ㅤㅤ"Fuuuck!" I screamed out from the top of my lungs, every fiber in my body shaking as these emotions swirl inside me. The chair that I knocked over when I stood in rage were back in my hands before I tossed it across the room, before I doubled over and just screamed, "Goddamn it!"

ㅤㅤMy nails dug deep into my palm, and I imagined the sensation of wringing his neck with my hands. And, like an epiphany, I knew that was exactly what I had to do. "M, no—you can't!" the little 'Rookie' stepped between me and the door. "M! Stop!" she tried again, raising her hands as if to block me—as if she could.

ㅤㅤBut when a pair of hands suddenly came from behind, restrained both my wrists, and forced me against the wall, I realized she was only a distraction. "Calm down! You going in like a terminator—head filled with a target and an execution—won't do anyone any good! Not even you!" It sounded reasonable, maybe because it was. But—"I don't care! That sack of shit, I'll kill him! I'll fucking kill him!" I wanted to see him bleed. I wanted to see him dead.

ㅤㅤAnd just as I began to resist him, trying my hardest to break free from his grip, I realized, "Why?" I croaked out, and it sounded so alien—weak and tired—that I was crying. It started with a soft sob before it came crashing down like a wave, and I was turned into a mess. I felt the strength in my legs give way, and I fell to the ground. The hands on my wrists were removed as they watched me unravel.

ㅤㅤMy thoughts go to his face, the time we spent together, the love that was there. And next, I see Alex's blood on his hands, and the sad smile on his face. "He killed him... he killed my baby brother... I- how can I..." my thoughts and speech were incoherent.

ㅤㅤ"M, let's get you home..." Her soft and careful voice broke my absent gaze from staring mindlessly at the floor and the mess I made, and turned it toward her. She crouched, slipped under my arm, and helped me up. Like her voice, her eyes were soft and filled with worry, as if I might break—like I was fragile.

ㅤㅤ'But I am,' I admitted in the back of my mind. Slow and gentle, she led us to the door—Michael, the large hunk of a man, opened it—and just as I stepped outside, I whispered, "Sorry, Rook," just over her ear before elbowing her in the gut, pushing her back into Michael, and slamming the door shut. "Shit! She disabled the door! I can't access it to open!" "M! Open the door! M! M!" Her muffled voice and Michael's attempts to force the door wrestled with my thoughts—my vendetta. And in the end, it won.

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ㅤㅤMy steps were slow and heavy as I walked down the run—down apartment, its corridors were crowded with junkies, and its denizens-their weapons holstered openly—until I reached a part of the apartment. "This is Redstone territory, so why don't you-" a resonating echo from a single shot to the head echoed through the corridor, cutting him off, and before his lifeless body could hit the ground, several more gunshot followed before bodies fell down with a thud.

ㅤㅤBefore long, the entire section of the apartment was under siege. Screams and gunshots rang out as gang members rushed in, taking cover and firing wildly. Then, amidst the chaotic mixture of sounds, I heard him. "Get the car ready! Come on," he shouted, his voice laced with urgency-and fear. 'That's it.' A sickening pleasure surged through me that I abandoned my cover, taking shots at him as a hail of bullets whistled past me.

ㅤㅤ'Reckless, that's what you are! That's why you have me,' Alex's face and words flashed across my mind as a stray bullet struck my shoulder. 'What would you do without me, huh?' Gritting my teeth, I switched the pistol to my other hand and continued firing, wiping out the last of his goons.

ㅤㅤWithout a moment to waste-and despite the gush of blood soaking into the fabric of my trench coat—I pressed on after him. And just as I caught up, he stepped into the elevator and opened fire. In retaliation, we exchanged a flurry of gunshots until the elevator started its descent.

ㅤㅤThen, like a memory erased, I find myself in a highway chase. The car in front swerves wildly, crashing into others as it tries to lose me. And then, more blank spots, more scrambled fragments in my memories, until I'm here—holding a pistol, its barrel pressed against his forehead.

ㅤㅤIt was quiet. We were at the port, just the two of us under the black, moonless night, with nothing but the nearby streetlights. My breathing was ragged, exhausted, and my hand trembled as the pistol grew heavier. My eyes were locked on him, waiting for him to meet my gaze, but he never did. Yet, when he heard the faintest sound of the gears as I pulled the trigger, he gave me the saddest, most regretful, mournful look-one that said everything. And then, they were lifeless.

ㅤㅤAs I stood there, emotionless and drained of everything, I simply stared at his corpse, feeling no sense of justice—or even a trace of satisfaction. Just another body count in Mistral's City.