XXXVIII. Jay Carter

                                    

                                          
Never could I have anticipated that the threads of my past would intricately weave together, bringing me to this point. Gun in one hand, knife in the other, I find myself marching towards my old office. The one Carter had now forced himself into. 
The way he had told me he wasn't the one initiating it irked me the wrong way too. I had known, even back then, that something felt off. And even though I'm not a person who trusts easily, I trusted him. Even in that moment when doubts were raised in the back of my mind. 
I shouldn't have.
The base feels quiet, even though most people worked through the night here. My steps echo through the hallways like they always do when walking through here, though the absence of any other sounds makes it a hundred times louder.
I'm not sure how I'm going to be doing it. I'm not sure if my arm will rise by itself, the fingers pulling the trigger the second I lay my eyes on him. Or if I wait for him to explain himself. All I'm certain of is the fact that I want him dead. 
I want him to pay for ruining everything.
The image of my hands wrapped around his throat flashes through my mind, and I flinch for a second. The one person I considered family. The only person I relied on in this pitiful company. It's odd suddenly seeing him in such a way.
With a silent determination, I fasten my pace down the hallway towards the office that once bore my name. The pressure on my chest gets heavier with each step. Memories cling to the walls, but today, I reclaim what was taken from me.
The door to my office appears unchanged, frozen in time. The only discernible alteration is the absence of my nameplate, torn off with a haste that left remnants of glue clinging desperately to the pristine white surface. No replacement plate adorns it, reminding me once more of the fact that they didn't need me anymore.
Oh how wrong they were.
Pulling an access card from my pocket, stolen from Canmoore's possessions, I swipe it through the electronic lock. The soft beep signals my entry, and the door swings open, revealing the space that was once mine. It's a sanctuary now tarnished by betrayal.
However, as the door creaks open, I find an unsettling emptiness. The room, in which I expected to find Carter, stands eerily quiet. The absence sends a surge of frustration through me, but I decide to explore nonetheless, leaving no corner untouched.
The desk is still the same. I run my fingers along its surface, tracing the reminding myself of the time I spent in the old facility, the one burned down by 141. 
My eyes catch a framed picture, a self-indulgent picture of the guy who thought he could replace me, throw me under the bus like it was nothing, and ruin my plan in the process. The glass glares at me, reflecting a distorted image of the one who orchestrated the downfall of my plan. 
Unable to contain my rage, I ball my fist and unleash it upon the picture, shattering the glass with a satisfying crash. The shards land on the floor with a ringing sound, and the realization that I'm going to have to search for him arises. 
Quickly, I rush out the door, my steps even more urgent than before. 
As I sprint through the facility, the air whipping past me, my chest tightens with each rapid beat of my heart. The urgency of my pursuit fuels a surge of adrenaline, coursing through my veins like liquid fire. My jaw clenches, and the taste of bitterness lingers on my tongue. The muscles in my legs ache with the exertion, but the pain is a welcome distraction from the fury that simmers beneath my skin.
The facility becomes a blurred backdrop to my focused rage, each hallway and corridor a fleeting reminder of the labyrinthine twists of deceit that led me here.