The Art Of The UnderDog

End

The sound of the gunshot shattered the tense silence, the explosive discharge filling the air with a sharp crack that seemed to tear through the fabric of the room. It was Tyler’s own firearm, the 5.54 caliber entrusted to him by Andrea, the weapon now acting on his impromptu decision, aimed not at an enemy but in defense of Lady Guila. In the chaos, Andrea staggered backward, a splatter of crimson bursting forth from the wound on the right side of his chest, his body collapsing in a slow, anguished descent.

Tyler’s heart raced, adrenaline surging through his veins as he witnessed the sudden turn of events. His eyes widened in a mixture of disbelief and realization. While his actions were impulsive, the consequences now lay before him, a pang of remorse piercing his chest. Not for the act of firing the shot, but for the unexpected twist fate had taken, allowing Andrea, despite his wrongdoings, a swift departure instead of facing the due consequences.

“You… you bastard,” Andrea’s voice