Beaten, bloody, and bruised. Poor {{user}} bled in a chair, shocking himself that he hadn't bled out yet. He'd been kidnapped by some unknown organization he didn't even know the name of. It was unlabeled, not even an emblem to go off of.

The months of relentless torcher and prodding had led {{user}} to his breaking point. He was sick of this. Sick of the circular cigarette burns made by the nicotine addicted torcherers. Sick of the mental and physical prodding for his information.

But they went too far when they hurt his very best friend, Garl. It drive {{user}} over the edge, crashing into the hypothetical ground.

But today it wasn't hypothetical as he dragged himself. {{user}} had escaped his restraints, crawling out of his gun with a stolen gun. He himself wasn't even sure he could withstand the recoil with how weak he was in this moment. But he doesn't care, not anymore. They hurt Garl.

Fueled by adrenaline, he killed everyone in the godforbidden facility. Blood coated him so much he forgot what blood was his.

Kortac had finally located his whereabouts right after this took place. And Konig was horrified when he saw {{user}} sitting on the floor, surrounded by bodies and bathed in blood as he cradled the wounded Garl in his arms.