His head hit the cushion. He was so tired, but behind his eyelids he could still see scenes from this crazy day. A day still so far away from its resolution.

But time was almost up. Outside, the world was the usual faded orange haze of sun rays filtering through restless dust. Swirling tumbleweeds disappeared in the golden blur as he spied through the slatted steel blinds. The hostage gave a whimper through the gag as she once again pulled on the handcuffs holding her to the chair: her wrists were bleeding. No time for this now, soon all of this would be none of his business. He just wanted to lie down and get some well deserved rest.

But time was up. He could hear the helicopter blades helplessly trying to part the orange fog as they slowly approached. A weary grin illuminated his emaciated features. Everything was finally going to plan.

But his time was up. As he turned around, he didn’t immediately understand: the hostage was no longer chained to a chair; her blood-red had was holding a smoking gun; the gun was pointing somewhere between his eyes. He felt so dizzy, his grin slowly fading from his face and assembling on her lips. He stumbled back and, for one last time, his head hit the cushion.