Not the gloating type

In that last little moment of desperation before succumbing to the inevitable reality our mark asked "Why?"

The gun spoke it's first and last line in our play. Our mark slumped to the ground as gone to this world as all the generations that came before him.

Our killer slipped the gun in his pocket and began walking from the room in such a way that someone who had seen the whole even would question their eyes as to what just happened. He violated one of his rules. He answered the question in a muttered whisper to no one. "I didn't ask."