What he wants? What he wants is a question he hasn't asked in some time. What he wants is irrelevant. There is only the mission. Only the kill. That's what he was now, wasn't it? A trained attack dog. The claws on his hand are enough to say as such, and all he wants is to sink them into the throats of other agents, Blackwatch and Overwatch and Talon alike.

But when he looks at her, he remembers wanting other things. He remembers wanting a girl with soft breasts and hair like finely spun gold. He remembers wanting a young man with a grin that flashed like lightning and strong hands that pinned him down. He remembers wanting...

He springs up, clawed hand moving to her throat, intending to dig the sharp nails into her skin as he tries to push her back against a wall and away from him. He can't have thoughts like this clouding his judgement.