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[attr="class","skulltitle"]導通抵抗

[attr="class","skullbody"]Each choice Cil made was more pointed than the last.[break][break]

For his wandering eye, he was given a mirror of himself. A man who dared defy Rocket, dared get too close to the League, dared let information slip than he should have. He was equal parts a cautionary tale and a threat, wrapped up in a little bow like the world's worst Christmas gift.[break][break]

For his defiance, he was deprived what little comfort he could give. Isaac opened his mouth to try and protest, but under Cil's withering glare and frigid voice the words died in his mouth. Every word out of his mouth, thoughtlessly born from hatred and terror, just dug him deeper. What was the point in trying anymore?[break][break]

Finally, for his audacity, Isaac was given an ancient, weathered tool. For a second he wondered if it was a joke. Instead of a gun, or even a newer blade, he was given a handle that looked like it had been through a warzone. What was he supposed to do with this? Give someone tetanus?[break][break]

Then, with just the right movement, a pristine blade emerged. And now everything was clear.[break][break]

Months ago, Isaac asked Cil if he'd inflict the same Shadow traumas that nearly broke him onto another. Not only was his answer yes, but he was downright offended by Isaac for asking. Now, passing down an immaculately kept artifact from his own youth, Cil's answer became all the more pertinent. He would reenact his traumas in a heartbeat if they stood a chance at making another stronger, whether they wanted to be or not.[break][break]

In a fucked up way, even as their bond unravelled, he was looking out for Isaac.[break][break]

The blade's immaculately polished surface reflected the room's harsh, clinical lighting. For the first time, Isaac could see himself; cold, clammy, and hollow eyed. He looked, and felt, like he could drop of a heart attack at any minute. Nevertheless, he forced himself to stabilize, pulling his movements into softer, smoother, more natural configurations.[break][break]

He was at the end of the line. It was time.[break][break]

Approaching the downed man, Isaac gently set a knee on his back so that he couldn't try anything. "I'm sorry," he whispered, squeezing his eye shut before smashing an elbow down towards the back of his head.[break][break]

Only air greeted him, a mere inch from the sub's floor. The man had jerked his head to the side at the last second, letting out a series of panicked, muffled grunts. Even bound, even gagged, even knowing his fate was certain, he clung onto every last second of his life.[break][break]

Isaac hated himself all the more for lacking such courage.[break][break]

Nonetheless, he tried again. This time, his blow struck true. However, it didn't have the desired effect. Instead of being out like a light, the man held onto consciousness. He whimpered pitifully, his motions slowed and groggy. Isaac's heart hadn't been in the blow. He didn't know if it ever could be.[break][break]

His eye fell on Cil. He was a man Isaac once looked up to, a distant, hazy hope of a better Rocket. Now, Isaac loathed him. Now, Isaac understood him better than ever. Now, Isaac mourned the man that Rocket broke and killed whose face Cil now wore. Now, Isaac knew that if he didn't leave this hellhole, becoming like him would be the only way to survive.[break][break]

Just as he did with Zev Harcourt, Isaac let his complex feelings and long-unanswered grudges guide him. His blow struck true.[break][break]

Even if that had gone according to plan, the myth of the clean knockout was simply that. A blow strong enough to leave someone unconscious could fuck them up for life. Fortunately, and oh so very unfortunately, this man didn't have much life left. He wouldn't even be awake enough to feel the worst of it.[break][break]

He'd just spend his last moments terrified, then in pain, then dead. How much difference had Isaac made? It was all the same.[break][break]

With trembling hands and a million apologies trapped in his throat, he flipped the man over to his back. He lifted his knife, every muscle in his body fighting to delay the action. But he knew he had to proceed. His life depended on it. In a single, fatal blow, Isaac stabbed the knife right down onto his chest.[break][break]

It promptly hit a rib, deflecting the blade enough that Isaac had to recoil back. An ugly laceration traced down the man's chest. Breathing rapidly, Isaac counted the space between the ribs, then tried again. No good. This one sank into pure muscle. The man thrashed in an involuntary pain reflex, blood seeping across his shirt. Another try and oh, Arceus, now he was wheezing. Had he hit a lung?[break][break]

Isaac had never taken a life before, and it showed. His efforts at a clean, merciful kill had devolved into a frenzy of increasingly desperate stabs, trying to find the right place to just make this poor man's pain end. Tears stung at his eye. Bile burned at his throat. His trembling hands and hitching breaths only made his job harder.[break][break]

Finally, by some miracle, it all came to an end. Isaac had hit the heart, or a major artery, or made enough mistakes that the man's body couldn't handle it anymore. In a last, shuddering breath, he gave up the ghost, his unconscious body settling into that final limp stillness of death.[break][break]

As he took his final breath, Isaac could swear that his eyes had opened for but one second. As he closed his own, Isaac could see them staring back through the darkness of his mind.[break][break]

Isaac tried to stand, but his own quivering legs and heaving gut betrayed him. He fell to his hands and knees. The sudden shock to his body forced out what he'd been keeping down the whole time, only a quick turn of his head sparing this corpse from any further desecration.[break][break]

A part of him wanted to lay down here forever. It was what he deserved. However, he knew if he did, Cil would see to it that he joined this corpse in a shallow grave. Instead, bracing himself against his knuckles, he forced himself to rise to his feet.[break][break]

Cil was right. This was a transformative experience. After what he had done, Isaac would never be the same. His innocence had died alongside the man at his feet. He had done something unforgivable, and would have to carry that weight for the rest of his life. For Cil, all of these things cemented his loyalty. They were the birth of the man that Rocket knew, feared, and respected today.[break][break]

To Isaac, it cemented what he'd always known but been too afraid to accept.[break][break]

He would never be a true Rocket.

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