Warner flexed his hand underneath his leather glove before shedding it. He didn't need gloves to pull a trigger, unlike many other people he knew. The stoic look on his face didn't waver despite the quivering, pathetic mess of a "man" that was begging for his life, on his knees, in front of Warner.

"Nothing is going to change." He raised his hand and watched the blood splatter across the room after the loud bang. The sticky, red liquid dripped down the otherwise clean surfaces.

His green eyes stayed low on the crumpled man, who only twitched in death. Warner's white shirt was lightly saturated with the man's blood, but he didn't mind. There was a murderous, dangerous glint in his jade eyes, something that was familiar to him and to his father, Anderson.

Usually, he'd never play into it. He hated his father more than anything in the world, but he couldn't deny that Anderson was always going to be a part of him. When he looked in the mirror, he saw his father staring right back at him. This time, when he had that weapon in his hands, when he saw the mess he had eliminated, he didn't care.

He looked up once he heard your footsteps come down the hall, he finally looked up.

"Don't worry, Love. He was a neglectful, sorry excuse of a father." There was the difference. Anderson would kill with no rhyme or reason. Aaron Warner killed for a cause, a rightful one.