#[[ red rage wouldve been too easy so .. i decided to get very evil

[cityburns]

[ ⚠︎ COLOR THEORY ] The blinding color from a nuclear blast. The lines of code in your vision. You are yellow, bright and neon; a destroyer. Sabotage. Revenge. Maybe born from rage. Maybe born from duty. Hot, cooking you from the inside. The tight fist of your 'ganic hand, punching the dirt next to the body of the man that spared your life at the cost of his own. You deserve to burn, and so does the world.

Breaking shit. That's all Johnny has ever been good at. Like he's fifteen again, making his voice sound deeper so that the lady at the desk hurries him down the hallway to meet the sergeant. Neck-deep in the trenches, gun shoved in hand. To fight for his country and nothing else ( right? ). What a load of horse shit. Just fluff they say to make you puff your chest up, so that when you watch your brothers in arms get shot between the eyes, you shed a single tear and say it was worth it. So long as America wins, right?

( Now repeat after me: I, Robert John Linder, solemnly swear, ) I, Robert John Linder, solemnly swear, ( to faithfully serve the United States of America ) to faithfully serve the United States of America. ( I vow to uphold the values set forth in the nation's Constitution and represent its government with dignity and due diligence. ) I vow to uphold the values set forth in the nation's Constitution and represent its government with dignity and due diligence. ( I pledge to defend my country against all enemies, foreign or domestic. Should this cause claim my life, so be it. ) I pledge to defend my country against all enemies, foreign or domestic. Should this cause claim my life, so be it.

Words that mean nothing. Just bullshit. Knees to the ground, red on yellow, as the poor guy underneath him gets a beating no man deserves. A knocked out tooth, a bloody nose. He started it, Johnny thinks absentmindedly, the sound of cracking in his knuckles, of metal hitting skin. Broken bones are just the start. Johnny doesn't let up until the begging ceases, leaving just the heaving breaths of his victim. It's not enough ( it's never been enough ) to just beat up one guy. He's sifting around this poor guy's garage for a crowbar and gives the same treatment to the car that has the misfortune of being parked here.

The crowbar takes on the same hue as him, and it spreads across the dented metal and shattered glass of the car ever time he kicks it. The alarm in it blares out loudly, but he doesn't care. The beeping gets quieter with every swing of the crowbar, and long after he's forgotten why he's mad, he keeps swinging. As though it may come alive and take its revenge on him. Not happening, he thinks, fuck off.

And it's still not enough. The burning need to break. The ache for destruction. Complete annihilation. Arasaka was only the start, way back when. Arasaka was just a warning. A big red you're next. Would he have stopped after every corpo was torn to shreds? No. It wouldn't be enough. And it's so much worse here, wherever he is in the back of V's mind, because he's so goddamned powerless in this city. All he has are his bare fists, but that won't stop him. No, he's gonna tear the core of the Earth out just for good measure. What's next on the menu? Smashing the windows out of this place and then setting it on fire. Sounds like a damned good idea.

Each footstep is a trail straight to him. A mix of red and yellow. Paint and blood. He's swiping things off the cabinets, riffling through for canisters of gasoline. No gonk in their right mind would keep enough gasoline to start a house fire, but the small canister he finds may beg to differ. Crowbar in one hand, gasoline in the other. Pouring it all over; on the couch, in the kitchen, over the body. Smashing everything; the lamp, the TV, the windows. Nothing is safe. Nobody is safe. Not from Silverhand. Not from Robert, with so much rage in his heart that he has no other outlet than destruction.

A cigarette. That's enough to set it ablaze, a small trail leading from the front door to his feet. He tosses it in. Still not enough, as the flames reflect in his shades. That gaping hole in his chest is still there. And it only gets wider by the minute.