It all happened in a haze.

Mike was hiding under the floorboards with his little brother, Jacob. Watching through the cracks as his mother made a valiant effort, stabbing at the attackers.

Click. Bang. Thud.

The tight space. The yellow light, coming through the gaps. The smell of blood. The tears. Jacob's breath on Mike's hand firmly silencing the scream that would bring them death.

The murderers, as silent as the night sky.

His father, tied to a chair, throwing insults at the attackers, growling through his teeth;

Click. Bang. Last breath.

Years passed in children's homes; fights, pain, adoption hopes, and death. Soon enough, Mike was 16, tall and strong for his age, molded by his pain and a desire for vengeance. The escape from the home was not too hard, and the travel was even easier, employing the help of one of the kids who grew too old for the home.

Finding the attackers was easy as well; they were a local gang who never moved. Old men at this point. Three attackers, good friends, together, playing cards.

A click.

The automatic rifle did not require much aim. Soon, they were dead.

Shock.

Relief.

Sorrow.