And there we were.

Johnny on his knees with the barrel of a gun digging into the back of his skull in a dark, damp, alley way.

What a way to die.

Some people dream of going out in a blaze of glory or just dying peacefully in their sleep. I can't name one person who wants to be found dead in an alley way with their face painting the concrete with blood.

It was time though, it had to happen. For me, for him, well mostly for me. There was no pleading, no praying, no anything. It even seemed like the cars on the street stopped dead to watch the actions of a man and his former boss.

I can imagine how many people would love to be in this position.

At this point, it wasn't about revenge anymore. It wasn't about power. It was about feeling. Feeling something, anything. I just had to feel.

As I came closer and closer to pulling the trigger, I begun to realize that this wasn't it. This isn't what I wanted to do.

It was, but it wasn't.

A crossroads of life and death, in which I held the answer. A little tighter and everything would come crashing down.

He's a complete scumbag and probably deserves this on so many levels, but I didn't care. All I could think about was it being Nikita on her knees, the gun barrel to the back of her head. Yet, it wasn't so.

My former boss and friend was all I had available to me at the moment. Already in position to die, already waiting for his life to end. The moment couldn't have been more perfect.

But it was nothing more then a petty way of self empowerment.

"You're just going to be in more trouble if you do this, Vincent." He was right and he knew it. He was too calm to really think I'd end his life.

I drove the gun barrel deeper into his skull. The wax and gel from his hair could have bunched up and clogged the barrel, causing a backfire and resulting in a missing hand.

This was the least of my worries.

Every couple seconds I took a breath and put pressure on the trigger, closer and closer to death every time. Johnny could hear me take the breath, I knew he could. Whenever I stopped breathing, he stopped breathing. We were in perfect unison.

It was like I was teasing him in the most one sided game of cat and mouse ever played. Every time I took my breath he thought his life was over, as calm as he sounded, this is how I knew he was nervous, scared, whatever.

I felt control.

I felt power.

Knowing he knew his life was in my hands brought it all back.

Nikita still flashed in my mind every couple seconds. I thought I would see her there, begging for her life. Wishing she would have known what she was getting into.

That would only last a second before I was brought back to reality. It wasn't Johnny I cared about ending, it was Nikita.

I knew this.

Johnny was my escape into feeling what I could only feel once a week. He was the one that needed to perish so I could live on.

Human sacrifice.

Then, I was enlightened.

This whole scene of controlled mayhem, my revolution, wasn't about death or destruction. It was about being in control and in power. I didn't need to end his life, just be in control of it.

I felt better knowing Johnny was at my disposal. I was God at that moment.

That's when I decided Johnny's life was over.

A few more moments of silence, just to take in the atmosphere. Everything felt pure and evil at the same time. The walls of the building directly in front of us looked bleak and held no sign of hope for either of us.

As I began the final squeeze I felt a light shine down on to my face. I ignored and continued the final descent into oblivion.

My eyes were fixed on the back of his skull, I wanted to watch brain matter shoot into the air like confetti at the Puerto Rican day parade.

I could hear footsteps drawing closer and the light was bouncing around my face. One second in my eyes, the next my chest, then back to my face.

"DROP THE WEAPON MOTHER FUCKER!"

NYPD.

This was the least of my worries.