They shot him. Bones. They shot him. Dead. Bones. Dead.
A stealth attack by the Klingons. They were on the ship before they realized what was happening. Nameless, faceless crew members fell as they made their way to the bridge, forcing Kirk from his chair, to his knees. Bowing to them.
They had won.
They dragged Bones, M’Benga and Chapel to the bridge, the next ones to die. But Bones, the audacious idiot he is, ran his mouth. “Why don’t you start with me you, Klingon bastards! Huh?! Go ahead! Do it!”
"Bones!" But it was too late; they fired. It hit, square in the chest. Bones went down. He didn’t move again.
Jim choked back his sobs as the Klingons moved around the room, glancing at each one of the officers on the bridge. They kept speaking a word chose, Captain. Chose. Chose who dies next. Jim swallowed hard, glaring up at the men who captured his ship. His ship, not theirs.
"I’m not chosing," He snarled.
"Shame. Then we will choose for you," One of the lieutenants replied, a malicious grin spreading across his face. He turned, Spock in his line of vision. Jim had to look away, focus on something. Anything. Bones…
Bones’ body was gone.
A sickening crack pulled him back to front. One of the Klingons fell to the ground, the CMO of his ship standing right behind him. He stared down at the lifeless body, knife stolen from him in his hand. Bones twist his head, looking up at the shocked Klingons that started to gather around him.
Bones glanced down at the blue shirt, now ruined with a burn mark at the center of his chest. A reminder that they just shothim not five minutes ago. He growled, easily ripping the fabric in half, exposing the black undershirt. It slid to the ground, exposing his arms.
And the Grim Reaper tattoo on his forearm.
“Reaper.” It was whispered around the cabin by the fear-stricken Klingons, now backing towards the door.
Bones predatory gaze lifted.
"You should have tried harder."