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This. Is. Necessary.

This. Is. Necessary.

Life feeds on life feeds on life feeds on life feeds on life...

This is what Klaus told himself. Every day, he told himself the three magic words: this is necessary. It kept the gun in his hand, kept him thinking straight and for the right reasons. He shoved the bullet into the rifle and raised it to his eye, pointed the muzzle straight at the first target in line. This – he cocked the gun, watched as the man's expression turned from scared to downright horrified – is – fired the gun, and a spray of crimson blew out the back of the target's head as he fell into the snow – necessary – reloaded the gun, pointed it at the next terrified target. This. Is. Necessary. Repeat, over and over and over again, until the line was through.

The last target was a relatively young man, couldn't have been much older than himself. Klaus smirked, lowered the gun for a moment. Just to see the last man alive look so goddamned relieved that maybe he had changed someone's mind... Nothing doing. Klaus smirked, reached into his pocket, drew out another bullet and reloaded the gun. Raised it so it was once again level with his eye, aimed at the space directly between the young prisoner's eyes. Life feeds on life, motherfuckers. Fire.

The prisoner fell backwards, bleeding out into the soil as Klaus lowered the gun. Still smirking, hands shaking from adrenalin, he turned to the men behind him. “Clean them up,” he said. With that Klaus slung the gun over his shoulder, reached into his other trench coat pocket, and pulled out a cigarette and a box of matches. He always needed cigarettes after something like this.