Jack bumped into someone as she stormed out of the room. Who, she wasn't sure and she didn't care. She was on the war path - her blood boiled with the familiar urge to kill. If she could help it, she preferred not to have alliance blood on her hands. Or to get her own head bashed in. She knew better than to start messing with Shepās crew. But she had to do fucking something. She slammed the button on the elevator, and waited with clenched fists for itās arrival. Once the damn thing finally showed up, she rushed inside, and squeezed her eyes shut. She thought about it sometimes; Pragia. It was better now that the shit-hole had been blasted to bits, and that she had shot that coward through the skull, but she didnāt forget. She could never forget what they did to her. And when there was nothing to kill, she got angry. At herself, at Cerberus, hell sometimes she even got angry at Shepard. The elevator dinged, signifying her arrival on engineering. Her eyelids flew open. With the rage was burning her up inside, she stormed down into her hole, glad their was no one getting in her way. Her fist made contact with the wall, a scream tearing through her throat. Her biotics sung in her blood. Someone would hear. Well fuck them. Shepard was abandoning her, just like everyone else she had ever fucking met. Her fist hit the metal again, blood dripped from her fist.Ā āGet a fucking grip.ā She muttered to herself. She wasn't a child anymore, Shepard had made sure of that. She squeezed her eyes shut again, and thought of something other than Pragia; of the Normandy, and the crew that had at least tried to be friendly with her. Slowly, her breathing and her rage settled. When she opened her eyes again, she was still angry. but the urge to kill was gone. She eased herself into the cot, her head falling into her hands. What the fuck would she do when all of this was gone?
andulkaphoto
germansingergirl
gummygunk
discoholicmusic
