Childish laughter and smiles swirled around his head, memories flooding to mind that taunted him. The memories made his blood run cold. Sick to the stomach but anger boiled within him, the warring fight of freezing cold and the blindingly hot feeling of rage.

It was a reoccurring situation.

But the weight in his hand, constant beat.. it released some part of this feeling. Still, it never entirely went away and stayed below his skin. Pete could almost feel it in his throat and lungs, suffocating him which enabled him from taking a full breath of air. Something he didn't doubt he deserved.

After all the blood on his hands.. the consistent beating of the sledgehammer did something to him, liberating and confining him to his own need for violence.

Smashing the wall down with his sledgehammer, he sighs and looks down to see his hands were bloody again. As Pete looked up, he decided to go downstairs to smash down one last wall.

Pete stopped and turned when he heard something. He glanced around before shifting his hold on the sledgehammer, an unreadable expression painted his face.