The bullet scrapes his bicep and cuts through his skin.

He lets out a groan and falls down. I keep my gun aimed at him, but a part of me feels bad for doing this.

Though survival instincts kick in, and I do what I must to ensure my escape.

He finally raises his head, pain evident on his face.

“How are you getting out of this island?” He inquires.

Despite the evident injury caused by me, he doesn’t raise his voice at me. He doesn’t lunge at me or try to punish me.

He simply ...