Until We Go Down

~Justice~

Trypanophobia.

The technical definition of 'fear of needles' is one of the many phobias listed in Esme Cantor's metaphorical book of horror. Of course, it probably wasn't as severe as many of the other victims with the same type of phobia, but she was still terrified of them.

Ironically, she worked in the military police station, one of the biggest venues notorious for having a huge stock of needles. The place was overflowing with them, but Esme needed work and almost every night she always had to give the one injection that was lethal to someone's death.

Her fear was triggered by this one injection. The chemicals that filled the vile, the cause of her patient's death... not patient, criminal. That was another one of her fears listed in her book, criminals.

As a biochemistry medical researcher, she always looked for some sort of cure to help their pain last shorter. She couldn't stand to watch them die, even when she was the one killing them. She had a kill process.

Fill, shake, inject, repeat.

Fill, shake, inject, repeat.

Fill, shake, inject, repeat.

It didn't help to close her eyes, she could imagine the foam overflowing their mouth. Their struggle for the last moment of life. Their last breath, last word, scream.

Esme's gray eyes watched emotionless as her last criminal of the day bursted through the door. He wore scratches all over his forehead, jawline, and neck. Two military guards stood at both sides of him, gripping roughly around each of his arms that were shackled behind his back. He was nearly bald, only a gray stubble at the top of his head and his nose looked as though it had been broken a few times during his time spent in prison.

She had read his information the night before, his name was Eric Johnson.

Age: 42

Crime: First-degree homicide

Sentence: Death

Of course, she already knew his sentence.

After the military guards tied him down on the table, making sure he was secure and in no physical shape to kill Esme before he can kill her, she proceeded with her process.

Fill, shake, inject. There was no need to repeat, he was already dead in the first minute after the injection.

When she went home, she did what any normal adult would do after work. She stripped down her uniform, carefully placing her nametag on the table so she wouldn't forget it the next day, and took a shower.

She was a robot, an emotionless machine. Every day she went through with the same routine. She was well aware that her daily routine was a bit abnormal to the mundane society, but she had grown bored with it.

She laid down in her lumpy mattress, where she could feel several wires stabbing her back, and prepared herself for a restless sleep.

天使