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It sinks in slowly, and then all at once. You knew, the minute you left the island, the moment the collar clicked shut around your neck, that you weren't the good guys. Heroes don't need constant threats to keep their team in line. Heroes don't order kids to hurt people.
But it never really clicked, until now. Until you feel the man fall limp at your feet, watch the light leave his eyes. You don't even know his name. You think they told you, but it wasn't important enough to remember. Now you wish you had.
You didn't pull the trigger. That wasn't your role. But it doesn't matter. You cut the power. You sealed the exits. Your actions tied the noose around his neck, even if not literally.
Your gloves may be clean, but his blood stains your hands all the same.
You don't remember why you came in. Documents, probably. You step over the man's corpse and open his desk, grabbing all of the files you find. You can't remember which ones you needed. You spend too long just standing there, staring at your hands.
You don't speak until long after your return to base. When you take off your suit to shower, you're vaguely surprised to find your hands are clean. It doesn't help.
Distantly, you're aware of Chloe hovering. She tries to get you to eat or drink, but the thought of putting anything in your mouth makes you want to vomit. She gives up eventually and just sits next to you, offering concern and comfort you don't deserve.
You keep staring at your hands. You don't think you could ever scrub them enough to get the blood out.