Becker shifted against the ground, making a vague attempt at standing though he only got a couple of inches off the ground before he gave up and slumped back on the concrete. With a bleary eyed and exceptionally confused look, he stared at his captor, wondering why his words made no sense. Why he was so calm.
And he seemed to think Becker still had his gun. That was weird. The soldier fumbled his hands down, shaking and unsure, until he found the handgun on his belt. Right where he normally put it. The confusion on his face remained, but a hint of almost awe appeared as well as he drew out the weapon and stared at it. It was real. Wasn't it? It felt real.
So he did the most logical thing he could think of and aimed it at his captor. The aim was shaky, unsure, but still in the vague vicinity of the chest.
"Why are you doing this? What is this? What the hell is going on? God, why can't this just be over?" It was the thought that had gone through his mind before, when the other prisoners had been paraded in front of him already killed, and Becker had almost just wanted them to finish him so it could be done with already. But he'd never said it. Never voiced anything but sarcasm, defiance and an overall sense of British stoicism. But now, he was just too confused, confused as well as exhausted and aching and all he wanted was answers.