Glassy artificial blues took in the sight of the stranger as he'd started seeing fit to call them. Sometimes they were productive. Sometimes, he was under orders to do what they asked.
Money was money, certainly.
The one in front of him appeared to have no business here but to push his buttons with the words that came out of of its mouth. They were sing song—were they lyrics to a song? He didn't know and didn't much care about finding out. What he did know was that they certainly struck a chord as simple as they may have been.
He was tainted and he'd practically bathed in crimson as many lives as he'd snatched away long before he'd become what he was now.
His hands had balled into fists on his desk—eyes narrowed on what he now deemed a trespasser that he had the right to dispatch.
A hand reached for Dystopia—the collection of all of his dirty memes.
'Was it worth it?' No..
The moment that Vietnamese monster they'd hired had started hacking away at him right then and there it was more apparent than ever that it hadn't been worth it.
To lose everything.
"I didn't chose this path," he said bitterly.
It was true. His path had chosen him. He'd just accepted it years ago—and his fate. Resigned himself to the unmistakable fact that had been drummed into him the moment he saw his parents killed at the hands of Khmer Rouge's military police.
That the slaughter will continue. He just happened to be placed into the cross hairs of it. One of the unlucky ones.
He'd stepped around his desk—both his sai in hand.
The stranger had attempted to retreat realizing what the Captain's game was. It had done them absolutely no good, however. Even in his civilian body, he was far faster than any gray face or man.
Pinning them to the ground one of his blackened weapons pierced the stranger's shoulder. Their scream was a delightful noise.
Had it been worth it? No. This small moment of temporary bliss would make up for it though, certainly...just for now.
Warmth soaked his black slacks as the being began to bleed out.
Hands clawed at his expensive suit—attempted to tear into resistant synthetic flesh. He'd turned up his sensitivities to higher levels. The sear of nails could be felt as the fool struggled.
"Scream and writhe all you want," he laughed, "no one can hear you!"
Slowly and agonizingly he pulled free his sai from the shoulder it had been embedded in. Rearing them high over his head he cut quite the blood soaked figure as he began skewering the strangers body again and again on the end of both of his weapons.
The stranger would choke on his own blood and die of asphyxia long before they ever truly bled to death. What a truly horrible death. If he had been twenty years younger and in his native land, he'd of strung up this bastard's corpse for all to see.
Thankfully he wasn't quite that twisted anymore, though the cruelty allotted in this death would suffice. Watching the anon slowly fade out of this plane of existence he could think of only one thing to say.
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