Y37.20

W40.0XXA

YOU CALL THAT A SUCCESSFUL MISSION?
NOTHING BLEW UP! THE ONLY THING
I'D CALL THAT IS BORING.

‎‎ ‎

enzo has only one goal: to set off every
explosive he makes. he sees no reason
in making something if it's not used as
intended. why make a bomb if you're
never going to make it explode? there
is no reason behind that, only wasted
time. enzo kept things small at the start
of it all. experimented for years in the
safety of his own isolation. secluded
from the world – with no intentions
of stepping out into the open.

then he was offered a position in which
would allow him to further improve his
current inventions. to produce a larger
outcome, a more destructive ending. it
seemed too good of an offer to decline.
enzo had only one objective, and this
would fulfill that, so he accepted.

he had never actually considered
using his work against anyone.
he may have been strange enough
to enjoy the process of making bombs
but he had never made one with the
thought of hurting someone.

even after he joined alongside what
was, undoubtedly, a terrorist group –
his creations were never formed with
the want to end a life. his sole want was
still to see the finale too what he
considered his art.

when they did start being used to
harm, he didn't care. the death of
others were nothing he concerned
himself with, nothing he cared to.
they were variables, merely part of
the outcome. enzo never had an
issue with acknowledging the
consequences to his actions, even
if they progressively become vile.

when the group was eventually caught,
the only thing he mourned were his
abandoned works. he held no loyalty
to the people he followed, only obeyed
since they allowed him to do as he
pleased.

after an interrogation, one he still
found irritating, he was hired by the
cia. hired was too nice of a word –
forced, coerced, manipulated, etc.

once more, he didn't care. he would
allow others to control him if he got
what he wanted in the end. rather his
work was being used for good or evil
didn't matter to him. here he had less
freedom but more access to supplies.
a loss he would freely give up in the
face of refining his craft.

he let them cuff him, chip him, watch,
study, order, belittle – treat him as
a dog, humanity disregard.

the treatment towards his own being
had never been of concern to him.
everything he made was always
treated with care, he was allowed to
witness everything be used – rather
that be in person or through a
recording, and he was never left
with the gnawing dissatisfaction
of something left unfinished.

he wasn't a good person, sanity was
never something he desired, and he
was a mere dog for the government.

every end to a countdown was
enough to make up for any negative
that could be considered.