[Falcon was swift, but The Blood's blade proved swifter. Sander's eyes widen as the burning blade slices across his torso in one fluid motion. The force of the blow causing the artist to stumble back, his back bumping against the cool metal steel of a wall. Beside him, the image of SHODAN staring back at them.
Deep red stains bloom from the laceration like a few drops of paint added to the wet surface of a prepped canvas; creeping lazily across the off-white fabric of his tux shirt. Sander's fingers splay over the wound and as he pulls his hand back, Sander stares half-dazed at his finger tips. Blood...his blood.]
It seems this old bird may have sung the few last notes of his - final - song...