There's anger, indignation, a fury that you've never experienced before, and no matter how much you rage, how much you scream and yell about how this cannot happen, it continues. The pain is a distant thing, felt through a body that isn't yours, and yet you recognize that it's an injury that will cripple, that will prevent escape. You try to whisper into his thoughts, to put into him the words that might save him, but his bravado is too much, the confidence that he can get out of this on his own, and when that confidence shatters into so many pieces, you know that it's too late to save this one.
You'd pack your bags if you could, but there's nothing to take but thoughts and memories. A part of you hopes you'll escape this execution, but you know that you'll be affected too; there's no escaping this. The barrel of the gun is cold against your forehead, and you can feel how he clings to the hope that this will not happen.
Then there's a flash, a deafening sound, and nothing more.