His skin itched as patches of blood dried, on his legs, his belly and hands. Clots of something clung to his suit and he had the creeping terror that there might be something more than blood – yet now less than what it was. Less than thought and will and sullen, reluctant joy turned into grey matter and rubbish.
Sebastian. Shattered by accident. Such a disgusting waste. This was way he’d been hesitant to send Sebastian out unless it was utterly necessary, when no one else would do, when the job had to go smooth. Accidents happened. Like a drunk driver. Like a live wire. Like a meteor. Like this. This.
Just meat now. Nothing but food for worms. It cost a lot to eat rare animal meat. Cost even more to get consumption-grade human meat, and Sebastian wasn’t small. Those worms would be out of pocket two million per eight ounces. And it was still too cheap a tag to put on his Seb. His best.
Readjusting would be a bitch. Sebastian was, in a manner, his head of staff. Orchestrating who was where, knowing in an instant which would be the best person for the job, getting things done and letting him do the parts that needed thinking. Things would be difficult while he found someone else who could do the same. He’d have to groom a new sniper as well, and that sort of intensive training took months.
So much effort, all because of an accident. Fate. Luck. A butterfly beating its wings. No one to blame. No one to punish. A ricochet. If anyone were to blame really, it was Sebastian himself. Seb had handed the gun over, had only smirked and moaned when the safety came off. Had sucked his cock like he had spent his whole life on his knees, pulling out all his finest tricks as the gun nuzzled the side of his head. It was a miracle he’d had mind enough to turn point it over his sniper’s shoulder when he felt his orgasm crest – and then there was the crack of the gun, Sebastian jerking, teeth scraping. He’d shouted and smacked Sebastian away – and Seb had crumpled. The dark, rich colour of life spilling over the plush carpet.
His pet. His best. His Sebastian. Dead.
People died, he knew. But he’d been lax in planning what to do should he lose Sebastian. In the early days, it had been easy. Replace him with someone, or someones. Simple. Elegant. But now... with a Sebastian shaped hole in his days ahead, the ghost of the cooling corpse at his feet, the idea of it was... unpleasant. Perverse.
He grimaced and shut his eyes, dry and aching for lack of blinking, twisting his head side to side to loosen the tension in the muscles there. Then he put the safety back on the gun, holstered it, then went to change his suit.