Tony grunted loudly as he dragged his two dying friends along the hallway. His vest was torn and worn, and both his friends were really heavy. Even now, he could hear their moans and groans of pain as he dragged them over to the closet. Mark was put down on the ground first, Corey second.

Fuck, Tony thought as he saw the wounds Mark and Corey had been given by this rampaging psychopath that they had run into. Mark had been hit with a blunt object several times, both in the head and torso, while Corey was bleeding slowly from several gunshot wounds.

Mark wasn't breathing anymore. His best buddy, his friend that he had fought through hell with, the guy he drank beer with, the guy he tried to make a difference with had stopped breathing. Tony could barely believe it; Mark had several times escaped death and not even broken a sweat, he was a real badass.

It couldn't end like this.

Tony then turned to Corey, who was still breathing, thank god, but her breathing was slow and she was rapidly bleeding out. He quickly pulled off her zebra mask, and exposed her face; her pretty long black hair, her blue eyes, and the bloodstains that streamed from her mouth. "…Tony…" She muttered lowly, her voice rapidly faltering.

"Don't talk, Corey," Tony said as he looked her wounds over. "You'll be okay. I'll fix you up, and we'll go home, and you'll be fine," Tony said exasperatedly, as he tried to apply pressure on the wound, even though he knew deep down that this was it.

But right now, that piece of information could go fuck itself.

"…Tony…" Corey muttered again as the blood streamed from her quickly. "…I… We… we made a… a difference…" Corey breathed, before exhaling one final breath, and then, Tony felt all the warmth fade from Corey.

Underneath his mask, Tony could feel fluid streaming down from his eyes. Corey; the wild girl with the best, kindest heart Tony had ever seen had just breathed out right in front of him. He finally felt despair settle in as his brass knuckles slid off his hands and fell down onto the floor with a low 'clunk'.

They were dead. All of them, dead. His four best friends, the strange and occasionally irritating friends who he had fought with, suffered with, laughed with, were all dead, and he was the only one left.

Suddenly, the door swung up. He looked up from the lifeless Corey and saw what looked to be a grizzled police officer entered the room. In response, Tony threw his hands up in the air, to signify 'surrender'. "Well, what do we have here?" The officer asked, almost patronizingly. "Wearing masks, huh?" The officer said, as he pulled out his revolver and pointed it at Tony's head. "Another set of vigilantes, I presume?"

"Don't shoot," Tony said as the tears slowly began to dry. He was tired of seeing all this death, tired of seeing people he cared about die in front of him. "I give up. I'm through with this." Tony spoke, his voice slowly faltering. "Just arrest me and get this over with, ok?" Tony spoke, and then he finally broke down. "I'm done fighting."

The officer snorted. "Oh? You want your fifteen minutes of fame? I don't think so." The officer paused for a moment. "You know what happens to thugs like you?"