[ WP ] A loved and respected hero discovers something that leads him to become a morally questionable antihero .

The Inquisitor burst through the doors, he struggled forward as he found a table to lean on. His morality was shaken, his quest to purify humanities soul seemed adrift far away in the early morning hour. Inquisitors throat ran dry, feeling like vomiting, he keeled over as the visions ran back toward his eyes. Misery and heresy ran rampant upon the human condition, it was his job to cleanse the populace of those who... of the unworthy. The man clutched his pistol, strength came rushing back to his weak kneed body. His Hell where he was born beckoned back, calling him in his hour of weakness. Fixing his uniform, and striding back through the hall doors, he would settle this question of morality. He saw the only way to escape the debauchery that consumed this world, he held the gun up to his head. Hell is where we are born, where we choose to stay, where we are unable to squelch our miseries. The pushing of everyone away, the days that turned to years... I'll pull the trigger on myself, this Hell is not where I choose to stay. These memories that consume me like a acid can no longer haunt me. Somewhere in the end of all this hate.. Were all alone.
