[Sunday September 15, 2075; Under the Mechanical's Compound, Puyallup, Seattle]
In that moment, in the dark, surrounded by desperate snarls and screams, the top-hatted undead visage filling his vision, dripping with greenish bracken, in that moment Al knew if he lingered a moment longer the thing would eat his soul. It wouldn't just kill him, it would tear his soul to pieces and damn whatever scraps remained to an endless fiery torment.
Later, he would know it was nothing but a magical parlor trick, but in that moment such a thing never occurred to him. He knew, just as he knew Democrats were evil and that his mother loved him, he knew if that thing touched him he'd be damned for eternity.
His shotgun dropped, catching on the shoulder strap. His weight shifted, he half turned to flee…and there was Spike, undaunted, snarling up at the thing in the vat.
And just as Al knew that he'd be doomed if he stayed, he knew Spike and his new companions would be doomed if he fled. He felt a burning on his back. They were with him. And he thought of the choice they had made. And that left him with no choice at all.
The terror washing away in his new clarity, he leveled his shotgun once more, looked the thing in the eye, and smiled as he pulled the trigger.