The Security Room
…Fuck. - a man in his late thirties with long dark hair and amber eyes sitting in a worn-out office chair mutters to himself.
The smell coming from the tip of his cigarette fills the air, which becomes increasingly overwhelming with each passing moment as his eyes, fixated on the wall, start shaking slightly together with his body.
He lets his head fall towards his legs, catching it with his hand as he feels his heart pounding in his chest. The cigarette previously in his mouth hits the floor and rolls, only stopping after hitting his right combat boat, still dirty with the blood of who he now knows was an innocent person.
The memories of him hysterically smiling while shooting the body of the station guard with his submachine guns rush through his mind, as his heart skips a beat with the recollection of the adrenaline that he felt rushing through his body at that moment, thinking that his only options were to die or to be killed by the man, the trill of, even if only for brief a moment, being close to finally meeting up again with his warfield comrades, that would probably congratulate him for his service, just like his lieutenant at the time did, for revenging them, even tho he was alone against a full enemy team. Just like at that time he was successful and put down the two guards basically alone, even after his comrade had already given up because he was afraid of things getting out of hand, or that's what he thought.
The truth was that his team member had actually sensed that something wasn't right and was just trying to fix things up by talking like a normal fucking person, and if he had just stayed put and not decided to act on his own, straight off the bat, with no warning whatsoever, maybe things would have turned out different, maybe the guard would be able to explain the situation and now they would be a team of 5 instead of 4 for the next bit of the mission, maybe if he had just-
A stuffed giggle suddenly leaves the man's mouth, his whole body now shaking uncontrollably as his arms squeeze his head and he curls onto himself not being able to control his instincts as the slight giggle slowly goes from just a sip of the tongue to a full-blown almost hysterical and uncontrollable laugh. The man's eyes open wide, as tears start forming in the corners of them and with a sudden getting up motion he takes his gun, which was before just laying armlessly on the floor, and points into the blackness of a busted computer screen where the only thing showing up was his own tear-eyed reflection.
The threat that he had always sought revenge or satisfaction towards was always something or someone else, in every single one of his episodes, just a few hours ago it was a guard that was supposedly threatening the mission by locking up some members of his team and being now in his range seeking to take care of the others, but now, the threat, the real and unmatchable threat, the one that could bring harm and pain to the people he cared about, was himself.
The gunshots echoed through the small room making his ears buzz as he disintegrates whatever reflective surface meets his gaze, tears falling endlessly through his face still stamped with an undescribable smile, only to be stopped by the clicking of this weapon, now completely emptied out as the man falls on the worn out office-chair once more sobbing, and this time, not smiling anymore.