Between the furious screeching words of his “employer” and the boom of
the ignition, he could still somehow hear the piercing whistle of red hot
bullets narrowly missing his stupid, stupid fucking skull. If he was a little
less self-preserving, he would have wished one would ping him and take him out
of his misery. But as the flailing man squashed behind him slammed against him back-to-back
with each grenade, the whistling bullets were replaced with explosions. Smoke
that smelled like petrol, burning hair. It made his heart quake behind his ribs
in the worst way.