( Second Floor )
There is generally a split second where the brain doesn't quite realize that things are over. When it's been stopped, but the body doesn't know it. The blood that gushed from Harpoon's wound ran down his throat and the spear that had dissected his brain. Like Riptide, he died with that maniacal grin planted on his face, like someone had just given him laughing gas. Too happy for someone who had just kicked the bucket again. What was it that they seemed to know about this situation that no one else did?
Did it matter, things were over and done with, weren't they? Not quite, Carol was still very much alive and running amuck downstairs.