Laz noticed something earlier. That some of the officers that were shooting at them were dead, but a few of the others were still alive, simply trapped in their own heads. He held back because of that and didn't try to attack them. But now, he didn't give a shit.
Laz stood like a statue with coldness in his eyes. If he had tried a few days ago, Laz would not have been able to be angry. For true anger is the result of fire on the inside and coldness on the outside. True anger is not fury, it's not rage, it's a mix between the hot and the cold without knowing which is which.
And yet, Laz was also sad, heartrendingly sad. If his insides were hot and his outsides were cold, then his heart was like the absence of all feeling and yet completely overflowing in pain. Such a contradiction might seem impossible, but it's the only way to describe Laz at the moment.
This was the pain of the living.
