[He keeps firing until the clip is empty, and though something behind his eyes goes distant and detached, the shots stay clean. It's soothing, the simple repetition of the bang bang bang. Unconsciously, he finds himself timing his breathing, even his blinking to it. Ten shots in a row before the clip empties and he comes back to himself, his right arm aching to the shoulder from the heavy pull and recoil. He grimaces and shakes it out, switches the safety back on, and stuffs the gun away in exactly the same place.]
I don't need some fucking jerry-rigged boot camp to teach me how to be a man.
[It's quieter than before, but more vehement, too.]
no subject
I don't need some fucking jerry-rigged boot camp to teach me how to be a man.
[It's quieter than before, but more vehement, too.]
We done here?