Ellis23

The gears in his head were already whirring as he reclaimed his pistol and left the compound. Planning. Scheming. Recalibrating to adjust for this dangerous new development. He'd accepted the probability of fratricide before making the call, and was already running through information pertinent to the kill; but something inside him was slowly withering in despair. It was the mother of all sinking feelings, a queasy weight in his stomach that made "foreboding" seem like a good omen. He ignored it. Instead of returning to the bus stop, he just kept walking. Walking helped him think, and porca puttanadid he have a lot to think about. Steel etchi