Chapter 16

Battered and bloodied, standing over Rev's barely living body, Roger loomed like an avenging specter, his very presence radiating an intense and overwhelming aura of menace. With a grip on Rev's hair so tight it threatened to rip his scalp apart, Roger exerted a dominance that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. His fingers, drenched in a macabre tapestry of crimson, bore witness to the brutal violence he had unleashed upon his adversary.

"I guess you really are in a different league than us. Did you show Hank this kind of mercy?" Rev managed a weak chuckle, blood seeping from his battered lips, staining his teeth a grotesque shade of red.

"No," Roger replied, his calm voice laced with cold determination.

With a merciless motion, Roger's hand shot forward, his fingers closing around Rev's skull in a vice-like grip. In a horrifying twist of raw power, he savagely tore Rev's head from his body, severing the fragile connection between life and death with a gruesome finality. The sight was a grotesque testament to Roger's unquenchable rage, leaving those who witnessed it frozen in horror and awe.

Roger's eyes took on a somber hue as he Kneeled down beside the mutilated corpse, reaching into Rev's blood-soaked pockets, retrieving his dog tags with a sense of purpose. His gaze drifted to his own necklace, a grim souvenir of battles fought and lives lost, adorned with several bloodstained tags, one of them bearing the name Hank. A heavy silence filled the air as he attached Rev's tag to the necklace, the weight of disappointment and sorrow pressing heavily upon his soul. The jingling of the tags served as a haunting reminder of the lives extinguished and the haunting memories that would forever haunt his conscience.

Rising to his total, imposing height, Roger exuded a palpable air of determination as he strode purposefully toward the office at the end of the floor. His footsteps echoed with a resolute cadence, each stride a testament to the unyielding force that propelled him forward, undeterred by the carnage left in his wake.

A creaking door caught Roger's attention, causing him to pause momentarily. He turned to find a woman, her face etched with fear, cautiously peering out from behind the cracked door before hastily retreating back into the room's safety. The flicker of uncertainty in her eyes did little to dissuade Roger, for he was consumed by his mission, his purpose burning brighter than ever.

Roger's presence filled the room with power and foreboding as he moved towards the door with measured steps. The muffled sounds of a commotion emanated from within, mingling with the faint tremors of fear that reverberated through the air. Determined, he swung open the door, the metallic tang of adrenaline flooding his senses.

In that pivotal moment, time seemed to slow as a stapler whizzed past Roger's head, its trajectory narrowly missing its intended mark. The air crackled with tension as Roger's piercing gaze settled upon the figure behind the desk—a frightened, petite woman whose trembling form belied the strength of her spirit. Wide-eyed and filled with primal terror, she huddled against the desk, seeking shelter from the storm that had invaded her world.

"Jennifer Deckard, come out from behind that desk. Now," Roger commanded, his voice eerily calm.

"Who are you? What do you want? Money? I have lots of it. You can have it all," Jennifer pleaded, her voice trembling.

"Your money is invalid. I've already been paid," Roger replied with a hint of darkness in his tone.

While taking a step forward, his legs suddenly gave way, betraying him as the drug's effects wore off. Collapsing to the floor, he fought against the encroaching darkness, his vision blurred. Seizing the opportunity, Jennifer swiftly rose to her feet, snatching his gun and aiming it at his vulnerable self.

"Listen here, you cocksucker. Did you really think you could get the better of me? Look at you, lying there while I stand victorious. You should have canceled the contract when you saw how many people we have at our disposal," she taunted, a triumphant sparkle in her eyes.

But just as Jennifer gloated over her apparent triumph, a sudden twist of fate turned the tables. Roger summoned his last reserves of strength, his hand shooting out and grabbing her leg, yanking it out from under her. With a loud thud, she crashed to the ground, her skull meeting the unforgiving floor.

Dazed but determined, Roger struggled to pull her closer, enduring her relentless punches and kicks. Each movement felt like an uphill battle against his own failing body. With sheer determination, he reached over her, his hand closing around her windpipe with a bone-crushing grip. The life slowly drained from her eyes as her feeble struggles ceased, silenced forever by Roger's relentless grip.

The room fell into an eerie stillness, the air heavy with the scent of blood and the weight of shattered lives. Roger, breathing heavily and on the brink of collapse, surveyed the scene, his eyes reflecting the torment within his soul. He knew this wasn't how it was supposed to go. But the job wasn't like most jobs. Thinking it best to gather his strength and clear his mind, Roger lay there longer, trying to stay awake.