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In return for their attack, the Rogers held below were being shot, one by one. One by one, the screams in Grey's mind burned inward in those deaths, locking in for eternity. Trying to ignore the screams, Grey tightened his grip on the old repeater gun's trigger until the metal cut into his hands and he began to bleed. Shrapnel, bits of detonated bombs and bullets streaked by the maybe-demon, sometimes embedding themselves in his arms or shoulders, but never hitting a place that would cut him down.
Grey did not stop firing until one scream, louder and more distinct then all the others ripped through his mind. He let go of the repeater gun in alarm and fell back in shock. The albino Roger had been shot, directly through the chest. Grey could see the alien screaming and gaping at the tiny hole in his chest the spurted seemingly ridiculous amounts of blood. The alien convulsed and shuddered, holding his hands under the bullet hole as if to catch his blood and push it back into himself. The Voice burned across Grey's brain with shocked horror. "Is this me? Am I dying?"
Grey dropped to his knees, regarding the dying Roger curiously. The alien's face contorted in immense pain, his eyes squinted shut. The alien rocked back on his hind legs and curled up on his back, trying to stop the pain. Grey looked on coolly, curiously, like the first alien must have looked upon the first human who laughed or screamed or cried.
"It hurts," moaned the Roger. "Oh goddess it kills, I…I didn't think…that…"
"I don't understand," Grey said aloud. "They took this from me. The pain. What does it do?"
The Roger winced again, his eyes draining of their usual pink colour. "It's killing me, that's what. You know that."
Grey thought that over. It wasn't the pain that was killing the alien, but the pain made him aware. "I know what death is."
The Roger's eyes shifted to the maybe human. The alien choked, moaning. The Roger doubled up on himself again, and fresh blood spurted over his fur. Look, Grey thought to himself. You finally have colour. You wanted that all your life, huh? Look at the price it comes with. Grim, isn't it? Reaching a hand forward to pull the Roger's paws away from the wound, Grey became aware that his own hands were covered in blood. He too had been shot, but maybe not as badly, he reasoned. He could staunch the blood flow maybe, seeing as pain didn't bother him. That was later. Finding the bullet was later. He pulled the Roger's hands away from its stomach and wiped at the blood so as to see the source of it.
Look at that, Grey thought, One small hole caused all this. One tiny bit of metal flying into his stomach and making a hole only that big and look at what came from it. Curious. Grey was no stranger to death. He'd just never really examined what made things die. This was new to him.
The Roger weakly rolled his eyes towards the maybe human, panting. They say you're a demon, his thoughts read.
"Yes," Grey decided there was no use in the dead alien's not knowing he could read minds now. "I am a demon."
The Roger's eyes fluttered a moment in revelation, and his breathing choked and did not restart. What's is a demon? The Roger's mind asked. What makes a demon? Actions or past?
Grey shrugged. "Both maybe." He wasn't all that interested. It was upsetting, the Roger's body was dead now and his spirit was still talking. Grey hoped this would not be permanent like the screams burned into his mind.
We lost.
"Most likely. I'm sorry about your people. For all the good it does, anyway."
You live, I die. Get away. Fight again. You'll win then.
For all the good a dead alien's swearing does me, Grey thought to himself.
Actions or past…past maybe?
Again, another shrug. Grey got up and began to walk from where the dead Roger lay.
Maybe neither…
The sudden thought struck Grey. He stopped in his tracks but now the spirit was gone. What makes a demon...he thought to himself. How should I know?
Shrugging again, Grey began to walk to where they had first climbed into the Tower. The gunshots and smoke seemed distant now, just like the blood dripping from his side was just another part of another time. It didn't react to this one. It didn't matter. Bleeding could stop, wounds could heal. Wars would end. But what was he? "I guess," the demon spoke aloud to himself, "I'll have to find out."
