ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇᴍᴀᴋᴇʀ ▀▄▀▄ 𝗧𝗪𝗗 𝘅 𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱! 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿▄▀▄▀

𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬

~____'s pov~

From a very young age, i had struggled with a mental illness that caused me to hear voices in my head. The constant presence of these voices caused me to feel disconnected from reality and isolated from those around me. Despite my parents' best efforts to help me, they struggled to understand the extent of my suffering and often unintentionally made me feel even more alone.

I grew older, the voices in my head only escalated in intensity and frequency. I struggled to distinguish between what was real and what was a product of my illness, and the constant noise in my head made it difficult for me to focus on anything else. The voices often spoke to me, sometimes offering cruel taunts and other times making impossible demands, leaving me feeling overwhelmed and disoriented.

The voices in my head often encouraged me to do violent things and hurt others. They urged me to lash out in anger, to give in to my darkest impulses, and to unleash my frustrations on anyone who crossed my path. I struggled to resist these voices, feeling powerless against their influence and the destructive impulses they sparked.

My father, a career hitman, thought it would be advantageous to teach me how to use a sniper rifle at an early age. I, eager to please my father, learned quickly and soon became proficient in the use of firearms. Despite the mental illness, i discovered that when I held a weapon, i could temporarily drown out the voices in my head and feel a sense of control and mastery over my environment.

My father taught me the art of using a sniper rifle. I quickly discovered that i was exceptional at it, and my skills earned me praise and admiration from my father. "I'm proud of you!" My father would say, patting me on the back. I reveled in these moments of approval and took pride in my abilities, using them as a source of validation and security in an otherwise chaotic world.

I spotted a bird flying by and, with quick precision, aimed the rifle and fired. "Daddy!" I exclaimed, excitement in my voice. "I shot that motherfucking bird!" I turned to my father, a mixture of pride and hope in my eyes, seeking the validation i craved.

On my seventh birthday, my father presented me with a special gift: a sleek, customized sniper rifle. As i held the weapon in my hands, I felt a surge of excitement and pride. It was a tangible symbol of my father's approval and encouragement, and a reminder of the skills i had worked so hard to perfect.

My father, a seasoned survivor before he became a hitman, grinned and placed a firm hand on my shoulder. "Starting now," my father declared, his eyes serious but filled with affection. "I'll teach you how to survive no matter what happens." My heart skipped a beat at the words, and i was suddenly enveloped in a tight, comforting hug from my father. In that moment, i felt a mixture of pride and reassurance, knowing that i was being given the tools and knowledge to navigate even the most perilous of situations.

As a month passed, my father took me to a secret location where we had stashed away supplies and weapons. I listened intently as my father showed me where the food was stored and explained how to access it in an emergency. My father also shared survival tips, such as how to find water and build shelters, emphasizing the importance of self-reliance and resourcefulness in the event of a crisis.

My father handed me a key to the secret building, a proud smile on his face. "This place is yours now," my father said, gesturing towards the towering building. "I used to go here a lot when I was still a hitman." My eyes widened as i held the key in my hands, the weight of its significance settling upon him. This building represented my father's history, his legacy, and now it was mine to protect and inherit.

As we made our way back home, me and my father heard the distant sounds of screams and commotion. Confused, We quickened our pace and soon came upon a chaotic scene: people running and shouting, desperately trying to escape from something.  My heart began to race, his father's grip on my shoulder tightening as we tried to make sense of the madness unfolding before us.

My heart was in my throat as i saw a figure coming our way. The person was clearly injured, with what appeared to be a bloody mouth. The sight sent a wave of panic through me, and the voices in my head suddenly grew louder, their words becoming more incessant and menacing. Fear gripped me, and i desperately clutched at my father's hand, his wide eyes fixed on the approaching figure.

I let out a terrified scream as the zombie was about to attack me, but then my father acted quickly, pushing me out of the way, sacrificing himself to save me. I stumbled back, my eyes locked on the horrific scene unfolding before me as the zombie bit my father. My heart ached with a mixture of relief and anguish, torn between the gratitude for my father's selfless act and the overwhelming grief at the thought of losing him.

My voice caught in my throat as i cried out, "Dad!" My father, despite his injury, managed a smile, his eyes filled with love and determination. With a final, silent statement of affection, my father mouthed, "I love you." The words hung in the air, a bittersweet mixture of farewell and tenderness, as i watched the life slowly fade from my father's eyes.

Fear and panic consumed me, and without hesitation, i turned and ran towards the building my father had given me. My mind was racing, my body moving on instinct, propelled by a strange mix of terror and determination. Every fiber of my being was focused on the one thought: to reach the safety and solitude of the building, my new sanctuary and the only tangible remnant i had left of my father's legacy.

As I raced through the chaotic streets, my eyes fell upon a scene of horror: a police officer being attacked by a group of zombies. In an instant, i spotted the officer's discarded gun lying on the ground. Without a second thought, i grabbed the weapon, adrenaline coursing through my veins. With shaking hands, i lifted the gun and began shooting at the zombies, my heart pounding, but my aim steady and deadly.

Finally, i reached the building, trembling fingers fumbling with the key before finally unlocking the door. I quickly pulled it open and darted inside, frantically locking and barricading it from the inside. Breathing heavily, my body still shaking from the adrenaline, I scanned the room, searching for anything that could be used to cover the windows. To my relief, i spotted a few cans of paint left behind, which i immediately set to work using to cover the glass completely, blocking any view from the outside.
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I̶ w̶a̶s̶ o̶n̶l̶y̶ s̶e̶v̶e̶n̶ y̶e̶a̶r̶s̶ o̶l̶d̶

I̶ s̶h̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ g̶o̶ t̶h̶r̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ t̶h̶i̶s̶ a̶l̶l̶ a̶l̶o̶n̶e̶,̶ r̶i̶g̶h̶t̶?̶