Volunteer inmate

72 hours into a mission that was supposed to take 48 hours and yet I'm still waiting. There is a tingling feeling crawling up my jaw line, passing behind my ear before finding its final resting place and the base of my skull. This uncomfortable feeling is an obvious product of my cheek bone being pressed against the polymer stock of my rifle I fittingly named Medusa, because she instantly revokes the life of anyone who enter her line of sight. The longer this mission takes the more I cant wait to deliver 146 grains of justice into the soft flesh of a target known only to me as "hades." My motivation for terminating this threat has evolved in just 72 hours. My reason are no longer Nobel, for me he has become the warden and I am the prisoner. He alone holds the key to my release. Nourishing myself on only a packet of peanut butter and a bag of tropical skittles that remain from the elegant meals I was equipped with known as MRE's. As the hands on the clock continue to rotate I find myself hallucinating , second guessing the images passing Thur the cross hair that seemed to find itself burned in my retina. I am having trouble keeping it together. I haven't had a conversation other than the one in my head addressing the crinkled up Polaroid of my daughter who i have yet to meet. Obeying my strict orders to maintain radio silence I've come to only one conclusion. If I am not soon afforded the opportunity to end my misery with the execution of "hades" I will end it with my own. Only question left is how much longer can I hold out?