Deny, Delay, Depose

Link to article: Deny, Delay, Depose.

Module Styles

• :root {
      --header-title: " ";
      --header-subtitle: " ";
  }
   
  div#extra-div-1 {
      background-image: url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%3Ablack-market/mcdpride.png');
       height: 120px;
  }

Inline Styles

• (none)

Includes

• :scp-wiki:theme:blankstyle [info]
• :scp-wiki:theme:darkqueer [info]
• :scp-wiki:info:start [info]
• :scp-wiki:info:end [info]

CSS Classes

• (none)

Page Source

[[include :scp-wiki:theme:blankstyle]]
[[include :scp-wiki:theme:darkqueer]]

[[module CSS]]
:root {
    --header-title: " ";
    --header-subtitle: " ";
}
 
div#extra-div-1 {
    background-image: url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%3Ablack-market/mcdpride.png');
     height: 120px;
}
[[/module]]

[[=]]

[[include :scp-wiki:info:start]]
[[=]]

##black|They can't make things worse for me##
##black|Sometimes I'd rather die##
##black|They can tell me lots of things##
##black|But we don't see eye to eye##
##black|( Bloodstains - Agent Orange )##

##black|Deny, Defend, Depose##

##purple|[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/trouts-authorpage Troutmaskreplica's author page]##
[[/=]]
[[include :scp-wiki:info:end]]

Her Grandmother's hand, once warm and firm, is now gone.

The smell of antiseptic has clung to her nostrils, where her life was fought for, but a battlefield was replaced with balance sheets.

She begged, whined, fell to her hands and knees and gave all that she was able to afford.

Her bank account, her mothers bank account, it was all slowly drained away.

And yet, even then, it was not enough to save her.

Two words have been permanently etched into her pupils;

"Not covered."

And

"Policy is policy. We apologize for the delay" has since been seared into her fists.

Her grandmother's breath slowed,

soft as falling petals,

until it stopped altogether.
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The gun still feels alien in her hands.

Cold steel pressing against her sweating palm, a billion thoughts race in her head.

What if he has guards?

What if a cop notices?

What if she misses?

She practices in the mirror,

aiming at her own quiet eyes,

muttering speeches she is simply too afraid to spit out.

She has studied his face for months now.

An aura of smugness, a smile that only wealth can weather.

His name is Robert Carter.

Her room is cluttered with his photographs, schedule pinned to the wall,

inked with marks she’s made:

the time he walks,

the time he eats

the time he speaks.

The bullet is smaller than her finger, yet it feels like a mountain in her grasp.

She imagines the hollow sound of her Grandmothers wheezing.
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It's finally that day.

She wears her finest jacket, one picked out by her beloved.

She slinks back into the shadows as she slowly anticipates her target.

The gun quivers in her hand, what if she misses? What if he was anticipating her?

Now is not the time for worries.

He's here.

He has been on a call for god knows how long.

Likely getting other people to be forced to kill for what they need to survive.

All so he can afford another vault.

Wrapped in a suit made from the cost of lives.

He treasures more than human life.

And she treasures his //ending.//

The crowd is small, thin.

It's eight pm. It's already dark out.

She approaches him slowly, he hasn't noticed her.

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She raises the gun.

The world slows,

each second stretching

like the silence

after her grandmother’s last breath.

He doesn’t see her.

He never saw her,

or her grandmother,

or the thousands who came before.
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She pulls the trigger.

Louder than any apology he could ever give.
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[[/=]]