He knows that after the horrors he's just been forced to inflict, there should be no capacity for further harm to be done. Yet Valentine doesn't even look him in the face when he puts his finger to the trigger, and the indignity of it is an insult to a degree of injury he can barely contemplate. He is to be made invisible before being erased.
Harry expects this to be the last instant of consciousness. He makes his peace with it remarkably quickly. Merlin has seen and heard everything that he has, which he hopes should prove enough to undo Valentine, and the rest...
The rest, he cannot abide by.
The gun fires. The world goes black. He drops - there is no pain.
Though the heavy landing when he hits the floor is uncomfortable. For a moment there are several things his senses don't acknowledge - the shift from indoor to outdoor, the carpet beneath his body, the dust kicked into the air - and he thinks that Valentine must be a terrible shot. Then the world returns to him, and he realises the scene has shifted.
For a dedicated secular humanist, it's bewildering to find that he has been neither spared nor ended but transported by a bullet to the head. However. The average person responds to extreme stress by way of the fight or flight instincts; a Kingsman develops what can be roughly called the Keep Calm And Carry On response. The aptitude toward tucking away the inexplicable and intolerable to be picked apart at leisure in a quieter moment.
He walks down the corridor, finds his suitcase, and continues onto the stairs.
Soon after his arrival he can be found in a bespoke suit and crisp white shirt. His hair is disarrayed, there's a bloodied scrape across his right cheek, his collar and cuffs are spattered with blood. He's done what he can with a pocket square (now hidden) to clean the blood off his hands, but drying red smudges remain. Most - almost all - of the blood is not his own. He moves with purpose, or at least as much purpose as he can manage given that he has little idea where he's going, towards room 210.
Later he has found his room, opened his suitcase after only a handful of attempts, and cleaned up and carefully not stopped to take stock, because he's well aware that if he loses momentum it'll be difficult to regain. When he reemerges he's in slacks, a clean white shirt and a cream cardigan, hair back in place, the scrape on his jaw carefully cleaned. He takes more time and care in exploring his new environment, in the way of a tourist exploring a stately home and determined to get his money's worth.
Anywhere
Harry expects this to be the last instant of consciousness. He makes his peace with it remarkably quickly. Merlin has seen and heard everything that he has, which he hopes should prove enough to undo Valentine, and the rest...
The rest, he cannot abide by.
The gun fires. The world goes black. He drops - there is no pain.
Though the heavy landing when he hits the floor is uncomfortable. For a moment there are several things his senses don't acknowledge - the shift from indoor to outdoor, the carpet beneath his body, the dust kicked into the air - and he thinks that Valentine must be a terrible shot. Then the world returns to him, and he realises the scene has shifted.
For a dedicated secular humanist, it's bewildering to find that he has been neither spared nor ended but transported by a bullet to the head. However. The average person responds to extreme stress by way of the fight or flight instincts; a Kingsman develops what can be roughly called the Keep Calm And Carry On response. The aptitude toward tucking away the inexplicable and intolerable to be picked apart at leisure in a quieter moment.
He walks down the corridor, finds his suitcase, and continues onto the stairs.
Soon after his arrival he can be found in a bespoke suit and crisp white shirt. His hair is disarrayed, there's a bloodied scrape across his right cheek, his collar and cuffs are spattered with blood. He's done what he can with a pocket square (now hidden) to clean the blood off his hands, but drying red smudges remain. Most - almost all - of the blood is not his own. He moves with purpose, or at least as much purpose as he can manage given that he has little idea where he's going, towards room 210.
Later he has found his room, opened his suitcase after only a handful of attempts, and cleaned up and carefully not stopped to take stock, because he's well aware that if he loses momentum it'll be difficult to regain. When he reemerges he's in slacks, a clean white shirt and a cream cardigan, hair back in place, the scrape on his jaw carefully cleaned. He takes more time and care in exploring his new environment, in the way of a tourist exploring a stately home and determined to get his money's worth.