Juncture 3.6

My leap took me onto the man with the dynamite, bringing us both down to the ground. He fell easier than I expected him to. I thought that he would have put up at least a little bit of resistance, but he appeared to be weaker than I gave him credit for.

As we fell on the floor in a tangled mess, I scrabbled to get ahold of the arm that was holding the lighter. I knew that I couldn’t simply take the lighter away, so my next best hope was to separate his hands and pin them down. I managed to wrap my hand around his wrist – it was thin, and I slammed it onto the hard, cold marble.

I noticed that I was angrier than I first thought. All of the pent-up fear of the past twenty or so minutes, the specter of death, the fucking threat of being blown up by dynamite. Red-hot rage poured through my body, bubbling over. Spots appeared in my vision.

I’m not proud of what I did next.

I lifted up the arm I was holding, and slammed it against the ground again, harder this time. He didn’t stop struggling, so I did it again. This time I heard a loud crack, and a thrill went through my body.

The guy grunted loudly, and kept on struggling, but he didn’t move that arm any more. I dropped the arm, and swung it back, then pulled forward in a hook. It connected solidly with the left side of his jaw. He grunted again and dropped the dynamite to put his hand in front of his face.

I took the opportunity to grab at his scarf, taking ahold of both of the ends. It was tied in a manner so that when I grabbed it, the part that was around his neck tightened. I pulled. He let out a gasping noise, and his non-broken hand grasped for my wrist.

I punched him in the face again with my other hand, as hard as I did the first time. His glasses cracked as I hit them, and the edge of the frame snapped and slid across his brow, leaving a long jagged line. I didn’t register what his face looked like, but I could tell that he was having trouble breathing. There was a peculiar buzzing in my ears.

I pulled back, punched again, pulled the scarf tighter. His hand dropped off of my wrist, and I pulled back to punch again when something grabbed my arm and yanked. I was pulled off of the man and the scarf slid out of my grip. I skidded across the floor, grasped for any grip I could get. I managed to pull myself up onto one knee, and charged for the man again.

Major General Siegfried blocked me. I slammed into him, and the force of my momentum bounced me off of him back onto the floor. I laid there for a little, breathing heavily. The buzzing noise had ceased.

I sat back up, no longer as angry as I had been. I looked over to where the man laid, beaten into the ground. I flinched.

His face was a mixture of red and purple blotches, and his nose was clearly broken. There was blood pouring out of one nostril, and a similar pool was forming under the man’s jaw. His eyes looked weird – like they were drooping downward, and the gash on his temple was dripping slow, thick blood onto the floor.

It wasn’t a pretty sight to look at. He was gasping, spit and blood bubbling from his mouth. But he wasn’t conscious. I had made plenty certain of that when I was pummeling him.

As I calmed down, details made themselves more apparent than they had been. Major General Siegfried was showing the mass of scared people a small object that looked absolutely tiny in his enormous hand. I listened to what he was saying.

“…take them into custody, and deal with it there. Again, I’m very sorry.” So the Major General was lying his ass off, pretending to be a police officer. Well, if anybody could pull off that lie, it would be him.

The crowd around the bloody pulp of a man bleeding all over the floor dispersed somewhat, and Major General Siegfried took the opportunity to walk over to me. He extended a hand, and I took it.

“Sorry about this,” He whispered, and twisted my arm behind my back. “You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can – and will – be held against you in a court of law.” As he read me my rights, he pulled out a pair of cuffs from his belt and locked them against my wrists.

He held my arms behind my back tightly. I was walked over to where the other guy was. He looked even worse close up. Some of the blood was caking, clumping up into darker clots. Major General Siegfried hooked his arm underneath him, and in one smooth motion, lifted the man over his shoulder.

We walked out of the building. It seemed colder than it was before. I was shivering.

“That was irresponsible, Marc. You almost ruined the mission. Twice, in fact.” Major General Siegfried berated me.

“I-I’m sorry, I know I fucked up,” was what I managed to get out first. Then I managed to pull together the strength to keep going. “I was scared. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You nearly beat him to death. He was on the ground, passed out. You just kept screaming, punching him. You can’t do that.”

I was screaming? Maybe that's what that weird buzzing sound.

“I’m sorry. I’ll apologize to him when he wakes up.” I said.

Major General Siegfried gave me a harsh glance. “Well, you’d better. We’re trying to recruit him, not kill him. There’s a pretty big difference there. Imagine if you had been beaten senseless when I rescued you.”

I chose not to mention the broken –well, everything – that I had gotten from Siegfried.

“I know. I’ll apologize. I’m sorry.” I said.

We walked into the office building.