#summerslayer

summersslayer

It would be worth mentioning that Torchwood had done everything in their power to keep him close. For each day there were three shifts that kept him under watch. For each meal he was asked to eat at the Hub where he could be monitored. He was unable to walk the streets alone, for fear he might snap. They had done everything after the torture to keep Jack from harming people, but at some point they let their guard drop. 

It had been six months since Jack had been strung up in a warehouse  and tortured for weeks. It had been that long since Jack killed the people he had been tortured by. In all the time the rage and hate he felt had not slipped out of him, but rather built. With every changing of the shifts to watch him and every pandering comment about how he should talk to someone the rage built and built. Still Jack waited. He waited and waited until finally they decided he was of sound enough mind to be on his own. As soon as he was out of sight, he was gone. 

He sat with his back to the building's wall, hand wrapped tightly around his boot knife. All that remained of the killing he'd just managed were tiny spots of blood on the sleeve of his coat. He'd need to sort that out. The body lay well hidden in a sewer not eight feet from his boots, but Jack had no fear. If the team asked him, Weevil attack. Why not? He could have put them out of their misery. 

For every ➹ I get, I’ll put up my muse’s current thought about yours.