Stan doesn't mean anything by that. It's just a comparison, a harmless figure of speech - like shooting fish in a barrel. It's not like he chose those words deliberately, and with malicious intent. It's not as if he knew that they would hit too close to home, that they would dig under his skin and chill him to the very bone.
Ford stares down the sight of his gun, but his hand is shaking to badly for him to get a steady shot. He blames the cold - not only does it feel like his veins have turned to ice, but his vision has started to blur. His glasses must have fogged up.
He grits his teeth, brings his free hand up to swipe at his glasses, but his vision doesn't clear. His hand doesn't still either, not even when he tries to steady it by grabbing hold of his wrist. He can't get a good shot like this, he'll hit the kraken but it won't be a clean kill. He'll have to shoot it two, maybe three or even four times. It would only take a few seconds. The Kraken wouldn't suffer long -
He just has to pull the trigger. He just has to take his eyes off the harsh blue glow binding it in place and ignore the sudden heaviness of his wrists and the tightness around his throat and shoot.
And shoot he does - six shots, all in rapid succession. Each one misses the Kraken narrowly, leaving shallow surface lesions but nothing more. Ford lowers his gun, chest heaving, and raises his voice so that he can hear himself over the roar of blood in his ears.
"Let it go, Stanley. It knows what will happen if it attacks us again."
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Stan doesn't mean anything by that. It's just a comparison, a harmless figure of speech - like shooting fish in a barrel. It's not like he chose those words deliberately, and with malicious intent. It's not as if he knew that they would hit too close to home, that they would dig under his skin and chill him to the very bone.
Ford stares down the sight of his gun, but his hand is shaking to badly for him to get a steady shot. He blames the cold - not only does it feel like his veins have turned to ice, but his vision has started to blur. His glasses must have fogged up.
He grits his teeth, brings his free hand up to swipe at his glasses, but his vision doesn't clear. His hand doesn't still either, not even when he tries to steady it by grabbing hold of his wrist. He can't get a good shot like this, he'll hit the kraken but it won't be a clean kill. He'll have to shoot it two, maybe three or even four times. It would only take a few seconds. The Kraken wouldn't suffer long -
He just has to pull the trigger. He just has to take his eyes off the harsh blue glow binding it in place and ignore the sudden heaviness of his wrists and the tightness around his throat and shoot.
And shoot he does - six shots, all in rapid succession. Each one misses the Kraken narrowly, leaving shallow surface lesions but nothing more. Ford lowers his gun, chest heaving, and raises his voice so that he can hear himself over the roar of blood in his ears.
"Let it go, Stanley. It knows what will happen if it attacks us again."