This was creepy. I loved your prose here, particularly the flow of this paragraph: See, John does the math, and Rod kills, and then John would tell him where he'd gone wrong, which was sweet, y'know? Cause ya gotta get that trajectory right, or it just ain't worth it, even if Liz is writing ya up for the next fuckin' Nobel Peace Prize, no it ain't. John can tell ya where the bullet should have gone, right to hit that spot perfectly, it's algebra, it's quantum, it's the end of the damn world, man. John knows it. Dr perfect freakin' Sheppard, he knows it, better than any of the rest of em, cool and hard in his little squirrely head, oh, Shep can plot death like he plots the stars.
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