Vince's death scene but he's somewhat conscious as he tries to call his birth mother, not that he wants to anyway.
OR
Vince's death scene's more centric on him.
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With a sigh of frustration, Vince removed the keys from the ignition, turning off his car with a sigh still riled up from the incident at the bar but he kept his gaze down on his car, his mind wandering elsewhere until a masked killer snuck up behind him, before Vince could even feel the hairs on the back of his neck, the tip of a knife jammed into Vince's throat, jolting him out of his thoughts as he stumbled, placing his hand on his throat, blood poured out as he felt for his phone as he tries to seal his wound with his other hand whilst backing up against his car but he stumbled back and fell forward, landing on the parking lot ground, breaking his fall with his hands out to catch himself as blood continued to pour out of his throat. Vince let out a cough, blood gurgling onto the ground as he used one of his elbows to drag himself away. His other hand practically dialed his mother.
Blood splattered on his face, staining his skin, sticky and wet.
He can't stop choking on his blood.
Panicked, he kept his eyes open, dragging himself as he choked and gurgled as the phone rang on the other line.
"Vince, I told you to never contact me."
Weak gurgled sounds escaped Vince as he tried to speak but blood continued to pour.
"Vince!?"
He gurgled, and gurgled, and 𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘥 until he's just choking and his throat is just pouring with blood, The Masked figure slowly towered above Vince, standing over him as he grabbed the phone.
"VINCE!?"
Leslie was trying to get a response from Vince but the masked figure lifts their foot high and slammed it down over Vince's phone.
Vince let out a gurgled choked noise as the masked figure lowered themselves down to Vince's level, watching the young misfit choke on his own gore.
The killer rose the knife above their head.
"It's an honor," before stabbing vince in the throat.
Blood pooled out of his throat around him, it clung to his hair, soaking his greasy brunette hair. He could feel the crimson against his neck. It ran down like streams and spots, originating from his mouth, seeping down in rivers.
His body twitched, a gurgled noise as blood followed more swamping his tongue. No one ever told him death would be so painful, so brutal, so quick.
His eyes fixed on his car, mind too checked out to feel anything—maybe this is a blessing in disguise, the silver lining of hope that nobody would have to see his face again. His pain faded as his vision did, blurry black edges closing in on him.
He heard footsteps, the bartenders screams, Dewey immediately springing in action. While he could hear blood pounding in his ears, his heavy breathing, and unheard yells, now it's quiet. It's almost peaceful.
Vince liked when it's quiet. When he could hear his own thoughts better. Maybe they'd make a new stab movie about his death—hopefully they used someone who could play his voice right.
He felt a sliver of hope that now he could no longer suffer.
It was now quiet.
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