It was silent in the tank, a relief from the former noises of the battlefield. The thick metal did it's job, shielding it's interior from all outside, including the noise, and he couldn't say he wasn't glad for it. He doubted that he would be able to stand hearing the furious shouts and screams of the dying around him without the firm mask he had built around himself slipping.

While if he closed his eyes and focused it out, it could be ignored, otherwise the muffled curses followed by heavy abuse to the metal could still be heard, though faintly. He couldn't hear the exact words, nor what exactly he was using in his attempt to claw his way to his prey, but he didn't have to have a wide imagination to guess.

He forced his gaze to remain on the blank wall of the tank, wincing at every muffled pound against the metal from the outside that managed to sound through.

Randall. What a fine mess he had gotten all of the company into these days. At first he had seemed an asset, but now he was only hindering. He should've had the sense to be rid of him weeks ago, but no. He'd let his guard down, and oh, was he starting to pay for it now.

But, as always, it was blamed on the men.

A sigh sounded in the tank. Taggart was a coward, and he knew it. But was he guilty?

No.

His strategies were far too good to be wasted as a fragile and vain attempted attack against ZEUS. Never would he admit his own failure, never would he allow anything less than him. Such was why he had climbed the ranks so quickly, driven by his ambition, his hubris. Such was why he was awaiting his own actions to turn on him in the cramped area.

Things had gone wrong, horribly wrong. Men were dying on the front lines now, unwittingly buying him time to retreat. Things were going relatively well, until the virus had caught on and intercepted him.

Not that he was surprised. With the memories of so many thousands merged together inside of his head, the Blacklight knew more than any man should. It was a surprise he was sane, if you could even call it that.

He was so much more aware of time slipping by as he sat there, unmoving, able to do nothing but wait to see the chain reaction play out, wait for the last of his men to fall.

Taggart was a coward, hiding within as those he should have protected died without, and he knew it. They were sacrificing themselves, less than willingly and certainly not knowingly, to keep him alive for but a few seconds longer.

For even he couldn't fully deny that there was a very slim chance he could make it out of this alive. The men were only minor disturbances to the virus, causing no more damage than a gnat to a tiger.

How funny that when you dwelt upon the worst, it never seemed to disappoint you.

He couldn't help but instinctively duck as the large, talon-fist slammed into the tank, hard enough to leave a large dent. The entire structure groaned and shook, Taggart still where he had fallen until the rocking stopped, the Virus apparently haven gave up, and he could manage to right himself again.

He won't be able to get through.

If it was taking him this long, the captain would be safe. Surely he could not manage his way in?

Soon, though, he was proven wrong. The noises of shotguns being fired and the wet sound as they struck their targets could be heard clearly now, and Taggart's eyes remained glued to the metal before him, refusing to turn to what had come to snatch away his life.