Editing Hackforsatan19 (section)

=====Let go.=====
[https://plague.infect.site/?contaminant=6B1B417DD661AA614BE1ACBD9A0F7014458F312525976836CACEB65A35256F17 Link]
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Your first impulse is to do the right thing. Just let him go and put an end to all this. Put your hands up. Sort this whole thing out. But you're getting pretty fuckin' sick and tired of your first impulse's shit. Your right hand squeezes 'til you hear a wet crack and can feel your thumb touch your fingertips through what used to be Mitch's trachea. But you believe in compromise. You don't wanna leave your First Impulse out to dry. So you do the right thing. You let Mitch go. And he crumples in a heap next to your blood-streaked-but-sensible flats. Lick 'em, Mitch. Lick 'em good.
And Winston, poor, kind Winston, shuts his eyes tight and pulls the trigger. You're not sure where the bullet ended up, but it wasn't you. You look Winston in the eyes and say, "I'm sorry." And for once in your entire adult life, you genuinely mean it. 
And then you charge. The old coot's still got some fight in him, and he struggles to straighten his glasses and cock the revolver. He's had a rough life and got a raw deal. It's not fair. You'll make it quick. He deserves that much. 
Before he can raise the gun, you've got a hand on each side of his head. You twist hard and fast. He never felt a thing. You pry the revolver from his twitching, liver-spotted hands, and gaze out upon the sea of cubicles, button-downs, and sensible blouses. Deep breath. Accept the reality of your situation. 
This is war.
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