The Burden of Truth

“Go time, boys.” The radio chuckled.

The SWAT team piled out of the truck like kids to a candy store, except dedicated to possibly shooting someone. Heading into an old rugged warehouse. Inside, is the God forsaken, lifeless, maniac Flyn had been after for so long. Well, he used the words ‘so long’ but in all reality it only took him a few days.

Flyn stood off by the command vehicle. Along with the SWAT commander Leoson, an odd last name Flyn thought.

He stood slightly higher than them, he was tall. Almost always the tallest in the room standing at 6’ 4”. His black suit coat blowing in the wind, along with his loose crimson tie.

“Okay, uh, update me.” Said the police department's director of homicide, as he came running over.

Leoson stepped forward, and shook hands with the director,

“John Leoson, SWAT, and this here is Erik Flyn, FBI.”

He stepped back into his place, and let Flyn take over.

Flyn glanced over to him. Flyn had an unusual stoic expression when on the field, paired with his judging grey eyes.

“Just sent the boys in,” Flyn said coolly, “Alex Silo is inside.”

The Director blinked in response, once, then twice.

“I-I’m sorry, who? I'm new here.” He said awkwardly, almost as awkwardly as he stood, uncomfortably shifting side to side.

Flyn glanced at Leoson, who in response, simply shrugged, then explained.

“Silo is wanted in Oregon for the first degree murder of a mother, and daughter, who were later revealed to be his own sister, and niece.” Flyn stopped talking, and looked at the director who got more uncomfortable the more he spoke, “And here in Minnesota, for second degree murder of a police officer.” He said, calm, and steady. Before glancing over to check again.

The Director nodded, almost too firmly.

“Right…” He responded, clearing his throat loudly.

Suddenly, radio static caught the Director by surprise, making him jump.

“Uh, sir,” one of the operators inside the building said, “completely empty.”

“We received a call about half an hour ago.” Flyn explained to the Director, “It was a man reporting suspicious activity around this building. Well, we put the rest together.”

“Hold it, We've got a bomb, men! Out! out!!” The operator suddenly yelled, “Get the bomb squad-”

Flyn stopped paying attention by then, when something caught his eye.

He saw a man, sneaking around. The man went from the building, across the lot, and to a facility neighboring the building, the facility was one of those old abandoned paper making factories. Flyn watched as he glanced back at the trucks, thinking he wasn't seen, and as he slipped through a door. Who else could that be other than his guy?

Flyn wasted no time. He glanced around for something, a shotgun, good enough, a Remington 870 12 gauge, it was an extra laying in the SWAT truck. Silo looked like he had a vest, and was obviously armed with what looked like a rifle, or shotgun of his own. No time to waste getting SWAT out, then in the facility. Flyn grabbed the gun, and ran towards the facility himself.

“Flyn? Flyn!” The commander yelled after him, “FLYN!”

Flyn was armed with nothing but a shotgun he had no training with, no vest, no protection. Just his head, and guts.

As soon as he entered the building, it was immediately dark. Too dark for him to see anything at all, Silo must have a light. ‘Good’ thought Flyn, he could find him much easier.

Flyn pulled a small flashlight, switched it on, and glanced around, holding the 12 gauge awkwardly with one hand. The room was old, and rusty. It smelt terrible, like rotting sawdust, and stale water.

Flyn glanced at his light, then his gun, then his light again. He had an idea.

He pulled off his tie, it has no purpose anyway, just loosely sitting on his neck. He used it to tie his flashlight to the barrel of his 12 gauge. Then made his way through the building. Turning off his light to glance for Silos every now and again.

Room by room, it felt like it took forever. Eventually, he heard commotion near the entrance, behind him, through almost half the facility by now, the SWAT made their way in after him, no doubt doing the same thing as him, searching.

Flyn heard something ahead of him, like a huge thump against metal. He ran ahead to the end of the hall to an opening. It opened to a catwalk that went over the various factory machines. Silo was here, he must've jumped from Flyn's catwalk down to the one under, Flyn noticed it after shining his light around. Without much hesitation, Flyn did the same, with a big loud THUNK, followed by the rattle of metal against metal. Flyn looked up, and regained his balance. Behind him was a dead end, ahead was the only place for Silo to go. So he headed forward.

Eventually, Flyn ran into him, Silo had cornered himself at the end of another similar dead end catwalk. Silo was frantically glancing around below, turned away from Flyn, mumbling to himself. Flyn stood a few feet away, raising his makeshift modded gun.

“Silo.” He said, firmly.

Silo had stopped glancing around, and began sobbing.

“I-I-I… they just didn't listen..” he said, throwing his shotgun off the edge, turning to face Flyn.

Flyn tilted his head slightly in response,

“What?”

Silo took a half step forward, in response Flyn gripped his gun more firmly,

“All of them… So called victims? I'M the victim. Don't you see? I see!”

Flyn tried not to get confused by his blabbing,

“Alex, settle down. Don’t let things get out of hand”

Silo glanced around again, tears streaming down his face.

“Mr. I'm…”

Silo began, before stopping. Suddenly went to grab something under his vest. Flyn hesitated, hoping what he thought wasn't happening. Silo pulled out what seemed to be a handgun of sorts. Flyn didn't see, due to his light being on Silos chest. Whatever it was, Flyn couldn't take the chance. Flyn pulled the trigger. The shotgun bobbed up violently, making Flyn taking a step back, while his flashlight, loosely tied on, flew off the gun, and fell down off the catwalk.

Silo took a step back as well, his waist hitting the rail. His vest stopped the gun from being completely lethal, but it still left a hefty wound. Silos arms spasmed, and flew up against his chest. Silo fell backwards, over the rail. Flynn didn't see it, but he heard it. He ran forward in an attempt to grab him. But it had already been too late. He knew what happened, judging by the sound of splat from below. The fall had to have been at least forty feet. Crap.

“Erik,” Parenson, the FBI director, started, pulling out Flyn's record, "you're twenty eight, you've been loyal to the bureau for four years now, you've had a relatively low weapon discharge rate, you've solved more cases than a large number of agents who have been here for whole careers.”

Flyn sat there across from Parenson, leaning forward, hands together. He glanced up at Parenson,

“Respectfully, sir, point being?” He said.

Parenson closed the file, and sighed, looking Flyn in the eye.

“Look kid, we're close, and hell, I'm biased. But there comes a point I have to be your boss, not your friend. I can very well get this issue brushed away by the Table, but there's gonna be a penalty. There's got to be.”

Flyn returned Parenson's stare,

“Yes sir, I'm aware of my actions. And I'm accountable for them.” He responded.

Parenson nodded, and fiddled with his pen. A simple, yet reoccurring thing for Parenson, Flyn always noticed it.

“Well, I'll be frank. These are the most minimal penalties.”

He glanced up at Flyn for a reaction, Flyn nodded in return, so he continued.

“Well this is required, you'll have to go through your next case, at least, unarmed. I know that much so far.”

Flyn took a deep sigh. He'd been unarmed plenty of times, but he always hated the feeling, almost like a lack of control.

He sighed, and very hesitantly pulled out his pistol, taking out the magazine, and firmly placing it on the desk in front of Parenson.

Parenson nodded, and sighed.

“Expect your penalty soon, dismissed.”