Fed up with the tender moment you and Stu were having, Billy spoke up. "Alright, alright. You get the gun, and I'll untie pops, okay?" He addresses his partner.

Stu stands still, hesitant to comply with Billy. You had calmed down, no longer crying, but his concern for you hadn't died down.

"Now!" Billy barks when Stu doesn't immediately obey his order.

Stu winces at his tone, submitting to him, "Okay."

The second you are no longer in the loving embrace of the killer, you teeter unable to stabilize yourself. You rely on the kitchen island next to you to prevent yourself from collapsing. Much like Stu, your deep wound would not stop bleeding even as you persisted in putting pressure on it. It was an odd sensation to feel the blood escaping you. The warm bodily fluid stains your hand and the surrounding fabric of your shirt.

Billy, once again, turns his attention back to Sidney, holding the knife in her face in a threatening manner.

Stu hobbles over Neil's body to the kitchen counter next to the doorway. To his dismay, the gun was no longer there.

"Um. Uhh..." He taps the countertop, switching between his fingertips and knuckles in the exact spot he had placed the firearm earlier. "Houston, we...we have a problem," He expresses in distress.

"What?" Billy tilts his head, looking over to Stu.

"The gun! Man. The gun. I put it right there, and it's not there," Stu giggles, questioning if he's lost his mind.

Billy abandons the idea of holding Sid at knife-point and walks over to where Stu Stood.

"Where the fuck is it?" He asks, mirroring Stu and looking down at the counter.

The sound of a gun cocking grabs their attention.

Billy looks up and is met with the barrel of the gun.

"Right here asshole," Gale Weathers holds the gun, standing mere feet away from the teen killers. The front door remains open from where she entered.

It was clear she had seen better days. Her perfectly sculpted hair now resembles a bird's nest. A long gash formed on her forehead spanning from the middle of it to the tail of her eyebrow. The gash was accompanied by harsh pink-ish, purple bruising that had accentuated the bruise on her cheekbone from taking a punch to the face. The skin around the corner of her mouth looked scraped, and blood began to bubble to the surface.

Her hand shook as she held the weapon. You weren't sure if it was because she was terrified or because she had survived a car crash and still made her way back to the house.

Billy didn't look the least bit worried, turning his head to Stu as he spoke, "Man, I thought she was dead."

"She looked dead, man. Still does," Stu remarks with a hint of snarkiness.

Gale doesn't let their words faze her, "I've got an ending for you. The reporter left for dead in the news van...comes to, stumbles on you two dipshits, finds the gun, foils your plan, and saves the day."

Sidney spoke up from behind them, "I like that ending."

Stu glances at her yet says nothing. He perks up when he notices you standing without the assistance of the kitchen island. He beckons you with a boyish grin, and you approach him without a second thought.

"I know something you don't," Billy informs the reporter, clearly undermining her as a threat.

The vicious killer walked toward Gale, holding his composure. With every step Billy took toward her, Gale stepped back. She began to panic as she tried pulling the trigger, but it wouldn't go off no matter what she did.

Billy grabs Gale's wrist, pushing it down for the gun to no longer be pointed at him. He rips the weapon out of her hand as he anchors his foot on her stomach. He kicks the poor woman through the front door doorway, sending her flying back into one of the pillars on the porch. She passes out from the impact, landing in front of Dewey's body.

"Yeah, man," Stu raises his bloodied fist, approving his partner's actions.

Billy walks up to their bodies, "Yeah. Aw, so sweet." He crouches to the floor next to Gale, holding the gun to her head, "It works better without the safety on." His head tilts to the side, neck popping in the process. He sighs out of satisfaction, walking back to the doorway with the weapon still pointed at Gale. "This is Gale Weathers signing off," He recites her tagline.

"Baby, you're gonna love this," Stu mutters close to your ear.

The gunshot echoes throughout the house, and you feel your ears ring. You can't bring yourself to look at the gruesome scene, turning your head the opposite way with furrowed brows. Your relationship with Gale was complex, and you can confidently say you didn't like the woman, but that didn't warrant her death. It was plain to see she had only stepped in to play ''hero'' and make a good story out of it, but look where that ended her up.

Billy's boots thud against the wooden floorboards as he draws closer to you. Seeing Stu continue to hover and dote on you bothered him to no end. His partner sustained far more injuries, yet you could barely stand on your own two feet after he stuck the blade within you. No matter, things would be coming to a close soon enough.

Fingers grip your jaw, forcing you to look forward. Billy tugs at your hand, cupping it for your palm to face the ceiling. Your hand weighs down at the feeling of something being placed on it. Your eyes trail down, and you gulp at the sight of the gun Billy used to kill Gale moments ago.

"Let's hope you can fulfill your promise, hm?" He lets go of your jaw as you firmly grasp the firearm.

Stu nudges you forward in the direction of Randy's unconscious body. He steps back, watching in anticipation, and trusting you wouldn't disappoint him or Billy. You still needed to prove yourself, and it was now or never.

The gun tremors in your hold as you raise your arm, pointing the weapon at Randy. If you pulled the trigger now, your aim would be off. The bullet might even miss the teen boy's body entirely.

You hear a sigh from behind you before Billy steps toward you. Arms snake around yours while hands come to cup yours. You can't help but stiffen at the contact, yet his touch seemed to stabilize your movements.

"Can't even do this on your own, tch," He scoffs at your inability to complete the one task they asked of you. You were so incapable of doing this that Billy had to take matters into his own hands–or more rather, take your hands into his.

Shame fills you with his poignant tone and unmistakable disappointment. You feel your face flush and the familiar feeling of your back running hot as a line of sweat drips down your spine.

"Sorry," You murmur, knowing it would mean nothing to him.

It became increasingly more challenging to focus on the task at hand. Your head felt fuzzy and merely forming a thought seemed daunting. Billy's chest pressed against your back certainly didn't help. You could feel him breathing down your neck, and everything felt too hot. It was strange. You thought blood loss would've made you cold and not into the overheating mess you were. Perhaps you were overreacting when Billy wounded your skin.

You yearned to separate your body from Billy's, but you had no control over yourself. You were only a shell of a person–a puppet for Stu and Billy to play with and manipulate the strings attached to your joints.

"Just relax. We can't afford to waste bullets, so get your head in the game, kid," Billy advises.

You do everything in your power to take his advice. The words replay in your mind like a broken record, making it your only sensical thought. If you couldn't do something as simple as relaxing, there was no way you would be able to kill–shoot Randy. The quicker you got this over with, the sooner you would escape Billy's bruising grip.

In reality, Billy's hold on you had been much gentler than how he handled you earlier.

Billy couldn't resist the cunning grin that spread across his face when he felt you relax into him. "See? You're doing great. Now what's gonna happen is, I'm going to aim where I need you to shoot, and all you have to do is pull the trigger, alright?"

Even in your dazed state, that should be easy enough for you to pull off. Billy was practically doing all the work for you. How considerate of him.

You nod slowly, not trusting your mouth to function and fearing a string of gibberish would escape from your lips.

The killer maneuvers your hands and cocks the gun. From this position, you could see exactly what he's aiming for: the dead center of Randy's forehead. After this, there was no going back.

With a deep breath in, you curl your fingers around the trigger before applying the needed pressure. You flinch back and squeeze your eyes shut when the bullet propels out of the chamber.

"No, wait–" Randy suddenly sits up, shielding his face with his hands out-stretched in front of him. By the time he protested, it was already too late. The bullet lodged into his face, leaving exposed layers of skin from the circular wound.

Had...had he been conscious the entire time?

You hadn't planned on looking at Randy after you, you know, but now you had to. Reluctantly opening your eyes, you're met with Randy's body, still lying unconscious and in the same position before you shot him.

You couldn't possibly have imagined that, right? No way that didn't happen. But if Randy had been conscious, then why weren't Billy and Stu saying anything about it?

Maybe you were mistaken in your blood loss hardly affecting you. Maybe you grew numb to the pain, and your brain decided to stimulate you through delusions. But...it sounded so real. You could hear the tremor in his voice the brief second you heard him. He was terrified to die, and you killed him. You shot him without so much as batting an eye.

"Atta boy," Billy applauds your commitment.

Your arms drop to your sides, the firearm dangling limply from your palm before it slips out of your hold, clattering to the ground. Billy's arms leave yours, and he pats your shoulder, giving it a good squeeze. He then reaches down to pick up the gun.

Stu strolls over, petting your hair, "See! I knew you had it in ya." His cheery tone was a jarring contrast to what you had just done.

Your eyes are screwed shut until you turn around, back facing Randy's body–his corpse.

"Is he..." You trail off, unable to let the words escape your mouth and keep your head hung low, staring blankly at the wood floor.

"Only one way to find out," Billy remarks, walking towards Randy.

Your shoulders jump to your ears at the piercing noise of an additional gunshot.

Stu knit his eyebrows, watching Billy with an expression that screamed, 'Really?'

"Oh, come on. Don't give me that look. We can't afford any more mistakes like with Gale," Billy snidely tells his partner.

The taller teen put his hands up in defense, "I didn't say anything." He cranes his neck to glance back at Sidney in the kitchen, "Shit."

She was gone.

"What?" Billy asks.

Stu doesn't answer, barging into the kitchen with you and Billy hot on his heels.

"Where is she? Where is she?" Billy grumbles, pacing back and forth.

Stu hunches over in front of the fridge, coughing blood into his cupped hand, "I don't know, but I'm hurting, man."

Abruptly, the home phone rings.

"Fuck," Billy cursed.

"Should I let the machine get it?" Stu wonders.

Billy walks over to the phone, careful not to step on Neil, "Hello?"

"Are you alone in the house?" Sidney's modified voice asks, incorrectly referencing the 1976 film Are You In The House Alone? She really wasn't kidding when she said she doesn't enjoy watching scary movies.

Billy raises his head, "Bitch! You bitch! Where the fuck are you?" He scans the room, glancing back at the living room for any sign of her.

"Not so fast. We're gonna play a little game...."

Billy nudges Stu's shoulder with the gun, mouthing 'find her' to him and the taller teen, weakened by blood loss, takes a seat on the chair in front of the phone. Feeling frail yourself, you sit across from Stu, hoping to listen in and hear what your sister has to say.

Sidney puts away the voice changer, using her real voice, "It's called 'Guess who just called the police and reported your sorry motherfucking ass!"

Billy holds the gun to the back of Stu's neck, "Find her, you dipshit! Get up!"

Stu's right arm lies straight out on the counter, resting his head on his upper arm, "I can't, Billy. You already cut me too deep. I think I'm dying here, man," He sobs into his elbow.

It pained you to see him in such bad shape. A line of blood and spit ran from his lower lip, down to his chin. Blood stained his hands, coating each finger up to the knuckle. The right sleeve of his sweater was drenched in the red substance up to his forearm.

Having some remorse, Billy doesn't push any further.

"Talk to her. Talk to her," He whispers, handing the phone to Stu yet directly looking at you. He heads into the living room, leaving the two of you behind to converse with Sid over the phone.

Stu grabs the white corded phone, tarnishing it with blood. "Hello," His voice sounds mellow, a clear juxtaposition to his roaring excitement from earlier.

"Oh, Stu, Stu, Stu. What's your motive? Billy's got one, the police are on their way. What're you gonna tell them?" Sidney sneers at him.

"Peer pressure. I'm far too sensitive," Stu immediately replies.

Billy snatches the phone from Stu's flimsy grip, "I'm gonna rip you up, you bitch! Just like your fucking mother!" He threatens her, unable to restrain his hair-trigger temper.

"You've gotta find me first, you pansy-ass momma's boy!" She gets the last word in, hitting Billy where it hurts.

"Fuck!" Billy shouts, throwing the phone in your direction. It slips from his sticky, blood-covered hand, hitting Stu at the base of his head.

"Ow," He mutters dumbfounded, "You fucking hit me with the phone, dick!"

Billy retaliates, swiping his hand against the kitchen island and effectively knocking over everything in reach. Several objects shatter against cabinets and cupboards, with shards of glass and ceramic flying everywhere.

The peeved killer storms into the living room, "Fucker, where are you?!"

He creates a ruckus by flipping over the lamp table, causing beer bottles and solo cups to clatter onto the carpet. He cuts into the couch cushions with the knife, tearing the fabric apart with his bare hands. Feathers escape from the cushion cover, floating in the air when Billy throws it behind him.

"Aaagh! You fuck!" He cries out as he continues to tear the room apart.

You had never seen Billy so enraged; Sidney really had gotten under his skin. It shouldn't have surprised you since they were dating and all before any of this. Of course, Sid would know which buttons to push to get on Billy's nerves.

You had a front-row seat to Billy's hissy fit. For a majority of his outburst, he remained in your line of sight, but you didn't need to look over to know what was happening. Sounds of furniture being flipped over, more glass shattering, possibly from the coffee table or additional beer bottles, and the unmistakable hollering from the infuriated teen.

Stu picks up the phone again after it was thrown at him, "Did you really call the police?"

"You bet your sorry ass I did," Sidney responds brashly.

"My mom and dad are gonna be so mad at me," Stu extends the e in me, his voice rising in pitch as he wails into the phone.

"Aaah! Bitch!" Billy shouts, standing in the wreckage he created and covered in feathers from the cushions. The feathers clung onto the most bloodied surfaces, his arms, and shirt. He hardly looked intimidating, holding the knife and gun in separate hands when his hands were accessorized with the white plumage.

Abruptly, Billy stops, seemingly has gotten most of his aggression out, and sets his eyes on Neil. The teen stomps over, crouching in front of the older man, and removes the duct tape from his mouth.

"You're gonna tell me where Sidney went, or I'll seriously make you regret it," Despite Billy's harsh words, there wasn't an ounce of irritation in his tone, though you could see the glint of malevolence in his eyes. He spoke matter-of-factly and with a straight face nonetheless.

This was a side of Billy you had never seen (besides his murderous tendencies), and it terrified you. You couldn't tell what he was thinking, but he wasn't playing games anymore.

Neil shudders when Billy firmly presses the gun to his forehead, "I-I don't know. Really! I swear–I swear, she didn't tell me what she was doing. She just left the kitchen without a word."

"Hm, so you say."

Neil braces for impact when Billy, unsatisfied with his answer, raises his hand, holding the gun to pistol-whip him. When nothing happens, he opens his eyes to see you, his son, knelt next to him and Billy, your hands engulfing Billy's, in an attempt to stop him.

"Billy, stop! Please...don't hurt him. He didn't do anything, s–so let's find Sidney on our own, o-okay?" You speak softly, trying to reason with him.

Billy rips his hand away from yours, breathing heavily. You expect him to lash out again, maybe even hit you instead of your dad, but he turns his back to you.

You pull your hands back, folding them in your lap, and silently watch as Billy stares into the living room. He takes a moment to calm down, inhaling and exhaling deep breaths. He knew you were right as much as he didn't want to admit it. Harming Neil wouldn't accomplish anything and would only prolong the search for Sidney. God, she just had to ruin his plans for the hundredth time tonight. She sure knew how to piss him off.

After calming down and forming a new plan, Billy faces Niel and re-covers his mouth with the duct tape. You remain put, waiting for Billy's next course of action while your father glances back and forth between you and him, off-put by Billy's tranquility after the killer nearly hit him.

Billy stood up, looking down at you, "Get up."

You look up at him perplexed and hesitate to do so.

"I said get up!" So much for being calm.