oh.

It was starting to come back to him.

Slowly at first, but it came.

That bastard had shot him at point-blank.

Not even giving him a goddamn chance...

All he could recall was being in his recording studio, adjusting the radio dials to their correct setting.
He had been standing, gripping his usual microphone stand and preparing to switch to the LIVE broadcast.

Then that bastard swung around into the door frame, aiming a silver pistol at his chest.

Well, dammit.

He was certain he had locked the door...

The shrouded man said nothing.

Just pulled the bloody trigger and let the bullet fly.

It was a good shot, he would give him that.

Almost threw him to the wall when it blew a hole right through his chest.

He staggered, still gripping his microphone as he glanced down at his suit, watching as crimson began to bloom from beneath the fabric and seep through the cloth.

His one monocle fell from his cheek, saved from falling and smashing onto the ground by the chain attached to it.

He took a few steps back and slumped into his desk, which held his various recording and audio mechanisms.

The bullet had gone clean through him, busting his main broadcasting radio on the desk and sending a healthy splatter of blood across anything behind him.

The damaged radio began sputtering and sparking as incoherent, warped speech and static emitted from its speakers and filled the room.

He lifted his head to the doorway, wanting to get a good look at the man he was going to haunt for the rest of his sorry life.

Unfortunately, he only caught the tail-end of his murderer's coat as they smartly fled the scene, their footsteps quickly becoming quieter and quieter as they made their way out of his apartment.

He had probably been sent by the coppers....

Or perhaps they were just some lowley gang member who thought they'd get somewhere by putting a bullet in him.

No matter...

He was going to die.

In spite of himself, he grinned.

So this was how his curtain was going to fall, then?

He knew from the unbearable pain he was in, and the amount of blood soaking through his suit that there was no way he was going to survive this.

Not this time.

Of all the schemes and murders he'd gone through with...

Of all the countless times he had managed to slip between the copper's fingers...

This was what finally did him in?

He coughed up a half-hearted laugh, along with quite a few droplets of blood to go along with it.