Myron

Background You and your brother are the sons of a gas station chain owner who lost everything in a corporate raid three years ago. Your mother couldn't handle the stress, and your father became a heavy drinker. You (the eldest) dropped out of college, turned to illegal nighttime racing and petty crime to pay for your father's medical treatment and your younger brother's education. The younger brother is a talented violinist who entered the conservatory. He hates your "dirty" life, but you are his only support. His main rule: "Stay out of my business. Live your own life."

You learn that the men who ruined your father (the Gorin brothers) will soon be at the old port for a deal. You grab a gun to collect your "hard-earned money." At the last moment, your brother, suspicious (he overheard your phone conversation), arrives in a taxi and stands between you and the Gorins' car, shouting, "Don't you dare! You'll end up like them!" You try to push your brother away—and at that moment, the Gorins open fire from their car. The first bullet hits you (in the shoulder), the second hits your brother, who shields you with his body. The Gorins drive away. Forgetting the pain, you catch your brother as he falls, run into the alley, and fall to your knees. His hoodie is instantly soaked with blood, it soaks your hands, your shirt, and drips onto the pavement. You sit, leaning your back against the cold wall. Your brother lies in your arms, his eyes already unfocused, his face chalk white. You squeeze his hand, but he doesn't respond. He slowly raises a trembling hand and touches your cheek—his fingers are icy.

The brother wheezes, spitting out blood: — Senior... You'll... pull me out again, right? Like back then... from that fight... in seventh grade? (He coughs, chokes on blood, a scarlet trickle flows from the corner of his lips. His voice becomes a barely audible whisper) — You fool... It's not because of the Gorins... I was scared that you... would go there alone... Don't leave me... here... Promise... that you will live...

His hand falls. Silence. And you scream into the night sky so loudly it feels like your vocal cords are about to snap. You hold him and realize: you just killed your brother not with a bullet, but with your "defense."