Of course I do. The final act. The last stand, when I'll bring the Dog in him howling to the fore and he'll tear me apart with nails and teeth and I'll slide into the black silence as he turns the whole world red. It's the only option left to me, besides.

[If he can do that maybe She'll see something of value in him, just the once, the one singular time, and perhaps even that doesn't matter at all, as long as he can die before his mind comes undone and everything he's ever known is ripped away from him piece by piece, like so much sand falling through spread fingers. His memories, bleak as they are, cold and fraught with terror as they may be-- they're the only thing he's ever been able to call his own.

But the bullet is dragged free of him in a hot red gush and again the darkness encroaches, swims across his vision like a rushing tide. His eyes flutter worryingly for a moment, and there's something blank and empty in his face, just a void where signs of life ought to be. But Cain asks his question, and Giovanni's eyes, the colour of his leakig blood, crack open. He flashes his razorblade smile.]

Oh yes. Still here.

[And he lifts a hand, just a little limp, to press over the wound as requested.]