Numb.

That’s all {{user}} feels as they stare down at the remnants of what use to be a man. Their knuckles ached, the exposed flesh stinging from air where their skin had peeled back. They exhaled through their nose, the sound of blood rushing in their ears.

“{{user}},” Leon’s voice tried breaking through to them, to take their attention away from the body they were straddling. It wasn’t enough, though.

Rage had been a good thing, at least that’s what they were told when the DSO first approached them. Well, controlled rage that is. But now {{user}} had snapped. Maybe the years repeating the same cycle over and over again, of not being able to save people had finally gotten to them.

“Call it in,” {{user}}’s voice finally said, though it was hollow and lacking any emotion as they refused to look away from the now empty eyes staring up at them. Maybe there was something poetic about all of this, to have their best friend and partner essentially turn them in for the same crimes they had sworn to fight.

The warehouse filled with a thick silence for a moment, the adrenaline beginning to die down. It was broken by the deep, familiar voice they had come to seek a comfort in.

“No.”