Townsend fell to his knees. He clawed at his temples, eyes rolling into the back of his head as the memories came rushing forth. It was called The Grace, but there was nothing graceful about this, no accumulated knowledge or infinite wisdom. Only agony as old thoughts formed new memories.
The tokarev pistol fell to the hard floor, the suppressor making a hollow clink as it bounced in the growing pool of blood. Townsend squinted, staring though tear-filled eyes at the monster he had been sent to execute. He was good at his job. And now he knew. The memories played out like a film behind his eyelids. Years, lifetimes, compressed into moments.
A man. Doing what he had to to protect his siblings after the war. Eschewing the runner jobs to mark his way up the totem.
A woman. Beautiful. Innocent. A romance that blossomed and died. Anger at the betrayal, pleas to leave rebuffed, and finally the confession of a child.
A funeral. Hers. The boy was a baby, too young to fall from the grace. The man turned bitter, resentful. Divided, he rose to kingpin, casting the child out of the dark circle he found himself within.
A ceremony. He had watched, never in person, always at a distance. But always he watched his child. How proud he felt that his son was as meritorious as his father. He wore the stars of the security services as proudly as his father’s eyes.
A confrontation. Betrayed and caught in the act. Running and panic, and then… himself. Townsend felt the shock of seeing his own face, felt the cold burning bite of his own bullet. Felt his own remorse at never having spoken to his son as he collapsed before himself.
They say The Grace is beautiful. An evolutionary adaptation to elevate humanity. Townsend wept.
Prompt originally posted by Xeith on reddit and received 1 upvotes.