She clutched at the broken watch, fingers trembling on her gun. There was her father, stood with hands loose at his side. She could hear her mother, or perhaps it was the woman who just looked like her mother would look without all the time and space hopping.
She could hear them, and the wild screaming of the panicked patrons of the club. She could see a man waving his arms. She didn't much like that man, but her father did.
She had killed a man once before, and all that was left was a broken watch, her father looking at her as if she were a curiosity, and this: the sound of screams, the bright flashing green lights of lasers tearing up the city around them, and soon enough, the club, and her heart, beating loudly in her ears.
She held the gun up, training it on each person in turn: father, mother, her mother's opposite, and her father's best friend.
Who would she miss, who would cry if she were dead?
She flung down the watch, finger tightening on the trigger.
And then the world exploded, and it didn't matter so much any more, did it?