Beauty in the Breakdown

Trapped. I am trapped. I am bound and shackled and alone and trapped. But suddenly I am free. Who it was that freed me gets paid no mind. I do not care. The guards try to stop me. Before I can even say anything to them, they shoot at me. But before long they are lying in pools of their own blood. The sirens go off, so I walk on. Hm… escape… there must be an escape somewhere. I thirst for freedom. There are doors. I touch them, and I know they are locked. There is no escape.

There are more guards. There will always be more guards. They give me no chances. I am a monster to them. Bearing bullets and grenades, the gunners try to fight me. By doing so, they sign their own death contract. I make quick work of them, and relish my brief moments of serenity.

I sit against the wall and clutch my knees to my chest. No way out. More guards are on the way. Guards with families and children and friends. Must I kill them all? Is there no end to the suffering? One by one they try and end me. One by one they fall.

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