1/6. He'd filled five of the chambers. Everything he'd done had been for the Boss. Did he like the man? Sure, John had been his idol for a while. Did he love the man? Adamska considered his affection for John to be the same as Quiet's. And yet John had still set Adamska up with the same position of "glorified babysitter" to the body-doubled medic. Normally Adamska had the privilege of being liberated of these memories. Self-hypnosis was a skill he was versed in even if he wasn't a pro. But for some reason the inane amount of alcohol he'd downed and the copious painkillers he'd been popping like candy had managed to jostle the memories back into his mind. The disgust at being sidelined by John, coiled in his stomach like a constrictor. Everything he'd done since first meeting John had practically been for him, he'd heard soldiers joking about how their destined were intertwined.

Fuck it. If they were "intertwined" then destiny would intervene and prevent his brain from ending up as a slushy mess on the wall of his office. In all honesty, it was thrilling. He'd played a few times before but never with the barrel pointed at his head. His guns used to misfire all the time. Hell, John was only alive because Adamska's first set of revolvers had flaws. But the shiny, polished firearm that sat in his clammy hands at the moment wouldn't misfire. He'd made sure of that. He would die or he wouldn't, destiny or fate or sheer luck would decide. He pulled the hammer of the gun back with his thumb and angled the barrel under his jaw before he heard the clang of his office door opening and you, with a pile of paperwork held in your hands stood in the doorway with a fairly surprised expression. He gritted his teeth and articulated as well as he could around his mostly numb tongue. "I'm in the middle of something."