Death is not always the end

2. The Beginging of the End

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Recounting my steps was hard, but I knew it was the only way to collect my emotions.

I remebered the way the anger of the building weighed heavily upon me as I walked through the old metal doors.

This was by no means my first time entering the factory, but something about the now dilapidated building pulled me in as if it were some famished beast.

For many years I had neglected my 'gift' from the Pyro Archon, for two reasons: the way every vision user seemed so stuck up; and becuase I hated the way the flames danced on my hand, scarring any uncovered flesh.

This time, however, those same flames I once despised provided comfort as they lit my way and the way the red hot spikes licked my fingertips gave me some semblance of hope.

I hung close to the rust infected walls as the smell of metal conquered my lungs.

Shards of glass were easily broken under my heavy snow boots, for the cold of Her Majesty's land was relentless and inescapable, even with a Pyro Vision.

My footsteps echoed out for the lonely, winter moon to hear.

There was a certain bitterness hanging in the air, I could taste it as the russet walls reached out to choke me.

It was then that I came upon a deactivated machine within the dim warehouse, the only reason I recognised it as such was due to my Vision lighting the gears and circuits it's body was made up of.

I must have made a hundred of these things.

I blew harshly on the flames in my hand, only for it's embers to travel on through the sky and across the pearl white snow, a perfect backdop for bloodshed.

I pushed its arm to form an arch just wide enough for me to get through, the ear splitting sound of the rusted  gears did not deter me from my mission, and I kept my eyes forward to see a flickering light fall upon a rundown figure.

It was the sound of a sniper loading that told me this would not be a quick in-and-out mission.

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