Smooth, his skin shined smooth. Smooth and soft, not a single mark up nor down. His arms were perfect, healed.

Race's hand covered his mouth, no. Finally after everything, he had healed.

He choked out a cough, just him, and the rest of his life spent staring at the gray walls.

Would he had done anything different? Race had spent his life invincible. Those with nothing to loose cannot die, only disappear. Then slowly, he gained things to loose, and one day his life had seemed so stupid. He wishes he'd been more responsible as a kid. He wishes he didn't waste so many years, awfully spent on drugs.

He was so stupid, doing cocaine until his nose was burning, putting needles in his viens. For what? A lifetime of bad memories. Wandering the streets naked after loosing all his clothes in a bad bet, getting caught breaking and entering a 7eleven by Jack, who hadn't seen him in months. So many times he went awol. Made Jacks life miserable, ruined Crutchies opportunities so many times.

If he had known he was going to die? Would he have done it all?

Race thinks he never would have stopped.

It doesn't matter anymore though. Because his arms looked seamless, and that was it.

The door creaked open behind him and light shined against his back. He could see his shadow.

"I'm going to play Peter Pan!"

"Ain't he usually played by a girl?"

"Don't ruin this for me Jack."

He wiped his eyes, they felt puffy and he could feel acne he's had before sprout up on his cheeks.

I hope it shows. He looked down at his hands, I hope it shows forever.

Jack always had acne, Crutchie had eczema, but Race's skin had always been perfect. He'd always been the cute one of the family when they were teens, the pretty one. Jack had bumps up and down his cheeks. Race remembers when he was 18, and got on a medicine, something like accountant or some crap. He ran up the school wall, doing a flip when a girl called him cute and had to get suspended for a week.

Race hiccuped a thin line of mucus. It wasn't fair, none of it was fair. Rough arms pulled him up. He refused to look up, maybe it was stupid considering the floor would be the last thing he'd see, but it was better than this man. He'd take the dirt and the roaches over this man everyday.

"You're perfect," he praised, "come with me."

Race hiccuped again, it was harder to hold in his tears. So long he held out. He was so strong and yet weak. Would he loose it all? Today?

Did it matter anymore?

Race didn't know, but he knew he had to look down and so he did.

He watched Winn's shoes, squeak against the concrete floor. They were smudged in thin streaky lines. They needed a spit shine, and so Race spat on them from here. Something thwacked him in the back of the neck.

"Behave." He was told. So he did. Maybe it was easier this way.

Saliva dripped down the corners of his mouth, he was drooling all over his chin. The saliva felt crusty all over him and he made an empty effort to wipe it away. All it did was get spit on his hands, moist wet hot spit seeped down his chest. He couldn't breathe between trying to inhale air and coughing it back up with each hot and heavy tear.

He laid eyes on a metal bar, and for the first time, traveled his eyes up. Meeting a hard silver table, straps lined the sides and to the left of it, laid a tan mass of arm, legs, torso, and worst of all head. He looked it up and down, it was missing his hair, eyes, and soft pink shades, but it was him. A shapeless mass of him. It missed everything about him that was special, but it was him. He was sick, and tired. To the left of it was a colored rubbery lining.

"Did you know that human skin is too transparent to be taxidermic, Antonio?" Winn whispered to his side. Race shut his eyes and shuddered. He did not, he would have never needed to know. "I believed that to just mean nobody tried hard enough."

He smiled and grabbed the rubber, holding it closer. Race could see the fine coloring and detailing placed, the colors matching his own, with a slight saturation. It was... perfect.

He sobbed there, that was it, the set up, the shapes, the makeup, it was perfect. He could no longer deny it, it really would look like him.

He tried to find a comfort in that, but it made things worse. It really was perfected into a routine.

"With a little bit of lining and makeup, you'd be amazed how remarkably similar people can become, I mean truly. Wow." He ran his thumb up and down it.

Race shut his eyes, trying to calm down but every word was making it worse. So much worse.

"Let's get you up there," Winn coaxed, soft with his words yet roughly shoving him on there. So many weeks, Race felt weak. It really took no effort to force him up there, his arms were so pale and thin, he felt like he had never stood a chance.

Race did struggle against the straps, but only for peace of mind if anything. He threw his head back when they uselessly giggled back and forth. His head clanged against the table and he screamed in frustration.

"Shh," Winn rubbed his face, grabbing his marker, lining dots up and down his body. "Relax."

Race cried harder, he could see the blue little lines and how they tingled. He knew what they meant, and each second was becoming closer to his last.

After he was done, Winn tutted looking his work up and down.

"Good." He smiled, "any last words?"

Race cried childishly, sobbing harder than before. Last words? Should he say them at all? Was his fight over? How come it had come so quick? He spent a thousand years here then he blinked and suddenly there was the end.

"I love you Jack and Crutchie." He cried. He decided he was not too stubborn to waste his last words. "I'm so sorry, this happened. I miss you, I am so sorry."

Winn looked at him proudly, Race felt sick. "Beautiful, truly... Now."

He shoved his fingers down Races throat, his eyes bulged and he gagged up a scream. His back arched uncomfortably and he began crying harder. Bile naturally rose up in his throat and Winn shoved him to the side to puke his guts out.

Almost immediately after finishing, he shoved his fingers down again. Race coughed harshly as something squeezed down his throat.

He killed me. He just killed me. Race squirmed on the table awfully back and forth. But everything was beginning to slowly lag. His vision quickly started swimming and his body started loosing feeling. Slowly he sort of just calmed down. In a sick way it was peaceful, and he let his eyes fall towards the door.

"Rest," Winn smiled, "your sacrifice will not be in vein."

Then the doors burst open, and Race saw an angel. His older brother, coming to his rescue after all. For the first time in these horrid weeks, Race smiled. A huge weight lifted off his chest, and he watched Jack shoot Winn dead.

Like that, the devil fell to the angels call.

He looked back at his big brother, and let out a woozy groan.

"Jack," he tried to lift his hands towards him, just one last time, "Jack."

Jack grabbed his face, "Race! What's wrong with you. Are you okay?"

Race shook his head, "Jack, I love you."

Jack was tearing up, "your eyes Race!"

He released Race's arm from there binds and Race shot forward with all the strength he had left, and squeezed Jacks hand. Talking hurt, and he's said all that needs to be said.

He's going to die, but Winn was right after all. His sacrifice was not in vein in the end.

His hand gave out, and soon his vision did. After that it was just, done.

Jack screamed as he watched Race let go and his eyes go distant. He reached for a pulse and found none. He jumped on the table and began doing cpr compressions. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. Just hum Jack.

"Jack!" Davey screamed, "Jack you in there!"

"Call an ambulance Davey!" He cried, "call an ambulance please."

He was met with silence. Then the radio. He tuned it out, he had to stay on beat. Race would be fine, he was not going to die, not after everything.

Davey soon ran in, grabbing his mouth when he saw Race, blood started seeping out of his nose.

"Jack." Davey gently walked over, "Jack you need to move."

"Look at these marks Davey." Jack screeched to himself, "they're all over him."

Davey pushed him over, "Jack you need to let me."

"Why!" He screamed.

"Because your arms are going limp."

Jack looked down and they were, he was doing basically nothing at this point. He jumped off in seconds and Davey took over, much calmer and more efficient. His legs went out and he crumpled to the ground.

"He's dead." He cried.

"Don't say that Jack."

"Look at him!" He screamed, "he's dead."

Jack felt like puking, he clutched his stomach groaning to the side. It ached, seeping his stomach in two.

Davey true to his word did not stop, he stood strong as his arms began to shake and sweat was mixing with the blood on Race's nose. He did not stop until the sirens came and the paramedics rolled him away. Then he grabbed Jack and they hopped in the car together. Jack hopelessly watched the machine roll his chest up and down. How long had it been? Not long, because before his watch hit the next minute, he was watching them roll Race again down emergency care.

Davey grabbed Jack and hugged him, while Jack cried desperately into his shoulder.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Jack asked.

Davey stared off. "I don't know."