He doesn't bother answering, instead sweeping out with one powerful arm to knock her aside.
Inside the house, Ryan drops the hammer back into the toolbox and looks around to see if there's anything else he can use. The house is exactly as he remembers it before he changed: the windows are boarded up, the back door locked, the side door blocked off with a kitchen cabinet.
He died here.
And for what? It should have been a simple mission. Lure the target out, take it down. There was only supposed to be one. But there had been five and he and his team had failed in the worst way possible. It's one thing to have an unsuccessful mission. It's quite another to find out that Special Weapons did indeed get their werewolf and to discover that the mission wasn't a complete loss. It had been a bit of good news to know his death was useful after all. For Ingram to decide that his death meant nothing, that Witherspoon could go free and not use what they'd found, that his death was devoid of purpose...
He slams his fist down on the kitchen table hard enough to knock over the glow sticks and rattle the sword against the wood.
He was dead because of that thing out there, and it was for nothing. And here it was, back again for another worthless, pointless death. He knows he'll lose. The bullets only slow it down, they don't kill the damn things. It'll break through the door or a window and he'll empty his clip into it and sure, it'll slow down for a moment or two, but in the end it'll catch him. It'll catch him and drag him down and claw him open and start eating him while he's still-
No. No, he'll shoot himself before he'll let that happen again.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2007-04-10 10:04 pm (UTC)Inside the house, Ryan drops the hammer back into the toolbox and looks around to see if there's anything else he can use. The house is exactly as he remembers it before he changed: the windows are boarded up, the back door locked, the side door blocked off with a kitchen cabinet.
He died here.
And for what? It should have been a simple mission. Lure the target out, take it down. There was only supposed to be one. But there had been five and he and his team had failed in the worst way possible. It's one thing to have an unsuccessful mission. It's quite another to find out that Special Weapons did indeed get their werewolf and to discover that the mission wasn't a complete loss. It had been a bit of good news to know his death was useful after all. For Ingram to decide that his death meant nothing, that Witherspoon could go free and not use what they'd found, that his death was devoid of purpose...
He slams his fist down on the kitchen table hard enough to knock over the glow sticks and rattle the sword against the wood.
He was dead because of that thing out there, and it was for nothing. And here it was, back again for another worthless, pointless death. He knows he'll lose. The bullets only slow it down, they don't kill the damn things. It'll break through the door or a window and he'll empty his clip into it and sure, it'll slow down for a moment or two, but in the end it'll catch him. It'll catch him and drag him down and claw him open and start eating him while he's still-
No. No, he'll shoot himself before he'll let that happen again.