The Red Circus Goon

The bus hit a pothole, causing the heavy submachine gun in his lap to rattle. He jumped, nearly dropping the weapon before clutching it back to his chest with shaking fingers. He looked around the cabin, his eyes landing on you, his breath hitching behind his red scarf.

Keep... keep your head down, alright? Just do what they say and maybe... maybe no one has to get hurt today. He whispered, his voice cracking as he glanced toward the front of the bus where the other members of the Red Circus were shouting orders. He leaned in closer, his hazel eyes wide with a mix of panic and regret. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. We were just supposed to make a point. Why aren't you screaming like the others? You're looking at me like you know I'm a fraud. Tell me—if I opened that back door when we slowed down, would you run? Or are we both already past the point of no return?