In the very instant Victor's head exploded in a shower of blood and brain and bone, Bree's whole world blew apart. 

One moment, she was leaving the casino with Victor, Murray 'escorting' the strange, green-eyed man right in front of them with extreme prejudice. And the next... ?

The next, her ears were ringing with the rifle's retort despite the distance, a giant's hand having picked her up like a play thing and slammed her into the cold brick wall of the decrepit building. The back of her head slammed with a stunning force against it, only the helmet she wore over the balaclava keeping her from a bloody mess reminiscent of Victor's own as his body crumpled to the sidewalk.	

Bree slid down the wall to the ground, her legs splaying out before her, leaving her sitting there limp and listless, she thought a little crazily in this whole new slow-motion world, like an enormous, discarded doll. And that is when the pain began to hit, exploding from a pinpoint of excruciating pain into a blossom of white hot agony that spread from her collar bone to her chest, her neck and then to the very roots of her hair. Her left arm simply... Stopped. She could not feel it, move it, her gloved hand lying limp and useless in her lap as she moaned softly.

Somehow the fingers of Bree's right hand fumbled at the straps of her helmet, weakly tossing it to the ground. She snatched clumsily at the balaclava, pulling it over her head and ripping it away from her face pale, gasping. Bree felt like a fish out of water, her every breath torturous, painful and utterly worthless no matter how much she tried to gulp into her lungs. There just didn't seem to be anymore air left in her world.

Wide, disbelieving eyes dipped toward her useless arm. The whole left side of her chest, just below her collarbone, was too shiny, too bright, slick and blacker than her uniform should be... Oh God...

Some small, still functioning part of her brain whispered something about a ricochet, obviously a ricochet from the sniper's bullet through Victor's brain pan. Something about how stupid she'd been, to wrap her bullet-proof vest around the man with only half a head now - and wasn't that going to be a closed casket funeral, hmm? Instinctively Bree shoved the cloth of the balaclava into the bleeding hole in her chest, knowing she had to stop... Stop the bleeding and... 

She screamed - or at least she thought she did. The Bree inside her head sure did, the pain cocooning her in a torturous veil. She could sense more than see Murray rushing to her side, ignoring the obviously dead man and shouting something about an agent... An agent down... 

The edges of her vision began to blur, blacken, her eyes losing all sense of color, all colors bleeding to dirty shades of charcoal and black - all colors that was, but for a flash of the most intense green eyes she'd ever seen...