COUGH, COUGH.
A painful, hacking cough came from the side.
About ten meters away, Carlo was hunched over. He tried several times to get up from the ground, but it was as if he had lost control of his body from drunkenness; he would get up only to fall again, looking quite wretched.
He didn't even know what had happened. His barely lucid consciousness only remembered that he must have been hit by a sedan. A terrifying force had pulled half of his body, sending him flying and crashing heavily onto the ground. He rolled several times before coming to a stop.
Dean quickly ran over and pressed down on Carlo to keep him from moving. Holding out a finger, he asked, "How many is this?"
Carlo shook his head. Through his blurry vision, he saw three figures of Dean, his boss, swaying, their mouths opening and closing. Yet, all he could hear was a sharp ringing in his ears.
He wanted to say something.
As soon as he opened his mouth, a wave of nausea rushed over him.
