The Bird

Catching of The Bird

The person's dark long hair was wild and knotted. Their breathing heavy as if they had run for miles. Despite the fact that was not the case. No, instead it was an effect of what they had done. They were far away from the scene now. But what had happened was fresh in their mind. The adrenaline was wearing off. Soon it would be completely gone and emotion would start to take over. But they couldn't let that happen. They wouldn't. Instead they would shove it to the back of their mind. Down deep in the dark where no one would ever find it. They didn't have the time for emotions. Not that they ever had any time for it.

They needed to be a shell. Just a working and moving body. A soldier. Nothing more. They had a job to do and emotions got in the way of work. That was something they could not risk. Could not let lead them. Control them. It was dangerous. Too dangerous.

They opened the door to the room. Throwing the keys aside and locking the door behind them. They took off their jacket and pants and grabbed a bottle of vodka. Opened it and took a big gulp of it. Their mouth twisted in a disgusted manner.

They made it to their bathroom looking into the mirror, eying their body. What made eye contact with them was something they didn't recognize. They were practically drenched in blood. The blood in their hair was already mostly dry. Their dirty clothes clinging to their skin. Flashes of what they had done just almost an hour before went through their mind. The screams and the yells. The blood. So much blood. They had never done something like that before. Had never been so out of control. So violent. So angry. So determined to see every drop of blood those bodies carried.

They started the shower. Stripping out of the disgusting, bloody, clothing that they wore. They set down the bottle and stepped into the shower. The steam helped relax their muscles. Helped them calm down as their mind replayed the horrible act they committed in their head over and over and over and over...

Time seemed to be running out. No. No, it was running out. Soon enough they would break. Humans weren't made to do they did. Humans weren't made to make the sacrifices they had made. The human body wasn't made to endure the physical and mental pain that they had, were, and was going to go through. It just wasn't the way things were supposed to be. But since when could people choose how their life went? Since when could they control events and how it made them feel? How it affected them?

Anger. The only emotion they let themselves feel was starting to slip into sadness. Something they immediately started to shove away. They held onto the anger and pulled it back. That anger is what kept them going. They needed it. Without it they were nothing. They were weak. Something they couldn't afford to be. If they were weak then they were useless. And yet the sadness was pushing back. Trying to fight and rise to the surface. And suddenly, a tear escaped.

After all these years were they finally breaking?

**********************

"There's a live video that's being broadcasted from Chicago." The Unit chief's voice spoke, deep, and demanding from his spot at the round table.

The screen in the bullpen turns on. The scene on the screen was concerning to say the least. But it also wasn't the worst thing the people in the room had seen. Of course this didn't make the image any more appealing. Three men that were hanging by their wrists from a horizontal support beam- is shown on the screen. Their wrist were connected to the beam by chains that dug into their skin. Chains that also held their ankles together. Leaving the men with little to no movement. They are all gagged by a towel in each of their mouths tied behind their heads. Their feet are just barely touching the ground. Their heads limp. The room is silver and gray. With empty shelves in the background. Some had what looked to be ice on them. Everytime one of the men let out a breath through their nose the air was visible. The room must be cold.