They mocked my scars while stealing my combat pay, so I gave them my passwords and watched their world burn.
Part 1: The Trigger The sound of shattering plastic is the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore. It was a blue water pitcher—cheap, industrial, and utterly offensive in its cleanliness. I watched it arc through the stale, recycled air of Ward 57 before it slammed into the pristine white wall. The impact was…
