Riqimo faced off with the man, if that is indeed what he is, once again last night in the depths of his mind; he even had the gaping wound on his left arm to prove it... The fear has numbed the agony down to a dull throb and he would thank God for it, but he isn’t so sure there is such a thing anymore. Not here, anyway...

Though presence terrified Riqimo, along with the whole mysticism for that matter, there’s something about it that is not unlike a moth to flames. It draws Riqimo in, the way he carries himself, the way he fights, his body... foreign, but familiar somehow, though he doesn’t know why.

Looking up, Riqimo took in his surroundings. Though the floor-length mirrors are spattered with some blood, they’re still intact... Their promise of reality called Riqimo to his feet, his left arm dangling near useless at his side.
Riqimo leaned against the cold, stained wall and thought for a moment. Did he really want to see himself? He was afraid to find out just what he looked like. Would he look the same, or like another person entirely?  He awoke to that thought every morning... and in every nightmare.. The fear of the harsh reality was much too great. No, Riq realized, he doesn’t want to see himself at all; he needs to. Going through with this journey only to find he’s become something entirely different would make it all worthless...

Still leaning against the wall still, Riq hoped he’ll see something that will motivate him, like his determined eyes, or his strong arms; all the things Namyr loved about him. That the gash in his arm really wasn’t that bad after all, or perhaps when he looked, this nightmare will melt away to reveal he was only been dreaming this whole time.

Wishful thinking, though at the same time, he hoped to see something that will send him over the edge, like his face, weathered and stained with blood, has made him look older, or that his eyes became puffy, bloodshot and vulnerable. That the gash in his arm is still flowing blood, and threatens to fall off at any given moment, or that he really has become a monster. Though he wished dearly to go home and curl up with Namyr, he was also hoping for a reason to give up. A reason that will make him want to throw himself into that weapon hidden on his person, or perhaps make him want to end it all with one of the few charges left in his pistol.

He wished he could end it all, just to be with her again.

Riq opened his eyes slowly and gasped in surprise at what he saw...

It was a mixture between both extremes he was visualizing. His eyes, though puffy, are still determined to find a way out. His arms, strong and muscular, are sprayed with blood, left arm wearing a grotesque wound like a proud badge. Something about his appearance bothered him, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Pushing off from the wall, he took slow steps forward.

Looking at his reflection, he concentrated only on the way he was standing. His stance was wary, yet hard and focused. His blood ran cold. He has seen it in the movies Namyr would drag him to once in a while. In all of the court trials he once enjoyed watching on the holo set when he got off from work.

It was the stance of a murderer...