The butt of his rifle slammed against a nearby security guard's back, before his foot slammed into the bruise, sending the man into a hail of lead. Jackdaw's eyes glared viciously as he slid behind cover, his hands instinctively twisting around the trigger of the assault rifle that had been given to him. He no longer cared....he was going to kill these god damned bastards that dared to murder his only family in cold blood! As bullets slammed against the dense metal table, the man waited, ears straining. The sound of 'I'm reloading!' Blasted from the direction of whomever was releasing their clip towards his way, and Jackdaw pounced, leaping over the table and slamming the butt of the rifle against the security guard's mask. The visor cracked, blood and bone crunching and flying, and Jackdaw [i]yanked[/i] the trigger. The spray of hot lead blasted all within the man's chest, instantly piercing the security armor like it was nothing. 

Jackdaw didn't even pause, his eyes empty, his mind empty, and his body running on pure adrenaline, fear, anger, and instincts. He brought the gun up, and concentrated fire broke through the back of the helmet of a wrestling security guard, blasting brain matter across the vault's walls. Another burst fire tore through yet another man's head, before the clip was spent. Jack subconsciously slung the rifle across the room, reaching down and grabbing his dad's old, weathered 10mm from where it had been discarded on the floor, jostled loose by the action. [b]"Damn kid!"[/b] A roar came from behind him, and Jack twisted, bringing his forearm up just in time to block a fist swung at his face. It hurt, the skin most-likely bruising, but he felt no pain, releasing his own grunt as he kicked the man directly in the chest, sending him falling backwards. Sharply, Jack fell onto the guard's chest, releasing two 10mm rounds directly in his face. Bone and blood splattered across the young man's cheek. His eyes were still empty.

...

...

His head hurt.

[b]"Victory!"[/b] The yells of the refugees, the moans of the injured, the scent of the dying...it was all too much. Adrenaline began to peel away, leaving the young man with a sickness deep within his stomach. Jack fell back onto a nearby chair, bent by battle, and wiped at the itchy feeling at his jaw. His hand came back, stained with blood. [b]"Damn it..."[/b] Bile rose forth, and Jack swallowed harshly, eyes closing, almost painfully hard. His hands began to shake. Fuck. No...he wasn't a god damn coward.

[b]"Kid...you did good. Calm down and get ready. We're going to assault the Overseers."[/b] His hands stopped shaking as a middle-aged man leaned against the wall beside him. The man was right...he had fought. But...was this really necessary? All of the blood...all of the death? He had killed a man. However, when his eyes unwillingly turned towards the bloodied, torn bodies of Devon and Cassidy, covered in the blood of their own selves, and the guards and refugees around them...his eyes hardened. [b]"I'm ready."[/b] He muttered, his deep voice rough and hoarse from emotions, but solidified in his future. The overseers would pay...in blood.