Strass didn't register the sound at first.
The sharp crack that ended his son's life felt more like a lightbulb flickering out. No grand flourish. No cinematic echo. Just a body dropping like a sack of meat and the blood—his son's blood—warm and sudden, splashing across his cheek as if to confirm this wasn't some bad trip.
It was real.
He stared, eyes wide, mouth open but frozen, unable to form the word stuck in his throat.
Not even a second passed before the moment was stolen.
THWMP~
A boot slammed into his ribs with unceremonious force. Strass let out a garbled grunt as air shot from his lungs, his body folding forward and crashing onto the cold concrete floor.
Dust and blood mingled at his cheek, the latter trickling down in lazy arcs to meet him. The side of his face throbbed where it hit the ground, but that wasn't where the pain lived.
It was in his chest. Somewhere deeper. Somewhere unreachable.
