The flashback hit Zion like a punch to the gut, sudden and jarring, a broken record skipping in his mind. He saw himself kicking in a door, the splintering wood cracking sharply in the hollow space, the force vibrating up his leg. A male voice screamed for help, a desperate wail that sent shivers down his spine, raw with terror. The cold weight of his gun felt familiar in his hand, a source of both comfort and dread. Adrenaline surged through his veins, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. "I'm coming, partner! Hold your ground!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the confined space, a desperate attempt to reassure both his partner and himself.
He scanned the room, eyes darting from shadow to shadow, the dimly lit space teeming with unseen dangers. The staircase loomed, its dark space beneath a potential hiding place. He kicked aside debris from broken tables, the sound sharp and brittle in the tense silence. Imagining incoming fire, he dropped to his knees, rolling to avoid phantom bullets. He skidded to a stop near the bookshelves, breath coming in ragged gasps. But there was nothing—no sign of Mark. They must have been spooked, he thought, clinging to the hope that backup was on the way.
"Phew, Mark, we're safe," he said, his voice shaky, trying to convince himself as much as his partner. He wiped the clammy sweat from his forehead, the cool sensation a stark contrast to the burning fear still lingering. Then he saw Mark, bathed in an unnatural crimson light, blood staining his uniform. The metallic tang of violence filled the air, thick and suffocating. Mark turned slowly, a dark, unsettling smirk twisting his lips, a chilling reflection of something broken. Zion's stomach churned, nausea rising as he was confronted by Mark's twisted amusement, a far cry from the camaraderie he once felt.
High-profile figures, men who had evaded justice, lay sprawled on the ground, their bodies contorted. Blood pooled on the floor, glistening against the stark white tiles. Gurgling sounds echoed, a horrifying symphony that cut through the silence. "Ma-Mark, what the hell did you just do?!" Zion whispered, the question barely audible above the chaos.
Mark stepped forward, boots crunching on broken glass. He tightened his grip on the bloodied blade, the cool steel a chilling extension of his twisted will. "Oh, don't be coy, Zion," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "I put an end to their suffering. And for your family's sake, I acted swiftly," he added, a veiled threat hanging heavily in the air.
Zion aimed his gun at Mark, hands trembling with fear and frustration. "Don't take another step, Mark! I will shoot you!" His voice was thick with pain, a stark contrast to the firm resolve he usually maintained. Mark raised his hands in mock surrender, scoffing, the sound sharp and derisive. Blood dripped from his hair, tracing a crimson path down his neck. "You won't shoot, Zion," he taunted, certainty lacing his words.
As Mark charged, knife flashing in the dim light, Zion's world exploded into chaos. Gunshots roared, deafening in the confined space, the violence a brutal reminder of the order he had sworn to uphold. The flashback began to fade, colors blurring as the reality dissolved into the recesses of his mind.