“But have you?”
He shakes his head, his expression flashing with anger for the briefest second, probably as he remembers things he’s been fighting to forget. “No and I never will.”
“But you can help others never have to go through it,” I say, burying my own memories, the cries, the screams, the pain. “Are you with me or not?”
He wavers then nods. “Okay, I’m in. But just so you know, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for someone else.” The pain in his eyes lets me know it was someone close to him, someone who probably died during the training or took their own life, something that happened often.
“And that’s alright with me.” Because in the end all that really matters is that that damn warehouse burns to the ground and no one else has to suffer.