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Summary
"It was coming back now, in small, fractured increments. He got flashes of himself, lying on the oil-stained pavement outside of DT Precision, in shock, eyes wide, mouth agape, hand reaching down, down, down to only come up red, red, red. He remembers not realizing, at first, what the red meant; he’d been shot."
OR
Brian doesn't have much time. Never had, really, before, much time to say anything, between the need for self-preservation in his childhood and then his job, where he spent probably too much time undercover.
Now, though, with the life draining out of him, on the run with the crew he’d just betrayed, shot by someone he should have been able to trust, time has never seemed more crucial.
Too bad he wasn't going to live to see another day. He still has a lot to say.