Zaeed was always an angry man. A violent one. Since he was young, he talked with his fists. It made him feel... good. Every tooth knocked loose, every fist flying, whether it hit him or his target -- it didn’t matter. It all felt good. It all felt... therapeutic. He didn’t know anything but physical pain to remedy the mental ones.

He’d been having... a very bad day. Everything just kept going wrong, and wrong, and wrong yet. He was already an impatient person, and his aggression only grew every second. He’d nearly shot three of his own men by the time he went for a walk to cool off. And then, he was ambushed.

And he just snapped.

He was almost grateful for it. This would surely get his energy out. He’d... demolished them. He’d forgotten the gun on his hip and beat them with his fists, feeling bones crunch beneath them. He could feel his knuckles sting and tingle from the pain of impact and it made him angrier. He didn’t stop. He didn’t know how. He didn’t want to.