Alpha Jax (UNDER REVISION)

I

To be baptized in blood was an ordinance not many could claim to have undergone.

The aroma saturated the air surrounding him. The face covering he wore and the bulletproof mask that covered his face and neck did little to suppress the pungent metallic scent and he, like his environment, was covered in the crimson.

The black-colored tactile attire he wore served to hide the color somewhat, Though the stiff and sticky texture of the fabric was proof enough of the carnage that he had inflicted. It was on this day that he served as the harbinger of death to a number of souls. He welcomed the inexplicable sense of peace that he felt at that moment.

Since early childhood, this had been his way of life. His skill and propensity for violence had preserved and sustained him over the years.

Having now defeated all hostiles at large, he took a moment to collect himself and reload his rifle, only to find that he had run out of ammunition. Upon this realization, he promptly slung his assault rifle over his shoulder and traded it out for his two most beloved daggers.

His powerful, towering frame stood alert with cool composure as he scanned his surroundings with a steady gaze. A still and eerie silence had washed over the room. Immediately, the hairs at the base of his skull stood to attention.

He turned to face the corridor to his left with taut drawn muscles and positioned himself to be ready to engage any potential threats.

A haunting moan reverberated from the direction he was facing in before silence fell over the room once again.

The tension that began to cloud the room was palpable. His low breathing and slow beating heart were the only audible sounds to be heard now as the seconds passed by. He stood motionlessly. Listening.

"Please!" a voice wailed in a broken exclamation.

The plea struck him. His countenance slightly darkened in response to it.

Though the man was an unrepentant killer, he took no joy in the suffering of those he believed were undeserving of it.

A static crackle sounded from the small intercom device that was secured to the harness he wore on his chest.

"Rawdog here. Closing in on the meeting point now. T-minus eight minutes until departure. Over."

The clock was ticking, but it didn't matter. His mind had been made. He would not leave until he was certain there were no survivors to be rescued from this hellhole.

The floor beneath his steel-toed leather combat boots bore streaks of red patterns and splotches. From above, the liquid dripped languidly from the ceiling above in a soft pitter-patter as he made his way across the large room.

It was then that the door of the fire escape was thrown open, forcefully hitting the wall adjacent to it with a loud slam.

"Jax, what in the God's names are you still doing down here?"

He instantly drew a throwing knife from its sheath and sent it flying toward the man who had been the cause of the abrupt commotion.

Having anticipated this reaction from him, the other man dodged the blade with impressive ease. A moment of silence passed as he let go of the door he had been previously holding open and allowed it to swing shut, resulting in another resounding crash.

"One of these days Malcolm I am going to kill you, and I will feel no remorse for doing so."

"Your thoughtfulness flatters me, though I must admit that I will feel no pity for you when you are killed in an hour because you failed to arrive at the roof in time for the departure," Malcolm replied nonchalantly. He continued,