Diana’s Brutal Reality – Michael’s Dressing – Amone City’s Walls (Sept. 9th)

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Diana couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief when Michael had a reaction to Lucia and her. It was nice he wasn’t completely out of it. She had a smile on her face since he was still here. It took Lucia and her, to move Michael to a safer spot in the room. She was being careful to make sure he was moved carefully. That is like the only thing she knows specifically from her mother Rebecca about moving people with injuries. ”I do hope everyone pulls through in this battle.” Diana thought to herself, while moving Michael to a safer place in the room.

She was impressed at what Lucia was doing with looking at Michael’s injuries. It was pretty obvious she needs to stop living in a dreamland world if she wants to help everyone live past this war. She had some hope there won’t be another war. It was impressive to watch Lucia carefully searching for something to tie around Michael’s shoulder. She saw Lucia run back to her with a ripped up shirt and had a bit of an odd look to her. However, when she heard tie it around Michael’s shoulder made her nod. ”I will Lucia.” Diana responded to Lucia. She tied her part of the shirt to Michael’s shoulder tightly since the one thing she was good at is tying knots. In terms, the only thing that her mother actually taught her before her joining the military via conscription.

Diana couldn’t help but see Michael’s pained look on his face as Lucia was pressing hard. She couldn’t help but feel a bit worried for Michael’s safety. It caused her to hear what Lucia was speaking to Michael. She couldn’t help but feel a bit safer to see that everyone was scared to be in this situation, she didn’t overhear their conversation from before. However, it showed that everyone is scared just some people show it in different ways. ”I agree with Lucia on this one, Michael its better to be strong than become a mess.” Diana said, reassuring Michael but more importantly herself. Since she was utterly terrified of that car that was shooting at them.

She did here the gunfire of people fighting each other in other rooms in the building. She turns her attention to the door and gets her rifle out. It would be a good idea to keep the two safe by keeping her weapon on the ready instead of swung across her back like it was. She was highly nervous and hopeful no imperials would come through. ”I will get back to my family and friends no matter what and no damned imperial is going to stop me.” Diana thought to herself, with a highly determined look on her face. However, she didn't know how good the imperials were in Urban warfare.

@Conscripts

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Reyna knew that there were those people out there that did not like the Darcsen race. She herself neither liked or disliked them any more than any other person. However, many like Luke fell onto the dislike side. However, the way Luke showed his dislike was what made Reyna visibly cringe. Ok, that is a dumb move. Why are you letting something that happened in the past so many years ago affect your opinion now? She was not entirely true if that was the actual case, but either way Luke wasn't very smart in this situation, especially since there were several Darcsens already in the squad.

After some time and picking up one of those improvised weapons, Reyna heard the roar of a engine. The engine would have been a welcome sight if it wasn't in the form of an Imperial attack. With Jean ordering them into the buildings, she followed Jean's group into them with a healthy dose of fear inside her. She was scared, but this was war. Rich or poor, darcsen or brunette, it did not care and it was about to show this to Reyna as she moved to make sure a room was clear via a doorway. A lesson Reyna would learn about urban warfare: that doors were the most dangerous spots.

A bullet grazed by the side of her torso, the pain barely registering to Reyna as she saw an Imperial already inside the room, a rifle raised at her direction and starting to work a bolt. However, Reyna's carbine was lighter and more suited to close quarters than a long rifle, as such Reyna with shaky hands aimed at the Imperial. Squeezing the trigger, the shot could have gone much better if she wasn't so shaky, the bullet would have went through the man's chest. Instead, however, it hit the shoulder, jerking the rifle away as the bolt was finished and the man instinctively fired into the floor. Knowing she won't have time to work the bolt again, Reyna dropped the rifle and took out her entrenching tool, rushing towards the pained Imperial.

The Imperial in turn drew his knife and held it towards Reyna, the girl swinging the tool at the Imperial, hitting him in weakened arm. However, at the same time the Imperial slashed her upper-right leg, blood trickling down it as she prepared another attack. Luck, again, was on Reyna side as the Imperial missed his next swing toward his intended spot, instead the knife getting a small stab into someplace with some cushioning: her tool kit, and Reyna's tool hit him upside the head, knocking him back. At this point, Reyna instinctively kept attacking, the fight response the most dominant here, and finally the man was knocked down from the consistent assault. As a final act, Reyna drove the shovel's blade right into the neck of the man, finally ending his life and ending the encounter.

Reyna stood there, looking down at the now-dead man with horror as she started to feel a small pain in three spots. Adrenaline kept the pain dulled for now, but that coming pain will pale in comparison to the shock of realizing that she, for the first time in her entire life, killed someone. "No, no time for this now! The others need you!" she said to herself, snapping out of it for the moment and running with a wince to others, calling to them that the room was clear.

The slaughter of the Cavaliers had brought Kalisa to a state that she was familiar with once before. The sight of men and women being mercilessly gunned down, their cries of pain and anguish echoing through the battlefield. All of the blood that was pooling and splashing painted the landscape a disturbing red. It looked all too familiar to her. New members of the squad had made small talk with her before and after, but none of it stuck with the Darcsen. The failure of the cavalry charge had left her with dull eyes, as she routinely and blindly followed the rest of the group with her gripping her rifle close to her rather tightly as it gave her what little comfort it could.

She was only brought back to the land of the living when the sounds of a radically different vehicle had gotten everybody panicking. The girl took a moment to reorient herself after she had effectively conked out for some time. It seems that they were now in the streets of Amone, and something dangerous was hunting them down. Jean had ordered everybody to get inside the building, an order she complied with in the confusion and panic. The roar of gunfire almost making her miss the order had it not been for her physical distance to the Lance Corporal. She was one of the last to enter after having provided some covering fire to keep some Imperials out of their hair.

Once inside, she quickly ran into one of the open rooms after Jean finished relaying orders. One of theirs was wounded, and so they now had to try and delay other Imperials from getting to him. The room she found herself in looked to be a master bedroom given the size and space of it. There was a king-sized bed near the middle of the room, but it clearly has seen better days. The bedsheets were dusty and splitting, while the frame was cracking under its age.

Kalisa had noticed that there was also a window on the far wall of the room, where she saw a few Imperials attempting to get in. She quickly ducked under bed frame and moved the bedsheets to hide herself. A second later, the window was shattered and the Imperials made their way in.

"Flush them out, Sturmtruppen! You were lucky to avoid the Gunners outside, now let's use the string of luck to rid this complex of the Federation scum hiding amongst the shadows!"

The girl tried to make as little noise as possible, which proved to be very difficult as the dust she kicked up by moving under quickly was assaulting her face. The Darcsen had covered her face with her free hand to suppress the urge to sneeze, act that would surely end her life if she failed to stop it. If it was only one person she could probably hold them off, but three? That would be a death wish.

It seems that they were in a hurry as one of the Imperials had called that the room was clear after but a few moments of entering. The girl could hear their footsteps slowly making their way out, before a kick broke down the door that led in. Kalisa took a moment to let them get further away before leaving her safe spot, gasping for air as she got out.

Not too long after, an explosion from a few rooms over had rocked the building. The Imperials probably used a bomb to gain access to one of the rooms being occupied by one of her squadmates. She quickly got up and ran as fast as she could outside. Turning the corner, she spotted one of the Imperials with his back to her as he was making his way to the room that was blasted with a bomb.

This was supposed to be an easy shot, as the girl lifted her rifle and aimed at the target. All that's left is to pull the trigger.

Clank

Her rifle had jammed. And the distinct noise made the Imperial quickly turn towards the source and aim his own rifle at her. Quickly realizing that her rifle wasn't shooting after a second pull, she instead rushed forward and adjusted her grip on her weapon. Kalisa was only a few steps away from the Imperial, and so she used the butt of her rifle to push his own aim upwards away from her.

She had succeeded in deflecting his aim away, if only barely as he had managed to pull the trigger and the bullet whizzing past her ear. Running on pure adrenaline at this point, Kalisa then proceeded to hit the Imperial with the butt of her rifle in his unguarded chin. This was enough to drop him to the ground and knock him out. The Darcsen quickly pulls out the bayonet of her rifle from her pocket, and quickly drove it into the helpless heart of the unconscious Imperial. Sweat poured down on her face as the past few seconds had sunk into her. Everything happened so fast and yet she was able to mercilessly drive a knife into a person's heart. Granted that this person was trying to kill her, but it was a merciless kill nonetheless.

Kalisa would now slowly get up and make her way over to the room that the Imperial was headed towards. Taking a peek inside, she would see two more bloody dead bodies of Imperials on one side of the room. One of the bodies had its neck nearly destroyed with a shard of glass impaled into it, which made her unconsciously grab her own neck in response.

Looking past the bodies, she would see Jean tucking himself away in the corner of the room. She had quickly pieced that he was most likely the cause of the deaths of these two and made her way over to him. As she got closer, she noticed that he was crying. "Jean?" Kalisa knelt down in front of him and dropped her rifle, taking note of his state as best as she could. His hands were bleeding and he was shaking. Her hands were awkwardly trying to reach out to him but she was hesitating. Her mouth was also opening and closing, trying to find the right words to way but nothing came out.

@LetMeDoStuff

The spectres watched him. He could feel their glare barrel down upon him and slash against his throat coarsely. There was no notion of the deceased being within the room, but Jean could feel their presence. A pair of lovers, they were...terribly torn apart by the shards of glass and bullets spat from his barrelled firearm. Tears rolled down his cheeks, Jean propped up only himself against the corner of the wall, his legs stretched out across the floor and his arms loosely by his flaccid side. Their blood began to sink into the splintered floorboards aggressively and conceive a rash storm of crimson substance. A thick, oozing scent filled the room and began to stink out the area, smelling only of bloody murder. All it was was bloody, bloody murder. All Jean felt was remorse for the dead. It terrified him of what he was capable of, of being a judge of life and death in one fell swoop. Having separated life after life, taking out those who were too weak or morally superior to strike him down first, Jean was filled with fury and agony. What if he were to do the same to another couple? How many families had he torn apart with every gunshot, with every stab and with every crush of the helmet? What...what if someone did that to him? What if he fully embraced a life, perhaps with Kalisa or Reyna if his nerves would ever begone themselves, of romance only to have it ruthlessly ripped from his hands by a similar victim of the conflict, driven by an innate will to survive, to carry on. Life was no longer fair, nor was it ever fair. Jean was realising this now, and it scared him. It scared him a lot.

Every sniffle that he made was mixed in with the blood staining his cheeks, face and shirts, creating another red mist to brood upon his body. His back had wooden splinters and glass poking out of it, though only in small fragmentations. There wasn't anything of any major injury, despite the rough, maroon scar that had formed upon his left hand, with its fleshy composition. It stung, heavily. Every second it continued to spill his precious, innocent blood, he felt his eyes and ears fade only slightly. Jean wasn't bleeding out, per se, but he was still under the impression of shock and awe, brooding within his stomach and heart from the extreme confrontation he'd obliged with. His eyes were moisturised by the endless sorrow he faced, dribbling with such a shallow volume of happiness still left inside. He'd become the grim reaper, the one who'd reap the souls of those who were also trying to make their way through life. Were the people he killed good people? Perhaps, and perhaps they weren't. Jean didn't know that though, and all he knew was that they were in love. Their blood continued to spill upon their wedding rings, sinking into their structural platforms and staining the walls.

Footsteps started to approach the doorway that would be used to entering the graveyard that was this bedroom. Before they approached, there were sounds of gunshots from the other squad members resonating throughout the hallway. He couldn't tell if it was his own people getting shot or the retaliation of the Federation Squad composing themselves a hard-earned victory, yet the sound of the heavy boot-steps started to make him hold his breath. He closed his eyes and imagined that it was perhaps a friend of the couple he'd just killed. Jean couldn't find the strength to stand up, grab another weapon and fight once more. He was expended. The rush was gone. The ferrous adrenaline was nowhere to be seen. Jean let his head drop, his helmet fall off of his head and the splintered glass remain in his back. Was this his time? Was this his redemption? Was this the bullet that would finally stop this Francian devil from descending any further into the very depths of the Imperial hell?

"Jean?" Much like the time before, Jean listened to the angelic voice and raised his head, instantly recognising it from the weeks of conversation he managed to uphold. Even with the obscurity of the tears flowing from his very eyes, he could clearly make out the radiance from the doorway. In her drastic flow of equal perfection, she took a knee and placed a rifle by his side, hesitant to make physical contact with him. Jean was a broken man, laid to waist pits of death he caused.

Her mouth moved for a bit, but she was unable to speak, it seemed. He wasn't surprised. How could she react when someone she knew had committed such an atrocity that could never be redeemed? Why was it that the fateful nature of this very barbaric gutting had to be seen by one of the two individuals he cared about the most? She stared at him, trying to formulate some sort of sentence or response, but she couldn't. Jean knew she couldn't. Her silence spoke more words than she could've ever imagined, yet he simply brushed it aside and wiped his eyes, the enemy's blood instead replacing the stream on his cheek.

For a moment, Jean simply stared at her, broken as he was, with nothing to say. Even in the dimness of the coarse world, she looked as pretty as ever, still kicking with her almost abrasive comparison to Jean. It hurt him to think that he had fallen for two different women, but seeing Kalisa there in the moment just made him think about her, just for that second. He couldn't tell if it was disgust, worry or sadness in her eyes, but it glimmered; and to Jean that was all that mattered. Around her neck, though blended in with her new uniform, Jean still saw the scarf he gave her. It was the scarf...The Darcsen pattern. A symbol of racial partnership and a pledge, if you could call it that, of brotherhood and sisterhood. Or was it more? Jean's eyes flourished with tears once more, and suddenly, he made his move. With a weak lunge, Jean wrapped grabbed the arm and hand that was hesitant to reach out for him, before pulling both her and himself in for a embracing hug. He didn't know what he was doing, or rather why he was doing it, but he did. Once again, he buried his face into the scarf she wore around her neck. A small amount of blood, both his and from the previous ownership of the Imperial's dead nearby, slowly soaked into it, and he remained there, sobbing away silently again as he held the trembling embrace. And with that, he began to speak in a twisted tongue of sorrowful regrets.

"I...I'm sorry...I didn't want to...They...They were together, a...loved ones of a family far from home. Torn by the recognisable demons that now string themselves upon my shoulders, like puppet masters. I'm their...their experiment, the one that they toy with until I do nothing more than the evil I bestow. I can't...I can't bless this world anymore. I can't bless anyone anymore. I can't...be...human."

For once, and for once only, there was silence. Outside, there was no more gunfire. There wasn't a single trace of a gunshot to be heard. The engines of the armoured car had quickly revved up again before escaping, perhaps running out of ammunition from the final fight that had adapted. A few shouts from the Imperials calling to their withdrawal. It was time for them to leave. They'd done as much damage as they could. Jean still didn't know what the damage was, who'd died and who'd lived. Perhaps there was still a wild chance that everyone had survived unscathed, but he knew that possibility had passed when Jean and Michael had clearly been injured. But what of Reyna? What of Lucia, and Franz? What of the group who'd gone into the other building? Gwyn, Ines, Britta and Isaac? What had happened to the group on the other side of the street? The road across that damaged paving felt like another island, or another nation, sitting along the adjacent banks of the channel. They were so close, yet so far all in one go. Without the gunners, Jean honestly felt unsafe. Ever since he had orchestrated them during the Battle of Hill 58, he'd become dependent on having that edge of automatic fire over the enemy, but now he didn't want to kill the enemy so ruthlessly. Instead, as the truck drove off and the silence fell upon the streets, the Imperials having pulled out of the area, Jean kept his hands tightly wrapped around Kalisa, independently moving each finger around to softly hold onto.

Eventually, Jean began to speak again. His voice was hoarse and painful to listen to, but he had to speak. It was only a matter of time before he had to represent himself once more as a leading NCO, and this was one of the few times he had to open up to one of the two angels he truly believed in. Jean slowly moved his face from the scarf, but kept his face close to hers, speaking quietly in order to ensure no one heard his confession of anxiety and irresponsibility to the role.

"I...I am not allowed to be a proper...a real...human. Not anymore. I'm...They want me to be nothing more than a Darcsen soldier, someone who can just tell them what to do. It's hard. It's...impossible. But...For you, Reyna and everyone else's sake, I must suppress myself, I must...hide. I..." Jean stood up, hesitantly looking at her straight in the eyes before weakly letting off a smile. It had been a while since he'd shown a genuine smile to Kalisa, as the previous hours had him show a similar one to Reyna. "Thanks for keeping the s-scarf, Kalisa."

Jean rose to his feet, blood still trickling from his left hand. With his right, he began to unpack a field dressing and wrapped it tightly around the wound, clenching in pain at the act. It was tricky to do with one hand, but he managed as much as he could, eventually getting it on. The blood soaked into the bandage quite quickly, but the look of a padded, whitely wrapped hand sort of gave him a more veteran-esc look, especially with his rifle and weapon by his side. Jean kept his helmet tightened once more, walking into the corridor where everyone else was emerging. In the back room, he could see Lucia and Michael, alongside Diana, in the open room, still waiting for the chance to fully be stabilised and safe. Jean looked to them with uneasy quaint, clearly having a disturbed thousand-yard stare in his wording. Blood of the enemy's and his own still laid waste to his face, ruining that cleaning operation that Ines clearly had done a while back before they entered. At the very least, the rain outside would be able to wash it off. And so, he needed to make the order.

"The...uhh...the car's gone. Someone signal Isaac's group to...to come back. We'll move out in around 10." Once he gave his uneasy order, still plagued with the stare of a man who'd seen the world of torture, he pulled a small piece of glass out of his uniform and shoulder, tossing it aside as he saw someone tending to another body slumped against the wall.

"I told you, Frey', I'm alright." Thomas had taken a nasty bullet just on his shoulder, clearly of a higher calibre like a rifle of the sorts. There were also a few stab sounds in his right arm, which would've been rather awkward for his shooting. Freya attended to his wounds with field dressing after field dressing, ensuring that there were no points in which blood could escape from. By his tone of voice, Jean inferred that he'd been through this injury more than once, and that this wasn't the first time Marathon had been close to death. "Go make yourself useful and help out that midget Sapper or som'ng. Damn bastard only grazed me."

"You fucking idiot, you got shot and stabbed. Or do you want me to put another one in your skull to finish the job, cunt?" Even with their derogatory, over-the-top culture and dialect, Jean still couldn't muster the smile he wanted to smile. It was futile to even try. Even so, Freya gave Jean a sort of look, one that indicated slight frustration to the dismissal of a life-threatening shot, or at least a potential one. Jean slowly wandered over, before crouching beside him. "How do you expect to cop a bullet to the Imperials if you can't move you shoulder that well enough to hod the rifle? Want someone else to bolt the gun for you, little baby Marathon?"

"Put a sock in it, yah daft-cunt. I'll just use my han-"

Jean drew the revolver, quickly putting it on Thomas' lap. It felt weird for the nervous man to act in such a silent yet authoritative way, but he continued to lay it in his shoulder, detaching the ammunition pouch for the revolver. Thomas looked towards him in slight confusion, and annoyance, but Jean kept his deadpan glare that stretched for thousands of yards ahead, nodding to him that he no longer needed it.

"Use this. I don't...I don't want it anymore. You might find more use for it t-too, Corporal." Jean walked over to the wall that was unoccupied and leaned against it, resting his head against his elbow with great fatigue stopping his every move. They had around ten minutes before they left, moving to somewhere either more dangerous or safer. He wanted to be alone, but he was open to being approached. He hoped that Michael and the others were okay, putting little thought into himself anymore. After all, Jean was now a certified murderer...

It was a wonderful feeling; knowing that she had to nurture her highly received friend, known for his courage and satisfactory results on the field of battle, it filled her with a great sense of superiority. She almost felt pity for her taller friend, sat in the corner with his shoulder and arms clenched with stab-holes and the odd bullet wound. In reality though, she was simply glad that Thomas had made it out alive, still unable to be killed by the very Imperial bastards that set out to destroy the Europan landscape. Well, that was what she was told by the recruiters on the day of her enlistment. They would tell her to come and fight for the good cause, to protect the Kingdom back home, showing great monarchist royalty and a democratic sense of duty. Naive, wasn't she? Back then, having sacrificed her very human rights, her existence and morality for the sake of a dictator's plaything. War was a nightmare, an absolute atrocity that she wanted to escape from. Yet despite that, she'd become nullified to the effects of battle, writing off most of the sufferings she'd see around her as natural. Whilst deep down Freya felt the immense pain and baggage that came with seeing both friend and foe be slaughtered, much like that of the Cavalry charge, she would try her hardest to maintain that golden smile she was known for. People needed the pick-me-ups from their darkest moments, but at the same time who was there for Freya?

She continued to tend to Thomas' wounds, noticing that the first layer of field dressing had already been soaked through. At this rate, Thomas wouldn't bleed out but he would indeed feel faint from blood loss. It didn't take a doctor to know that Thomas, or Marathon, needed to find a suitable place to rest and recover, still having the dangerous potential to faint or collapse from exhaustion in the middle of a firefight. That would be disastrous. Freya didn't want, nor need, to lose Thomas. She'd already lost her, and she didn't want to go through that pain again.

Jean had already given the order, though in a tremolo tone, to prepare the rendezvous with Isaac's group. She never called the Lance Corporal by his rank (except for the time where she called him Corporal Dog-Shagger, to her enjoyment). Isaac was one of the group members that she knew, but at the same time she didn't know too well. He was a soldier, and a good one by what she'd heard and seen. Effective, strong-willed and prepared to lay down that suppressive fire like it was Lucia's face on a bedroom escapade with Michael. Though, even by thinking of the little sweet angel, Freya couldn't help but smile at how adorably innocent she was. Lucia had been the real victim of the war, one that did remind Freya of her, as they spoke similarly and wandered around in a fashion she could almost consider the same. Lucia was indeed a wonderful girl. Well, Freya was guilty of admitting to herself that she had a lustful eye on the darling Asseni angel, but Freya knew that there'd be more happiness in pulling the strings for the Daunte hookup. Plus, she found amusement in it.

Freya had also been guilty of having a few lustful thoughts over many of the members of the squad. Britta was who she thought was a female version of Isaac, and she'd even poked a few glances at Franz during the train journey to Amone. It wasn't uncommon for her to look towards her squadmates in such flirtatious mannerisms but she couldn't help it. Despite how bad it felt to go against that deep lust for the girl she once loved, Freya was still determined to find that same happiness that she once felt those months ago. Freya looked down at her hands, her smile fading slowly as she saw their bloody stature. They were covered in...someone's blood. It wasn't hers, but it was likely Thomas' or those of her enemies. And from looking at the blood, it triggered a vision she wished she never had to relive ever again.

---

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She felt the hand clutch around hers, tighter than before. The whistles blew and the shells from above hailed down upon them with violent insurgence. Freya was exhausted and rifled with fatigue, but she had to keep going. It was a matter of life and death, and not just for her. The retreat was brutal. No one dared to turn around and fire back, only the endless waves of retreating Oceanic and Federation troops faced forwards. It was strange. Months ago, when the Operation of the Southern Frontier first began, Freya and her friends had stridden across these beaches before, taking the land and using it as a foothold for the invasion. They were promised to be the saving grace of the war, the ones who would turn the entire conflict in the favour of this apparent democracy, yet all they faced were garrisons of both newly trained, colonial and veteran divisions awaiting their arrival. Even their Trojan-Horse, the abandoned freighter used to transport many of the troops into the territory undetected. But now, they were falling back. Not by trenches or by a few metres, but now they were being pushed back by the mile without the chance to take a break. The Imperials, the damned bastards, had unleashed their heaviest assault yet, driving them on a constant disorganised retreat.

With every step in the sand, Freya's breath would become shorter and shorter as she ran out of oxygen to breathe. Bullets continued to fly left, right and centre, towards and away from them. Oceanic brothers and sisters all around her fell face first into the sand when one clipped them in the back or head, splitting their skulls into two. Screams of those they ran past, still crawling through the sand with blood spewing from their chapped lips. Freya wished that in her free arm she could just sweep them from the sand and back onto their feet. Some thought it was the final stretch, the endless plains of sand before them leading to the shoreline where crooked wooden boats awaited their arrival. The scramble was violent, and the blood was now drawing its own lines in the sand.

In her hand not obscured by the rifle she clutched, she desperately held onto her hand. With heavy breathing coming from the two, they couldn't help but feel the rush frighten them. Never before, in their entire two years of loving and embracing one another, had they seen such horrific demonstrations of brutalised warfare, not where they were the victims on the run, without any means of defending themselves. Freya looked back at her sweetened cheeks, still blossoming in the bloody sunlight of that fateful day. Even then, she still tried her hardest to provide the most positive and enlightening smile humanly possible, even when her eyes were streaming full of tears leaking from those passionate aqua eyes. Nothing could ever be the same. Each pant she made was graceful, light and almost calming to say the least. Even with the barrages of bullets chasing after them, nothing stopped her from shining in the sunlight. Quickly, they dove behind one of the few pieces of cover that was left on the beach, a small metallic plate that had been dropped on the retreat back, clearly from the logistics team. No one was currently behind it, especially due to its small size, but it seemed just enough for both Freya and the beautiful damsel to follow through. They dove down, quickly forcing themselves to huddle together as tightly as possible, bullets splashing against the sand dunes around them and kicking up a storm of dust.

"J-Just give it a second, Naomi!" Freya begged to her loyal ally with intense pressure, pressing her body against hers only to minimise the amount of exposure their bodies had to the repeating gunfire. All around them, bodies of both male and female dropped in large numbers, soldiers still making the scramble for the boats. They were only around thirty metres away now, and it was only a chance of awaiting the right moment. Freya knew that heading straight towards the boats would delay them, keeping them standing around for a few precious seconds as they attempted to find desperate space aboard one of the boats that would take them back to the dreadnoughts. The timing needed to be perfect. Freya locked her eyes on to Naomi's intensely, wiping away one of her tears as she placed the palm of her free hand against the soft cheeks she carried. Her silvery hair had been dampened by the sand they'd dove into, yet there were clearly more pressing matters at hand. Freya held onto her closely, making sure she wasn't hit at all. "Keep your...keep that beautiful chin of yours up, o-okay? We're nearly there, and we're nearly home. Remember home? You wanted me to meet your parents, to take you to a place where we would be together, back in Oceania? R-Remember, Naomi?!"

As they continued to stare into one another's eyes, Naomi's smile finally broke. She broke into silent tears, her whimpers were overshadowed by the enormous and continuous uproar of the Imperial gunfire. There were still hundreds, no...thousands of Oceanic and Federation troops still making the desperate run across the beach for the boats. Some who were closer to the Imperial lines were yet to be shot, as many Imperial riflemen were specifically ordered to target the middle and front escapees, making sure the others behind could see the end of the line. Freya's face dropped and she hysterically began to pat the cheek of Naomi, feeling tears of her own swell up and begin to dribble out.

"W-Why are you crying? D-Don't cry, please!" Their hands desperately locked, another bullet or two skimming the tiny cover they hid behind. They were running out of time, but soon enough that chance to escape and board a free boat would be near. It was an insane balance. Finally, Naomi spoke words of the broken, yet innocent, mind she always carried.

"I...I...I'm scared. They're...they're hundreds...hundreds and thousands of our friends being...s-slaughtered, like animals behind us. Why? Why Freya? Why is this happening to us?! Why us?! What did we do to deserve this? I don't want to leave the injured behind but they keep ordering us to le-leave them! I'm..." Naomi's trembling voice was cut off when Freya, for the first time in a long while, pressed her soft lips against hers with passion and determination to protect her. They held one another's embrace for a minute, a long and drawn out minute. The dangers around them continued to rain upon them in horrific hellfire, dropping bodies all around them, but the two lovers continued to just embrace and hold that amazing kiss. Once they're faces slowly separated from one another, Freya pressed her forehead against hers and whispered just loud enough for them to hear one another.

"Naomi, I love you. Don't...don't cry, we're going home. Together. And if one of us falls, then we'll do what's best for one another to live the greatest lives of all. If one of us must fall, the other will go on and live another life, free of our eternal struggle to...to...to love. Go, get on the next boat. I'll take the next. Just...Just know I love you, Naomi...Know I love you with all my heart and soul, and that I want you to find someone to settle down with if...if..." Naomi kissed Freya again, this time even quicker than before. They were running out of time. The nearest boat that was currently positioned to leave was close to their cowardly hiding spot. Freya looked to the boat, still crowded but with enough space for one of them to join. Naomi shook her head when Freya turned back to her, but Freya helped stand her up, shielding her own body in front of hers so that in the event of a bullet striking one of them, it'd hit Freya first.

By ushering her aboard the wooden craft, Naomi began to shout things back at Freya, tears streaming from her eyes. The words of love and passion kept shooting straight at Freya, hurting the notion to send her first with the possibility that Freya herself may not return home or escape these bloody beaches. Quickly, she fired a shot or two into the distance, hoping that by luck it could strike an Imperial setting his sights on the group, but instead they seemed to veer off into the unknown chaos of the retreat. The whistle blew, and Freya assisted in giving a huge push on the wooden boat back into the water. As Naomi looked towards her, crying her eyes out desperately in the fear that they would never meet again, Freya shouted her final promise.

"I love you Naomi! I'll take the next boat...and...we'll go ho-"

"FIELD GUN SHELL INCOMING. HIT THE DECK!" From the distance, the bright and flaming shell of a field gun started to dart towards them. Freya saw it for a split-second, before turning around to see the one who shouted it. From within the boat, a Federation officer, quite young himself, tried to get his comrades down onto the floor of the boat, but it made no difference. Freya saw Naomi's eyes stare back at her. The shell hit in slow motion, the flames slowly beginning to cover Naomi's body as they held their stare. Freya tried to scream, but the force of the impact let out a large blast, throwing Freya aside. Blood and fire spread in all directions, tossing some of the soldiers around her onto the ground again. A painful ring quickly took over all noise around her.

The world became muffled and her vision was blurry. All around her, the struggles of more soldiers, either in Federation or Oceanic attire kept struggling. Behind her, further up the beach, she could barely make out the few soldiers willing enough to assist the injured, picking them up and dragging them, only for either an Imperial bullet to strike them or an unfriendly Federation officer to draw his own handgun and execute them on the spot for disobeying direct orders. Screams became muffled, as if they were being heard from beneath the surface of a great body of water. Aches and pains filled her body as she slowly tried to rise to her feet, staggering as the pain of shrapnel and other unearthly metals had struck her forearm in the explosion. But it was when she turned back to where she saw the shell hit was where her eyes blew out of their sockets.

In the water, without any emotion in her eyes, Naomi was there, laid in the shallowest of depths with half of her body missing. Below the hips, there was nothing. No legs, or her gorgeous little feet that she always paraded around triumphantly on the summer days of 1912. Her eyes were rolled back into her head, revealing only the bloodshot whites of her vision, signifying the true emptiness that she now had left in death. Freya crawled up towards her, feeling her hands latch onto the blood-spewing corpse that had been ruthlessly thrusted aside from the shell. Her eyes were clouded once again with tears, tears that she never felt she could ever replicate again. Her face buried itself into her soggy chest, soaked in both her own blood and the water she was cradled within. Freya screamed, unable to feel the pain. It was only a matter of time before Thomas found her again, forcing her onto another boat and expressing the true intentions of escaping. Yet for that minute, she let her face rest against the torn bosom of Naomi's tattered corpse, scarcely resembling the once beautiful mistress she was.

---

---

"Freya? Freya?" With her deathly glare into the thousand mile-distance ahead, his voice was lost in the muffled trails of her own nightmare. However, the more he said it, the clearer it got. "Freya? Are...are you okay?"

"H-Huh? What?" Without much thought, Freya snapped out of her trance, noticing that a tear or two had fallen down her cheek in the process of time she'd spent sat alone. Thomas has already being held onto by one of the nearby soldiers, assisting him in walking. How long had she really blanked out for? Why was the terrible memory still haunting her to that day?

"You were staring...like...out at the wall for five minutes...Are...Are you okay?" Finally meeting his face, Freya realised it was Jean talking to her. Oh god, how long had she been sat there reminiscing of a past best left in the forever expanding yonder that was history.

Whilst she contemplated opening up immediately, completely sure that Jean had seen her two tears trickling down her face in her uncharacteristic manner, she decided to quickly shake her head and stutter out a usual response, trying to show meek confidence and happiness still in her tone. She knew that Jean had been through some equally as terrible shit in the past ten minutes, as well as weeks, and so she couldn't help but feel her anxieties and uncharacteristic horrors were best left unopened from their pandora's box. She stood up quickly, adjusting her uniform and trying to brush out a quick joke.

"U-Uhh...Yeah...right as rain! Didn't your school ever teach you not to stare at ladies when they are daydreaming...They might feel uncomfortable, right?" Trying to flirt her way out of the situation, just as she always did, Freya could see that her attempts weren't resonating well with Jean. There was a strange glare in his eye that didn't speak of anger, however, and instead was showing the trauma that he continued to weigh down upon his chest. Without question, Freya stood up and quickly apologised, shaking her head and informing him to forget it. Whilst Jean was likely reminding her that it was a minute or two before they left this scene of battle, she couldn't help but feel that the pledge to Naomi to constantly help others and stay positive was harder than she could ever imagine. What's more, she promised for Naomi to love someone else, even in death...But Freya could only think of short-term lust to satisfy the feelings she'd lost on May 15th, 1912EC.

“Son of a whore!” Luke hissed in pain as his torn apart cheek exploded with an intense stinging pain that blurred his vision for a brief moment. After the wave of pain finally came to end, though a dull pulsing sting remained, Luke examined the newly cleared room with a small frown before glancing to two dead Imps they managed to get the drop on. Poor bastards were too preoccupied arguing with each other and by the time Luke and Franz bursted into the room it was to late. Ever since the first few rooms were cleared resistance had been a bit dull with at least two or three soldiers holding up in a few rooms. Luke and Franz managed to drive them all out successfully without either of them dying so that’s a plus, though he was concerned with the other members of his team as the gunfire and sudden explosion reached his ears and shook the building. There was an almost overwhelming urge to go help his allies, but he couldn’t just leave Franz to clear the rooms alone. Darscen or not he needed to stick with him until their job was done. He shuddered as he silently came to that conclusion, but quickly got over it as they breached the final room.

Luke kicked in the door and let Franz swiftly enter first before following him with his rifle raised, ready to eliminate anymore Imps. Once they both entered the room Luke felt a wave of relief wash over them as the ruined room was void of anything that would want to kill the two of them. With a sigh Luke leaned against the wall a spat out a bit of blood that leaked into his mouth from his wound. “Well that was fun,” he chuckled bitterly before pushing off the wall with a reluctant grunt and hurried to the window with a furrowed brow. He peaked out of the window and arched a brow as the surrounding gunfire, along with the the rumbling of the trucks engine, began to fade away until finally an unnerving silence surrounded them all. “Where the hell that truck go?” Luke muttered to himself as the uneasy feeling in his gut grew more and more upsetting. Within the unsettling silence Luke felt as if he would go mad with frustrated curiosity. Was everyone okay? Did they hold their own? What about everyone in the other building? Where the hell was that damn truck!? To many questions filled Luke’s mind as he impatiently waited by the window frame, waiting for anymore attacks before his patients finally buckled under the pressure.

“Fuck it, let’s get back to the others,” he said before hurrying out the room and jogging down the hallways. Once he turned the corner Luke was met with an almost welcoming sight of Jean. Almost welcoming. Luke kept it to himself, but the Corporal looked like shit. He silently wondered what could have happened, but the irritating stinging in his face reminded him that they’ve all been through a bit of shit. He glanced into the room where the injured were and felt a bit concerned for them, hoping they would be on their feet soon. At least there weren’t any dead on their side. Yet. Luke let out an exhausted sigh, spitting out a bit more blood to his frustration before hearing Jean give out his order to signal the others. “I got it!” he quickly blurted out before making his way towards the front of the building, though as he pasted Jean he couldn’t help but give a concerned glance towards him and that battered look in his eyes. He would have said something, but decided against it since he thought it’d be better if someone closer to him was better off helping him out.

Putting aside his concerns for his teammates Luke made it to the buildings front doors and carefully opened the doors just enough to get a good look at the building the remaining members of his squad were held up in. After looking both ways and thankfully not seeing anymore Imperials, Luke leaned out of the doorway, exposing himself a bit before spotting Isaac in the window. Feeling relieved to see him still alive he waved to get his attention. “It’s clear over here! Make your way over!” he called out before double checking the streets and falling back inside the building with a sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered as he walked back to Jean who was talking with that Freya girl who also looked a bit rough. He patted jean on the shoulder and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “They should be here soon sir,” he muttered before walking past him and falling onto his rear with a tired grunt. “Man I need a drink,” he complained before leaning against the wall and winced as his bloody face exploded with pain again. “Son of a bitch, can someone help me with this?” he asked to anyone willing to help as he cringed in frustration while he plucked a rather big splinter from the open cuts on his cheek. With a groan he removed his helmet and ran his bloody fingers through his hair before returning his attention to his wounds. Once he plucked out another splinter with a hiss he sighed and cracked a small smile. “Well, the right side of my face may be a bit uglier, but at least the left side is still as beautiful as ever!” he chuckled with a large grin before wincing again in pain and spitting out a bit of blood.

@CFProxy@LetMeDoStuff @FalloutJack

Diana’s Brutal Reality – Ceasefire – Amone City’s Walls (Sept. 9th)

---

Diana was still holding her rifle, in her hands tightly until she saw movement towards the room. She was about the pull the trigger, however, the friendly face made her stop. It was the fact, it was her Squad mates and not an Imperial Soldier that came through the door she was facing with strict determination. ”That was freaking close…” Diana said with a bit of a shock in her system. She drops the weapon onto the ground, however, it wasn’t triggered to fire so it didn’t go off. If there was one thing she didn’t want to shoot anyone in her squad especially the people, which Jean had the hots for. She did pick up her rifle carefully, only for her to put it on her back since dropping it was the first and only reaction she had. It was a pretty painfully obvious, she should’ve learned more about war behind her parents back instead of being their good little girl. ”Fucking hell… Why do you get an adrenaline rush during combat situation?” Diana thought to herself.

She sighed and looked directly at the people who walked into the door, which was Jean, Freya and Thomas. She did notice Jean’s look on his face, which made her a bit shocked because he looked like he cried. It couldn’t help make her remind herself of her situation with her two older sisters. Whom make her cry constantly because of how cruel they were being to her. However, she heard that the car was gone and that someone has the signal Isaac’s group. It didn’t take her long to get lost in her thoughts until she heard a voice saying.

“I got it!”

Diana sighed at hearing the jackass’ voice yet again, however, he did volunteer himself to be the signaler towards Isaac’s group. That was the only thing that made her smile somewhat, however, when he came back in. She couldn’t help but feel a bit annoyed at his voice. ”I wonder how many times Ines is going to smack your face?” Diana asked curiously towards Luke. She had to ask that question since she wanted to. In terms of everything, she did agree with Luke on one thing, the getting a drink of alcohol sounds like a good idea. She wanted to get drunk on the fact she disliked her older sisters a bit more than she did. It didn’t help that her parents made sure she wouldn’t drink Alcohol at home, they were very much overprotective in that endeavor. She could finally try something that she knows her parents drink because its pretty easy, how many times Rebecca is on the newspaper about getting into drunken bar fights. ”Ugh… I wish my parents weren’t so overprotective of me. I definitely do feel sorry for Jean for the fact he lost everything and all in this war too.” Diana thought to herself. The body language of her was a bit annoyed and worried at the same time.

She couldn’t help but stay where she was and add onto what she asked towards Luke. ”Oh yeah, I forgot to add, a bit uglier? On the scale of 1 to 10, it’s now a five on the ugly scale. In terms of your face, Luke. I don’t think anyone could fix that as long as you are an asshole.” Diana added. She couldn’t help but laugh at what she said, even though she was being mean and kinda giving Luke a stare of death. It was pretty obvious she didn’t want to kill him, it’s just she’s not like her hard ass of a mother. However, she does have a mouth like her mother. She couldn’t help but feel like jabbing at Luke helped her nerves a bit.

Diana looks towards Jean mostly because he is a superior officer in a sense. ”Soo, Jean what are we going to do now? In terms of orders after everyone regroups here.” Diana said, an important statement. It was important since everyone needs better treatment than what she did with Lucia’s help on Michael’s wounds. She had a gentle smile, however, it was mostly different towards Jean than Luke. Since Luke she outright disliked, because of his attitude towards Darscens, it’s mostly first impressions are highly important. ”Oh yeah did you see Kalisa, Jean?” Diana asked, curiously. It was pretty obvious what she was doing, ala, releasing tensions in the room. All these things were compounded that she needs to be more careful in the future about her actions. ”Mother always said, don’t get too focused on something or you’ll lose yourself… I have always wondered what she meant by that. Don’t tell me she keeps on trying to say she needs help in protecting me?” Diana thought to herself. She put her hand specifically were her pendant necklace was located at. It made more sense now than usual, however, her mother is too focused on her.

@Jacky@LetMeDoStuff

Maybe there was supposed to be a romantic, grim undertone to musing about the laiden bodies of the fallen after a bloody and brutal fight for survival. A gruesome sight, surely, eyes missing and gashes larger than hands peppering the corpses like some carnal crimson bloom. Ines could have sworn she felt breaths along her neck, like someone in this sarcophagus still remained among the living. At this rate, Ines never knew. There was this almost primitive beauty to it, really, as if she were supposed to gaze upon this decaying coffin in remorse and fear, and be thankful she still stood. As much of a hand she had in the slaughter, she told herself she just put the nails in the coffin. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to question her actions, but who kills without ever wondering why?

She felt herself blink, like she was almost walking up from a dream, or a nightmare, more like. It didn’t go away. She didn’t even come to with what she had done. It was there. It couldn’t go away. And Ines knew what she did couldn’t go away, yet, there existed a lingering feeling in the back of her head which proclaimed her actions to be permanent. Justified, in a sense, out of sheer reality that which is done cannot be undone.

If there even was a God, and we answered to him, or her, or it, and we pay for our actions in blood or sacrifice, Heaven or Hell, who was to judge God? To who did God answer? And if God answers to naught but themselves...why, when we answer to ourselves, are we lesser? Did we not deserve to answer to ourselves?

Someone called out to them. Someone she recognized...Jean? “...that was his name...right?” she thought. Her head felt pounding, rushing. Blinding. Resurgence of sensation flooded to and from every part of her skull, almost like someone would turn on and off the lights, like her own mind was toying with her senses. Everything faded in and out, coming into a faint, blurry field of vision after the murk settled in her brain. She blinked once, then again to refresh her sight. Less blurry. More clean, more focused. Her head was still rather fuzzy, like she could feel this ever so slight tingling through her thoughts, almost like when a limb fell asleep.

The signal was straightforward; “Come back,” it beckoned, “The fight’s over.” Not those exact words, mind. Every sensation and thought melded together like a nebulous fuzzy fog. Just getting off of her feet seemed hard enough.

Everyone who had returned from their division were welcoming, to be positive. Positivity of being alive was certainly a trait they seldom seemed to show, yet every soldier knew that was more an expression left unspoken. Nobody truly wanted to die, no matter what suicidal tendencies they showed when they charged or engaged, no matter what they said or did. In a place as dangerous as a warfield, those seeking death would have found it in spades, and they would be departed towards elysian fields long ago.

Squad One was a sight to behold after such sanguine exchanges with the Imperials. Ines was one such sight, now peppered, smeared, and sauteed with ample amounts of blood, dirt, and other unwanted grime in colorations perhaps concerning, otherwise best left unquestioned. A forearm raised to wipe it from her brow, at least partially clearing her battle-soiled face, while she looked down with her signature deep-set grimace of disgust. In one hand, she loosely carried her rifle by the foregrip and magazine, allowing the sling to freely dangle while it tangled with the ground. In her opposite, her helmet - now more of a set piece or a curio than any true protective wear - showed a stark indentation along its rear, chipped and bent from blow after blow, scratch after scratch.

“I wonder how many times Ines is going to smack your face?”

“Not enough.” Ines replied in her head. The dirt-head looked pretty roughed up. Even worse than she was, probably. And he might have been a no-good shithead, sure, and Ines found herself responding to his plea without a care for it. If anything, it’d be good to have a favor over him.

Her hand gently cusped around the bottom of his cheek, carefully pinching two fingers together on the firm grip of a wedged splinter, gently eking it out with a pustule of blood.

“Be still, or I might mess this up.” Ines commanded, taking to work on clearing Luke’s face from splinters and fragments. One by one, she pricked every last shard out, his face inevitably peppered like a bloodied array of speckled scars. Turning his head over before releasing his hold over, the serious face of the woman scantily showed pity, but showed a cold, invested sympathy for the young man’s condition.

“There.” the Darcsen announced, putting her hands on her hips while she looked at Luke sternly, “Say something smart, and i’ll slap these splinters right back into you.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to add, a bit uglier? On the scale of 1 to 10, it’s now a five on the ugly scale. In terms of your face, Luke. I don’t think anyone could fix that as long as you are an asshole.” Ines would have nodded along, but with how her natural face emanated a natural death glare, narrowing as she began to pass right on by Luke, Ines became of the opinion she needed not repeat what had already been said.

There was someone else here who needed, or…

“No, she definitely needs it.”

So it was decided, then; Ines was going to help the lighthead with her little fidgeting problem. Nobody just stops staring out at an apartment block missing four floors, brushes themselves off, and tries to say, “Everything is fine!” with a stutter so bad it makes the San Francisco Fault look steady.

”...shit. I don’t how to start this…” Gay flirting wasn’t really her forte. Nor was any measure of comfort. Ines was a scrapper, not a therapist. Hell, she liked a girl as much as the next gir-

“God fucking dammit, Ines. Just pull yourself together and ask the woman…”

“...are you...okay?"

Yeah, okay. Ines wasn’t the smoothest. By the way she stood there next to Freya, still looking like Bloody Mary after a double shift at the slaughterhouse, only giving a sideways glance to her, Hell, Ines was almost shy at this point. Though, that wasn’t all in all a bad thing for her; she expected for Freya to do the bulk of the talking.

“You look pretty shaken up.” Ines clarified, calm, clear, empathetic in tone.

@Jacky @LetMeDoStuff

For a second, her mind went blank once more. Jean had checked in on her to ensure she was still okay, but apparently her enlightenment wasn't enough to satisfy him. Soon enough, the band of brothers and sisters from across the street began to arrive on their location, bringing with them a heavier load of firepower and extremity to the party. Freya didn't make eye contact in that moment, having been broken to the core of her own mind at the thoughts of her treacherous past experiences on the frontlines. She heard Diana attempt to make conversation with Jean, god forbid she chose the wrong time to talk to him. Freya's humour wouldn't get past him in his state of delusional fear and anxiety, where he'd seen and committed the worst of atrocities known to man. The good thing about it was, only Kalisa seemed to truly know what Jean had done during the firefight, and it was best to leave it at that and that alone.

Suddenly, her mind was once again tossed back into reality when a voice called out to her. There was some hesitancy to its structure, stammering out the worrisome concerns of Freya's mental health and integrity. For a moment, the Oceanic soldier stared at her, the Darcsen girl, who approached her and seemed to talk in such a strange manner. Freya didn't have any issues, whatsoever, with the Darcsen race as her upbringing was rather accepting of all walks of life, be it Imperial natives to the Darcsens that were so ruthlessly oppressed here in Europa. Of course, the Imperial natives that eventually moved to Oceania were exiled or arrested, or even sent back to their motherland for enlistment, at the breakout of the war, but she never truly held a grudge against them in particular. However, the southern beaches of the horrifying frontier made her truly hate the Imperials, seeing that they took away the one thing she loved back then. Now she was a broken woman who'd simply look for the satisfaction of lust, love and other compassionate deeds in order to fill that gap that had been carved out with a rusty knife. Ines, was her name, the girl before her. Freya remembered her being a bit more brash than the others and having an innate ability to assert dominance amongst the group. One of the newest arrivals too. But here, she seemed to have a strange innocence to her. When she asked if Freya was alright, she did so in a timid manner that beckoned for Freya to do a lot of the talking. However, for the first time in a long while, Freya didn't feel like talking a lot, but she was keen on at least responding to the Darcsen.

"Oh, uhh...don't worry your pretty little head about it. Best not talk about it, if you ask me." Either way, she continued her fake persona of smiling, though it was a visible broken one, and held out a quick hand to shake, tilting her head and closing her eyes as she did so to further give a sense of camaraderie and sweetness. "Freya Baines, Oceanic Expeditionary. I'm...well don't bother asking me how I am, I'd..." Freya stopped her words, lowering her voice and leaning closer to whisper to Ines. It was clear that she didn't want to fully embarrass or trigger any poor emotions within him, so it was worth keeping it down. A small finger pointed towards the Francian Corporal, aimlessly sat against the wall for a moment, toying with his rifle and staring blankly into the distance. Freya hoped that one of his supposed interests, or friends, would at least speak to him, as she felt she couldn't yet discuss such trivial horrors on an emotional level alongside him until they were more acquainted. "I'd get someone to check if he's okay, y'know...Just before we leave. As much as a good NCO is, like Thomas, to support the troops, but we can't just treat him as anything less than a friend, if you...well if you actually think he's a decent lad. Talking does seem to help him, as some of the soldiers on the train would tell me. Plus...I hate to see anyone, even you, Franz or Luke for god's sake, break or snap like that."

You might think that pointing a gun and spraying bullets everywhere was easy. You would be wrong.

Truthfully, every gun in the world was easy to a point, in that it was a machine that did what it did until it was empty or broken. Beyond that, they were hopeless if you were hopeless. The idea of that tiny explosion in a barrel, shooting forth a piece of metal out the tube and into somebody's face... You have to control that, no matter HOW easy that sounds. A machine gun will hit nothing if you don't manage it, control it. Because you're beyond mere explosions, by that point. You've been handed an eruption machine and told to go kill a dozen men. If you don't figure out the rhythm by which the bullets flow and hold it REALLY steady, your machine gun'll go all over the place and be of no use, whatsoever, except maybe as a distraction until you're dead.

Today was the first time Isaac actually saw who he was killing, how they folded before them, how they spasmed and died or cried out as they bled out. Before then, it was just somebody falling over in the trench and then seeing the bodies lying around like he'd always just been there. This was the first they'd seen their faces, seen the look of 'Oh Shit!' as the bullets came flying in. Is this what they looked like on the charge? Could they see all this from that far away? Isaac had questioned that for a bit...and then he'd gotten hot under the collar when he remembered the cavalry charge, which he didn't even want to look at. Oh, they knew alright. They knew every last detail.

The last time he had this ear ache, there'd been a massive headache associated because of the mortar dropping so close. This had been a grenade that landed outside the window after it hit his helmet. The last thing Isaac remembered before telling everyone to duck was hearing some Imperial out there going "Oh, come on!" because of how he'd missed. He and Britta were on the floor, separated by a few feet. They were largely unhurt, just concussed a bit. Isaac managed "Britta?", and Britta confirmed "Ow.", which neatly described the situation. The wolf trainer then put his finger to his lips and slid towards the wall, indicating that she do same, in case somebody came to attack when they'd been disoriented. He'd actually heard what looked like an argument about that, possibly from the guy who'd thrown the grenade, but it was difficult to hear because of the car engine ticking away When he'd definitely heard a "Stop, don't!", Isaac came out of hiding and caught the man charging right out in the open and hit him with an eruption of gunfire.

A machine gun likes to spray wildly, but a firm hand will keep it centered. Isaac remembered when he slipped during the charge and while he was nearly hit, and coldly - soberly - thought 'There but the grace of god goes me.', as he fell. Britta tried to catch his friend, but he ran off into a building. It was about this time, as they were pulling back under cover, that they noticed Gwyn and Ines were gone from this room. Well...he had told them to secure the area around them, and there'd been definite sounds of fighting. It was pretty loud, in fact. Pretty sure a grenade went off, unless that was just the shock and memory from the last one.

"You think they're okay in there?"

Gunshots, screaming, sounds of people dying...

"I think they'll try to be. I don't know anything about either of 'em, of course. We'll just have to wait and see."

Alot of noise there, hard for Britta to hear him.

"What?"

"I said, they'll be fine!"

That would eventually die down, as would the outside. It was quiet out on the street now, except for the armored car. Didn't sound like anybody else was out there. It was almost tempting, that car, tempting to climb aboard and try to force it open. But no one would be stupid enough to do that, not without confirming things first. But then, the car was out of there, pulling out. Question is...was it a trick or was it a legitimate bug-out? That machine gun had range, and it was steady, being hooked into that car like that. The weight of the vehicle kept it from really bouncing around, so you could just fire accurately over a distance. Isaac waited...waited...and then Ines appeared! Isaac started to say "Welcome back.", but they all heard someone call out to them, saying it was safe.

"Alright, we're going back. Gwyn, if you can hear me, we're rejoining the squad!"

After having a look around, Isaac hopped right out the window, giving the others a gesture to follow as they crossed the street and into the waiting company of Squad One, where things were...yeah. Isaac walked in with the rest and stared for a moment, sort of at a loss. Jean looked like hell, Freya looked like someone killed her puppy, and they had a few wounded here, mainly Michael, Luke, and Marathon. Lucia seemed like she'd been worried over Michael, which was understandable. Isaac liked the short guy. You had to have serious strength if you could make it in the army while being undertall. He didn't wanna see him shot up, not at all. At least he was alive. Isaac stepped towards Jean now and reported.

"No casualties I can report. ...plenty of Imperial casualties, of course. That car, though..."

He shook his head.

"Untouchable. We'd need explosives, or mortars, or something."

Isaac was trying not to notice that Jean had obviously had another one of his moments where the war took out a nice big knife and slashed it across his sanity again. It wasn't the car or the wounded that did this. Jean obviously had something a bit more personal happen to him. Dammit, he'd only been gone a little while. The Lance-Corporal then looked him in the eyes and asked...

"What happened here? Tell me."

Meanwhile, Britta had overheard Ines and Freya talking. The thing that stood out about the Oceanic soldier when she walked in was that she'd had that look on her face, but she wasn't even hurt. That's what drew Ines over. That's what drew Britta to listen, as well. When Freya drew attenntion to Jean, though...Britta noticed Franz didn't have anyone while Jean was to be occupied with Isaac Yeah, even though he was a corporal and he'd been with the company since the trenches, it DID seem like Franz was overlooked, sometimes. That was wrong. Britta said to the other two "I'm a friend. I'll go." and headed on over to him to talk. Hoisting her gear on her back, she approached him with a calm tone.

"Franz, are you alright?"

She kind of hated that she didn't talk enough with some of the people around here. Work as a Gunner was sort of constant. If you're not laying down suppression fire, you're covering everyone's backs. And rest time? More chances than not, you're the one making sure they can rest, since you're the one keeping a lookout for the enemy. Becoming a Gunner is hard work, and being one in the field no less-so. She knew Franz was having a hard time of it. Britta herself felt like she was so busy making sure the people around her don't die that she didn't have the time to think about the things they were doing.

A groan of frustration escaped Luke as it grew more and more complicated to tend to his wounds, his bloody fingers slightly shaking and messing up only made the stinging pain a hundred times worse. After another failed attempt he heard Diana ask about Ines smacking him, who was quickly answered by Ines herself as she and the others regrouped in the building. Luke scoffed with a small smirk glanced between the two. “Where’s the compassion for an injured comrade?” he asked with a small chuckle, wincing in regret as it only made his wound flare up again. “Damn it,” he muttered in annoyance before preparing himself for another go at his injuries, though before he could Luke paused as Ines knelt down in front of him and arched a brow in confusion. He grew even more confused as she gently held the bottom of his cheek without any words. For some odd reason Luke felt a bit flustered in the sudden invasion of personal space and felt his good cheek heat up a bit.

“H-hey what the hell are- OW OW OW!!” he yelped from the sudden sting pinch of Ines having a firm grip on one of the splinters stuck in his face. She was careful as she removed the splinter, but before Luke could speak she stated, or more like ordered, Luke to hold still or she would mess things up. Not wanting to make it worse he slightly nodded in agreement. “A-alright,” he muttered before letting her return to his wounds. Luke eyed her curiously, not expecting her of all people to help him, especially since they didn’t have such a great first impressions. He winced slightly as she carefully removed the splinters and shards of glass from his wounds and couldn’t help but remember his friend/ foster sister, Sarah. He would have smiled to the memories of him and his other friend/foster brother, Jack, getting hurt after some stupid stunt they would get into as kids, but the small stinging of Ines removing the splinters held back his smile. The scolding she’d give them, her reluctant agreements in joining in on their new schemes, hell he even remembered when she would save them from their stupid slip ups.

He glanced back towards Ines as she held a focused glare on her work and felt a small smirk fall onto his face as she reminded him of Sarah a bit, though she looked a bit meaner it still felt the same. His smirk quickly disappeared as another splinter was removed from his face. Soon she finished and Luke let out a small sigh of relief. His wounds still hurt a bit, but they sure as hell felt better without all of that crap in his flesh. She warned him not to say anything smart and he couldn’t help but smirk and point to himself. “Me? Now Ines, how could you ever think so low of me?” he asked with his smirk spreading a bit wider in amusement not realizing this was the first time he actually said her name without thinking about her being a Darcsen. He would have found it odd, but his attention was quickly grabbed by Diana pointing out how his mug was already a mess. He chuckled and held his chin before looking off to the distance with a chuckle. “Oh come now, how can anyone hate this magnificent mug?” he questioned before pushing himself up onto his feet with a grunt.

Gently he touched his injured cheek and frowned slightly, both from the dull pain and bloody mess from the open wounds. He let out a small sigh and rested his rifle onto his shoulder before looking around the room to see the rest of the squad finally getting together. He felt a bit of relief to see that no one was dead, but he wished he could help the injured. Unfortunately he was not the best at tending to others wounds so he would leave that to someone else more qualified. With yet another small sigh he glanced over to the girl, Lucia, and felt his curiosity of the girl rise again. She seemed like a good girl, but thinking back to the Captain giving a direct order to keep her safe at all cost was what made Luke curious of her. Was she really that important? He decided earlier to let it go for a bit, but now he couldn’t help but wonder about it again. He eyed her with an arched brow for a few brief seconds before looking off into the distance with a furrowed brow, deep in thought of what could make her so important. It annoyed him slightly, the Captain putting her life above theirs, but it also interested him a bit. Hopefully he could find the answer to his questions when they had a bit more breathing time. For now Luke would relax in the corner, check his ammo, weapon and the stolen grenade from the dead Imp and prepare for the next set of orders from Jean. As he waited though he felt a slight urge to have a smoke, silently regretting not grabbing one when Franz had offered earlier.

@Yam I Am@Landaus Five-One

---

The blur over his vision, the feeling that the world was speeding behind him began to subside, as soon as Lucia tied the final knot on his arm. And he opened up himself to the sweet and earnest encouragements of two of the resident's angels as he would call. Even still, the pain burning around his shoulders and arm, his pumping lungs to keep up the blood intake made him ever want to doubt such an advice. He barely made it with a simple textbook example of an ambush, something that could never be expected like a weather forecast. And to think, this war had lasted over two years now, who knows how much longer it would last? Territories had been switching hand like real estate, and never had a decisive victory been achieved. It's just a matter of attrition, of which side having more assets on the table, more meat into the grinder. Who knows if the next battle he partakes in be his last?

The sound of rattling gunfires screamed from all sides, having no signs of ceasing anytime soon. The screams of pain and losses, the tears of horror, the curses of inhumanity as soldiers from both sides, all human beings, all sons and daughters of God, committed sins against their very own brothers and sisters. Lucia wanted to throw all of that out. She wanted to just close her eyes and drift away to a distant world where she could be happy with her family and friends, now dead, and her newly found friends on the battlefields of Europa. But she had seen too much to know it would never happen. She could entirely live in denial, but that would not change the fact. Facts do not care about anyone's feelings. But such denials would. Before her was the boy who cared about her, and she had begun to care about as well, now lying motionless and void as he struggled to find himself again. If she had shut herself away now and lied down in tears, she'd die. Michael'd die. And there was nothing great imagination and illusion could do to change that. She had to protect him!

Hearing the sounds of the Sturmtruppen in the other rooms as they closed in on her squadmates, Lucia stood up on her feet as she clutched the Longfield Rifle. She knew there were a couple of her friends that were handling the defenses, but they were Imperial equivalent of shocktroopers. They are well-trained and capable. There was high chances that they would slaughter her squadmate and make it to the room where she, Diana and Michael were residing in. If they were to, at least Lucia would be their obstacle, a sharp fang of a razertooth, not a piece of junk.

'I'm sorry Mr Imperial but if you come in here, I'd have your head blast open...'

She thought to herself as she cocked the bolt of her gun. She never wanted to kill anyone, but if they endanger anyone of her friends, she would not care who the hell that person is: a total commoner, a lovely father, a noble duke or even the Emperor himself. All are equal before her eyes: a threat that must be extinguished by all means. BY ALL MEANS...

But luckily for the members of Squad 1, and perhaps for those Imperials who wouldn't want to feel the wrath of a five feet two girl, her squadmates were all fine. Pretty beaten up, but at least they pulled through. The Imperials had retreated both inside and outside the street, and the silence quickly crept in like a ghost. And soon before Lucia and Michael was Jean. His arm had also been torn by glasses, while his cleanly shaven neat face had been marred by the reds of their innocence. But he didn't seem to mind at all, or was just pretending to. But nevertheless, it appeared to the sapper in the room that, in an ironic twist, his position with Jean had been reversed.

A sense of guilt suddenly ran through his mind, as the realization that he had been a drag on the squad for the entire battle. Not only did he allow himself open to fire, he also lost himself in the midst of pain and thoughts, where he should not. He let himself open, a liability that had to be taken care of, where he and others could easily die without a fight, while he should be standing with a gun pointed forward, side by side with his comrades. He knew that it was ok to let yourself open to emotions, but there was a time and place for that. And he definitely didn't do it at the right moment. What kind of a man is he to even behave like he is?

Michael slowly made himself a soldier again, as he used his other non-injured arm to support himself up on his feet. He still looked as if he could fall at any moment, but at least he had stood up. The gun was also back on his shoulder as he walked over to the rest of the squad.

"I'm sorry for throwing myself out of that fight." He muttered. "That car will definitely pay the cost for those bullets later on."

This was one of those awkward situations where Inès, in a display almost uncharacteristic of her, didn’t know what to do. She knew why everything was why it was, and yet, Inès knew there wasn’t anything she could say now. Freya said it herself, that it was, “Best not talk about it, if you ask me.”. That slight smile, that broken face, how she tried to smile like she meant it, pretending everything was okay.

Inès wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t have issues. But neither of them knew what to do about them.

She took Freya’s offer for a handshake with more of a soft, splayed grip, more like the two were holding hands than shaking them. The two crept closer to one another, Freya whispering hints of advice into Inès’ ear, received by a woman who, herself, was a micron fracture away from staring into an azure oblivion. Inès hated it. She knew exactly what to do whenever she was fighting. She had fought her whole life, after all. Life was parallel to hell and a war changed none of that. But fighting someone in front of you and fighting something in you were two different things. Sometimes, you didn’t know what you were fighting, and when you did, you weren’t sure what to move. It was very much a sense of fighting yourself, for who knew how to counter one’s maneuvers better than the very same person fighting? Now there were four people she’d have to learn how to fight their inner battles against.

Why did she have to be the one with a conscience? Why couldn’t she just ignore it and only give a damn about herself?

Slightly tilted, her head eked back in turn to Freya. Her hushed tone was almost indiscernible from her regular pitch, thanks to the naturally smooth diction that was a Francian accent.

“You’re pretty important too, you know.” Inès responded, almost sighing as she did so. Her gaze goes out, peering upon her comrades deeply, as if looking out from above upon them. “It is...it’s like people do not know how to be themselves anymore, like it’s not alright to be yourself. It’s like there is this notion that if we ever feel like telling anyone what we’re actually like, nobody will believe us, or that they won’t really understand. And...it’s just…”

The Darcsen huffed in frustration, as her brow furrowed in either anger or disappointment. Taking a deep breath in, the shocktrooper closed her eyes for a brief moment, and as her head turned to Freya, Inès’ azure eyes seemed saddened, but calm, like the final acceptance of passing.

“I don’t know. But it’s not like we can just all pretend like things are okay. We’re just...we don’t want to show what we’re really like. It’s like we are afraid to be human, but we don’t want to stop being human. We’re afraid to live, and we’re afraid to die. And we can’t spend our lives waiting to live.”

Slightly, her head shook. Not a full shake, but more of a half-shake, stopping as she got to one side, like she stopped what she was doing. Relegating herself to her position, Inès turns back to the crowd, still addressing Freya.

“...i’ll...check on him soon.” She promised Freya, “I think some time to...just...take a break from this will be good for all of us.”

She wasn’t going to break that promise, of course, but there was only one Inès, and there were a lot of people, and she knew she couldn’t take care of everyone, especially if she herself wasn’t taken care of. Making mental note to check on Jean soon, she opted toward that other Darcsen around. “Franz, I think…? Yeah, Franz.”

The Silverhead was already right by him, but what was one more to him? She nodded off to Freya just once, then made her way over to the other Darcsen. By the looks of it, he’d been through a lot; Like they all had, but distinctly difficult to say whether he had it better or worse. Finally over there, she aske-

Dammit.

“Franz, are you alright?”

Well, maybe she’d take just a backseat for a bit. Show she cared.

@LetMeDoStuff @FalloutJack @CFProxy

Freya listened to what Inès had to say, mostly about her realisation of what they'd descended to. As a long-term soldier, one who'd fought for three years on the bloody battlefields of another continental war, the Oceanic lass herself had never gone a day herself without questioning and realising the same deformations of her human reality. People on the frontlines were too afraid to do anything worthwhile, whether that meant living or dying in the wondrous trenches. After seeing the slight passing of distress onto acceptance, Freya shook her head and let out her own glum huff of air. It was a true mental struggle and battle itself to really maintain the truth behind her personality, morals and virtues. Jean was a clear example of someone struggling to hold onto that true nature, yet Freya was the polar opposite. She'd fought for so long and lost so much that it wasn't a case of pretending that everything was going to be okay, it was simply accepting that the world was full of disappointment. As a naive teenager, to a young adult, she'd enlisted on her own accord into the war and had lost so much in those three years. Inès was clearly someone still struggling to find her own pretty little place in this god-forsaken shit show that was the Great Europan war, to which there was nothing great about it by any means, and Freya resonated with that past trauma she'd felt herself. Being conscious, understanding of the true human nature in the battlefields was terrifying, and losing yourself to the endless barrages of bullets, artillery shells and mortars was enough to break down even the strongest of men.

With a quick shake of the head, Freya chuckled lightly to herself, though there was a hint of pain in that small expression of laughter. It was difficult to understand, and for Freya it was even harder to express her explanation in words that anyone else could fully take an understanding toward. The world was a fucking dreadful place, but for some reason Freya always thought to never pretend that everything was okay, but to simply take what little privileges she had and to express them when she wasn't on the frontlines.

"It's a dreadful thing, war. To battle the inner demons and the wretched that stand before you is something completely different, and can be more damaging than the war alone. But...I've just learnt to get on with it. Someday, and at some point, this will all be over. I don't know whether I'll be there to see it through, but there'll be a future when a man, woman or child can at least get by without having to worry about conscription, conflict or all that other shit. A...A friend of mine, Naomi, well...she always smiled, no matter what the situation was." For a short moment, Freya staggered in her speech, having not mentioned that name for months on end out of fear of breaking down. But here, Naomi could at least be able to produce a lesson, or simply a way of dealing with the stress of the battle. "The battle will break us. The war will shatter us. But if there's one thing that you need to remain human, it's to enjoy the company of those around you, the ones you find kindness and warmth being with. The battlefield does terrible things to people of all walks of life, but to look at the ones you love, like and work alongside is important for keeping your humanity. When the time comes, you'll be able to express your true selves towards those you grow close towards, just as I did."



There was nothing in this world that could've ever brought Jean's mind to rest in that moment. For every second that passed, a strong ache pumped blood through the veins of his skull and dove them straight back down into hell only seconds later. With every breath was the trembling sensation of instability, unbreakable distrust in his own morality and the inability to put faith in the world around him. The war had truly taken its load and burdened the entire package onto Squad 1's backs, with Jean left to carry the entire excess weight around with him. People around him had been shot, injured in the fighting or broken by the unending siege that had just taken place. There was tension in the warm eyes of those who'd once been innocent. For a minute, even Lucia held a grim look that vouched for vengeful intent. Imperial bodies were still scattered throughout the streets and within the empty rooms that the Squad had previously been held up in, holding nothing more than a silent presence to further expunge the free and pure air of the building. Jean's eyes met Lucia's for a moment, to which they both shared an innate sense of grief and punishment. Had the world flipped itself once more for everyone? Perhaps, but Jean was still adamant to make what little he had left in the world count. There was no longer a family waiting for him back home, nor was there a chance for resting and relaxing when the war finally would come to its conclusion. A life of misery seemingly laid its pavement for him, and there were only a few who could've truly saved him from such a devastating fate. Even though he had his eyes on two close allies in particular, Jean never fully felt justified to talk to them or share his compassion, as he could imagine their stress to see him leeching off of their beauty, success, grace and innocence in order to find comfort in the terrible existence he now suffered from. To Jean, it was unlikely that they would ever look at him with the same love he may have felt for them.

One of the worst skirmishes that accompanied the cognitive war he'd been suffering from was the justification for killing. Right now, all he had to really continue pulling the trigger time and time again was the will to survive, that natural human instinct that would kick in for his own personal safety. However, with every man or woman he'd dropped onto the floor through the gun's explosive shot, their ghosts were left to lay upon him whenever he slept, dreamt or even thought. Were these Imperials really the enemy? Obviously he could not say such suicidal thoughts out loud, as many would look at him with either a sense of hypocrisy or a punishing glance for sympathising with the invading force. However, to Jean, these were just the same people in the same situations as the Federation troops were. Some were likely conscripted into the army, being promised great pay and a prosperous life afterwards to commemorate their victories, yet here they were going through the thickest of wastelands just to achieve such destinies. Whilst it was a common consensus to see the Imperials as savage killers, even Jean couldn't understand why they weren't taking into account the younger generations that wanted to go home to their families, or were scared of truly being killed on these battlefields, which many of them were. How many families had Jean torn apart to save his own, now orphaned life. It was only a miracle that the Francian was to turn 18 years of age in a few days, because if he were to return home there'd be no future waiting for him.

With his heavy boots cluttering against the weak floorboards, Jean approached the barely visible windows, watching the rain continue its descent upon the street. Blood had now begun to soak into the sewage system, draining away with the other litres of water to go with it. Those who'd been killed in the firefight were left, mostly face down, in the cobbled floors of the road or pavement. Casings and bullet shells were seen scattered along every corner, from either the automatic fire of the Federation gunners or the Imperial armoured vehicle, whilst a lot of webbing, unexploded ragnite grenades, letters to the home, olden newspapers left behind from past civilisations, debris from the collapsed buildings and sweep of the winds left the world outside their hiding space a desolate, and apocalyptic, ghost town. In the daylight, now clouded overhead with endless miles of mist, there was nothing but a darkness amongst the roads of Amone. Jean was scared to continue, and he wiped another tear from his eye, hoping no one saw him shed another tear anymore than what Kalisa had unfortunately seen.

He held his bandaged hand close to his chest, still feeling a searing pain from ever second it throbbed and robbed him of his own blood. Every moment was like torture, but after a while the cut would surely heal itself. Without the appropriate field-dressing stations further behind the Federation lines, there was nothing more they could really do than just dress up the wound and hope for the best. It was more of a gamble for someone like Michael, who still had the potential of dying if he'd lost too much blood before it was attended towards. Same went for Thomas, it seemed. Either way, Jean sighed and looked towards his soldiers, those who seemed to painstakingly follow him for advice and guidance on the frontlines. And with a rather trembled hand, he removed his helmet, letting his long Darcsen hair finally spread out and hand loose across his neck. Finally, he began to open his mouth again, knowing that Isaac's group had finally returned. At first he directed his words towards Isaac himself, who was awfully curious about what had happened.

"They..." He sighed heavily, deciding to euphemise the entire bloody details to the bludgeoning they'd taken. "They stormed the building. There's...nothing more to say. Just...prepare to head out, Lance Corporal. You helped a lot in that skirmish. T-thanks..."

Without having much more to say on the matter, afraid that he may find himself breaking down into tears once more whilst being pressured to recuperate the memories he wished to forget forever, Jean turned back to the rest of the Squad, still talking amongst themselves, resting, taking a breather or reflecting on the recent scourge they'd been thrown into. He was plagued with broken irises as he stared many of them straight into their own eyes, bleeding his pain into them. It was sorrowful to think that this generation of young adults were being forced into committing atrocities beyond the human morality relevance. There wasn't much to really point out other than they were fucked, royally, and that their innocent lives of growing up would be forever tainted. Whether they'd grown up under the protection of a rich family or tussled with the hardest street thugs beforehand, the war was everything worse than those hardships. And so, Jean looked towards them for further psychic assistance, before finally clearing his throat to get their attention.

"Uhh...r-right. Michael and Thomas, get in the middle of the group. Shocktroopers will take point and lead the way, whilst the rest of us...just keep up and watch every corner there is. We're...gonna move around the outskirts of the street ways. It...it might delay our arrival time to our objective by a few days, but...I...I can't risk us anymore than we are. The tunnels will have to wait, whether the fucking...fucking commanders care or not." He tensed his hands, clenching them into angered fists, only to unclench them immediately once his bandaged hand began to hurt more than before. Jean gritted his teeth and sighed heavily, attempting to calm himself down. Clearly, he was no longer the same person. Conflicting emotions of great trauma and sadness were starting to show the side effects of frustration and stress, but what could anyone else do.

For a moment, Jean looked down to his webbing and hips, seeing the strange mask still looking up at him with more dust and soot laid across its lenses. He was truly in a muse over what it could've possibly been for, or why they'd been given it, but Jean knew by all means that there was a plan or purpose to its servicing. Either way, he felt as if the mask reflected his face perfectly: a still image without any proper emotion. The only times he seemed to feel any sense of realistic emotion was when he looked into the adoring eyes of Kalisa or Reyna, who still were the only two to give him the biggest light. Every time he thought of them, it did help ease his pain, but he still felt like they were never going to like someone as broken and irresponsible as Jean was as a Corporal. What else would they expect from someone as cowardly as everyone seemed to brandish him as?

And so, with his order in set, Jean put his helmet back on and slung his rifle around his shoulders, beginning to walk forward. Amone was a labyrinth of streets and underpasses, where nowhere really seemed like the right way to go. All the signs had been torn down during the Imperial occupation of Amone to ensure that potential spies, or future liberators, from the Federation would have a harder time navigating the entire maze as much as they had originally. Jean knew the name of their destination, but not the directions, and it was a case of simply trying to find it to the best of their ability. There were still pockets of Federation soldiers and strongholds located throughout the entire city, so there was a chance that Squad 1 could encounter one to set them on their way, but that was hopefully by chance. Knowing Jean's luck, they'd be dead before they saw another friendly face ever again. And with that in mind, they began their walk into the rainy day.


Jean waddled through the cold night, rain still beating down upon the Squad as they silently wandered through the blackened streets of Amone's districts. Where they were now was beyond any of them, but one this was for sure, they were out in the open and running out of energy. The rain made their uniforms heavier and harder to move in any flexible way. All of the downpour was getting to them, and the watches and several broken clocks listed in crumbling homes said that it was beyond midnight, beyond a time they should've been roaming the streets. Whilst activity was at its lowest then, there were still rumours of Imperial Twilight Soldiers, specialised in combat during the night. Whether or not they were a scare ploy from the Imperials to stop attacks during the dead of the moonlight or whether they were true, Jean didn't want to have anything to do with those chances and instead looked for an alternative option.

Before the fatigued squad was a crumbled building. However, it had a roof still, and inside there were some small rooms on a raised upper floor. It'd be safer from the flooding rainfall still beating down upon the earth, by far, and so Jean simply walked ahead, taking the first strides up the sloped rubble to reach the upper floors. Once inside, there was a shielding from above, protecting the group from the rain. The night ran cold and the distant, yet infrequent, echoes of a rifle shot or two could be heard in the distance. Marksmen were sometimes in their prime during the night, so taking cover was a priority for Jean and the others.

Inside was a complex of several rooms. Almost all of them lacked furniture and bedding, most had only piles of bricks or torn curtains to lie down on. Even though there were still signs of life in the forms of a stray cat or two, it felt as if they'd wandered into yet another graveyard for the fallen civilians and soldiers of Amone. Dust and soot plagued every corner whilst the shadows of the moonlight barely reached every corner. Some of the doors were still luckily on their hinges, albeit barely, and were still awaiting to be used. Jean wandered first, putting his life in potential jeopardy, with his rifle raised. One by one, he wandered into the rooms, preparing for the potential sign of Imperial life to gun down on the spot. Luckily, for the poor Francian, there was no sign of any human life, or death, amongst the several rooms they had to choose form. Once he'd analysed them all, even checking the structure integrity with a few boot stamps on the floor, he re-emerged outside with his face as glum as ever.

"Everyone, inside." In his loud whisper, Jean started to course everyone towards the inside of the building. It wasn't exactly home, but it'd have to do. Either way, he knew everyone wanted to be alone and tired, sleeping amongst their friends against the cold floors to rest their fatigued bodies. They'd barely been lucky on the 9th, and now the 10th had even more possibilities of death, now that they'd wandered deeper into the world of Amone. For a moment, he met his eyes with Reyna's, whose shone out brightly even in the midnight sky, before returning his gaze to the floor. "There's only two or three bed frames. I-Injured get priority. Everyone else...s-sorry you're gonna have to go on the floor. I'm going to t-take night watch. No questions to be asked about it. Just...get your rest everyone, we have a...a dangerous day tomorrow, most likely. If anyone needs me, I'll...be in this chair...with my rifle...and my...thoughts."

Jean's voice slowly brittled away into a small mumble, where he pulled up the somewhat uncomfortable chair and placed it somewhere outside the rooms. The position wasn't exposed to snipers, though it did hold some good reconnaissance possibilities if he continued to watch out from it. He wasn't sure if anyone was going to come to talk to him, seeing how tired everyone seemed to be, but he couldn't sleep. Not him. Never him. He couldn't sleep. Thoughts of the couple, his family and now his friends were lurking on his mind. Since he'd left Hill 58, he'd suppressed the emotions that his family were now gone, and made now hint to react to it, but now..? It was breaking him. Once everyone was inside, Jean sat on the floor, not even bothering to go in the chair, and stared blankly out into the night street, waiting for some sort of light to finally reach him.

Luke let out a tired sigh as everyone gathered their thoughts and prepared to get out of this damn building, but as Franz entered the room with the bag full of goodies Luke couldn’t help but grin in joy. He snatched a few smokes for later and pocketed one of the beers. The urge to down it right there was almost maddening for Luke, but with a reluctant sigh he decided to save it for later. “Good find, gotta thank the fine people of this fine city for leaving us these goodies,” he chuckled before rising to his feet and checking his rifle one last time with a satisfied spark in his eyes. Sure his first engagement in this war was a bit of a shit show, his face getting torn up, his first kills, almost getting killed and the unnerving feeling from that one Imperials last words, but for some reason Luke had to hold back a feeling that he thought was odd to have in this situation. Thrill. He actually felt thrilled after that whole encounter and honestly couldn’t wait for the next one. Luke understood it that it was insane to think like that and decided to keep it to himself. Hopefully it was just the leftover adrenaline making him think like that.

He shook his head clear of those thoughts, taking a quick breath to get his head in the game before listening to Jean give his orders. Luke found himself frowning slightly from his orders, not only are they taking the long way, but they’re prolonging their objective and letting those tunnels stay in working order for the Imperials to use against the rest of their allies. They had a job to do and now here they were dragging it on longer than it had to be! He tightened his grip around his rifle and hardened his look towards the Corporal, not agreeing with his plan in the slightest. He knew of course that he had no say in it, even if he didn’t agree with it, and held back his tongue just as he went to speak up. Luke was aware his words wouldn’t do much since he already rocked the boat with the squad earlier so he had to keep his frustration to himself. He couldn’t help but remember his friend, Jack, telling him that one day his mouth would get him in trouble. He scoffed with a bit of amusement towards the memory before letting out a small sigh of defeat and put his helmet back on before setting out with his team once again, once again remembering how much he hated the rain as it poured down upon them.

As the day went on and they pushed through the streets of Amone, the cold unforgiving rain cruelly battering them without mercy. Luke would admit that his gear was heavy enough to be carrying around this damn city, but now thanks to mother nature being the bitch she is it weighed two times heavier than before, making the march through the cities streets even more annoying. He could handle the extra weight though, it’s what he’s been trained for after all. What really was getting on his nerves was being out in the open, just waiting to get a bullet in the ass. He felt better once nighttime rolled around, hoping the darkness would give them a slight advantage in creeping through the streets. The distant crack of a few rifles made him a bit tense though, forcing him to remember that whole Green Fox bastard who was gunning for bastards like him. The only thing he found positive was that he’d be going after his higher ups first, giving him a chance to duck into cover. He chuckled bitterly at his dark humor, hoping it didn’t come to that. He may not be on the best terms with most of his team, especially the Darcsens, but he hoped they’d all be able to make it out alive at least, him included as well of course.

Soon after crossing another corner they all came across a battered and crumbling complex. Honestly he hated the look of it, but anything was better than staying outside in the damn raid. Hell, he’d stay in a dog house if he had to, just get him out of the rain. Jean was the first one in, which seemed a bit odd to him, but Luke set up on the corner of the street keeping an eye out before his Corporal returned, giving the all clear. Luke was the last one in and let out a heavy sigh of relief as he pulled his helmet from his head. “Fuck me mother nature sure is pissed,” he groaned with a small smirk before unloading a bit of his gear in the corner of the room, keeping his rifle and some ammo on hand just in case. After getting a bit of that weight off his back he looked to Jean as he gave instructions and declared he’d take the night watch. He shrugged as he said they’d have to take the floor, he’s honestly rested on worse. Besides, the others needed it more than him. Luke stretched his arms until a few satisfying pops filled the air and made his way to the corner with gear, taking a seat on a pile of rubble while leaning his rifle against the wall before pulling out the beer he had snatched earlier when Franz looted the building. A grin slipped onto his face before opening bottle and taking a sip.

“Dear god that is bliss,” he chuckled as the taste of blood and dirt was washed away by the alcohol. He watched as everyone began to fall in for the night and wore a tired expression on his face. It was true that getting some sleep would be good for him, but he couldn’t bring himself to lay down and close his eyes. What if something happened? He needed to be ready just in case. Taking another sip from his beer, savoring every last drop of his drink and making sure it last, Luke remembered the smokes and smiled a bit before beginning to fish for one. He pulled one out and began to look for a light, but soon felt his heart sink as he couldn't find one. Not even a damn match! “Shit,” he muttered in disappointment before ruffling his messy brown hair and looking around the room to his fellow teammates. Would they lend him a light? He shrugged, it couldn’t hurt to ask. “Hey, anyone got a light?" he asked with a bit of hope in his voice. He really needed that smoke, it'd help him forget his exhaustion and stinging pain that still slightly pulsed through his face.

Diana’s Brutal Reality – Push On – Amone City’s Walls (Sept. 9th to 10th)

---

Diana was a bit happier for giving Luke a piece of her mind, since he’s a piece of shit. However, his question kinda irked her a bit. She calmed a bit down before giving her response to what he specifically asked. ”Pretty easily, Luke. You are a piece of shit and there’s some people I will enjoy to forget but it looks like I’m stuck with you because of this war. It’s kinda of a pain in the ass really. My mother outright dislikes pricks like you.” Diana responded with misrepresenting of the situation. She calmed herself down a bit more since she’s pretty much vocally saying more or less the same thing her mother said to someone she downright hates. However, it pains her that the person she said that too was her own grandmother, which is her mother’s mom.

She looked directly at Michael, which spoke up finally. It made her a bit happier to hear that he’ll make that car pay for the bullets that hit him. ”I will definitely be happy when that time comes, when you destroy it, Michael. Because that was pretty terrifying.” Diana said, with a gentle smile returned to her face. It made her definitely feel happiness that Michael is back to normal even though he’s still injured and probably will need better care. However, it was definitely cute that Lucia and Michael in her mind are a couple. It is the cutest thing ever, which she wished she got into knitting for some odd reason.

Diana heard a voice of Franz Blau, which made her a bit happier when he mentioned alcohol. ”Oh that’s wonderful Franz in terms of the beer you’ve found.” Diana said, with a smile on her face. She walked towards the pack he sat down near the group and got herself a beer to drink. It didn’t help she never drank it before but opened it while hurting her hand a bit. ”Ouch, why are beer bottles so hard to open?” Diana asked, with a redundant question thrown out. She was a bit confused why all the other people in the squad was able to open the beer bottle so much easier than her. However, she straight up drank the beer similarly to how what she thought her mother would drink it. In terms, she copied her mother’s motions perfectly since she straight up guzzles it as if it is water.

However, she doesn’t ever try to guzzle water like that since its more refreshing than the beer she just drank. She looked at everyone with a slight strange look to them with an inquisitive look. ”What…?” Diana asked with a curious question towards everyone. She did have a bit of an aftertaste of the beer she drank, which caused her to hiccup once. Because she isn’t used to drinking alcohol alike her mother or father, however, their blood flows through her veins and can’t really hide the fact they are alcoholics but her mother more so is. In that case, she was blushing a bit because of the fact hiccups are a bit annoying.

She heard Britta’s question towards Franz about if he’s alright. However, his response and questions really emanating with her since she’s definitely not used to this life. ”I wish this wasn’t going on so I could be my old self, but I have a feeling I am not going to regain that back. After this war is over… This is definitely something I will probably never be accustomed to. But I am here now I guess.” Diana said, with a bit of worry in her voice. It was mostly because of losing her naivety and innocence because of this war is definitely wasn’t apart of her reasons for being so patriotic. The Conscription thing didn’t help in that obviously, she was so much more naive than she is now. She still has obviously faults of being a bit forcible.

When she heard Jean speak up and told Isaac of the good job he did, in the skirmish in question. It made her a bit worried about what they are going to do specifically. However, the orders were given to move the wounded and delay reaching the tunnels. It was a smart decision, she thought since Michael & Thomas were both injured. ”Jean, you got it. And I have to agree with your sentiment about our commanding officers alike Captain Grumpus.” Diana said, with a bit of an annoyed sighed. She couldn’t help but feel like the Commanders were clueless and tried to lead them into a death trap to make sure they died or something. She followed Jean since he was the commanding officer that was literally the only thing everyone in Squad 1 should trust better than the Federation’s High Command. The rain, however, made her a bit annoyed and felt a bit down in what’s going on in general and things that happened during her childhood.

It felt like they were walking in silence forever, however, something made her a bit annoyed. It broke when she heard Jean tell them to get inside of a building. She was highly exhausted from the silence of walking in what it felt like days, even though it was probably a few hours or longer. She heard the order of what Jean had said about sleeping on the floor, if you aren’t injured. This was definitely the first time she would have to sleep on the floor but she didn’t want to complain to someone who probably went through hell. ”Oh okay Jean…” Diana said, with a specific yawn. She got on the floor and tried to lay down, which made her a bit focused on trying to sleep. However, the voice from Luke specifically made her a bit distracted from what she needed to focus on.

She couldn’t help but wonder why he needed a light, but it hit her that he wanted to smoke a cigarette. ”I don’t have a light for a cigarette you should ask Franz or Ines for that, Luke.” Diana said, with a bit more of a calmer tone to him. However, it made her blink for a bit since it was definitely not the first thing she would say to a jerk but he did ask. She did answer his face question, which was pretty mean but felt like she wanted to answer a question that wasn’t so mean. It made her sigh but she didn’t feel like she needs to apologize to what she had said to Luke specifically. In terms, she couldn’t help like her mother influenced more than usual. ”Am I a good daughter mother?” Diana thought to herself with a slight questioned look on her face. She moves her hand to get her pendant necklace on the outside so she can look at it. She opened the pendant necklace, which specifically shows her mother Rebecca on the left and her father Gavin on the Right of it. It made her cry a bit that she wasn’t with them and kinda made her wish she still in her home and not here in this hellhole. ”I don’t think I will be the same like you remember me, mother and father...” Diana thought to herself, with tears going down. She closed her pendant necklace before anyone else got to see it.

---

It felt just like Hill 58 again, but this time the stench and the taste, it was all in one place, nowhere to go, just like how they were now. The atmosphere could drive any weak minds to insanity. As the squad was gathering up after the car had retreated, Michael took a quick look in the rooms that were once a battlefield, and now a graveyard. There were no time for grace and respect for these brave but tragic individuals. It was a horrible fate for such brave souls. Michael didn't know whatever sins they had committed, and hoped that if they did, they would face appropriate salvation, but he knew that to be standing in front of the guns, and to go down in a fight, was something not many people could do. Not that he could do properly. Damn it, he could've sworn he wanted to take someone down right now, but his shoulder had been shattered. This wasn't a game that he could undo at anytime. His mistake costed him his arm, and now he had to bear the consequences.

But at least he could hope for the tunnel. That's right, they were supposed to be heading there as one of the objectives. He couldn't run away from that. Nor could he shelter in the tunnel. It's a fight or die, or both. He could definitely be able to cause some serious damage though. Now that he remembered that map, it may look a little sophisticated to the untrained eye, but a man of expertise could see through the fact that the tunnel's weakest links would be at three different locations. Not that it would collapse the entire tunnel but access to the upper floor would be cut off, and rescue would take a lot of time. If he managed to pull that one through, then god help the ones who got stranded inside.

Still, that time would have to wait, as Jean began to gather the squad together with Michael agreeably moving gradually into the center as he was injured. Michael had no objections at all to such a plan. The higher ups had been assholes to the entire squad so far, yet displayed ambiguity, if not no guidance at all, of when they should reach the tunnel. And he had been injured as well. In a narrow, dark, humid and claustrophobic tunnel, fighting underhanded and handicapped would be the worst thing you could be facing. A nice break he wouldn't complain.

Time began to march as the squad began to shift away from the relics of the old building, old battlefield, into the cold wet street of Amone as the echo of the guns began to distance themselves. But never could he once walk in a true sense of safety. Even though he was surrounded by comrades, he knew that a shell could kill him and his squad right there. A sniper fire, maybe from Green Fox himself, could take his head off. Or even an ambush just like before could also send him walking to the pit. If that wasn't enough, the rain was trying to replicate each and every bullets that had been fired that day onto the poor exhausted squad. Dragging his wet boot as it flopped with every steps on the street, the sapper was crying inside in joy the moment the squad found a shelter for the entire squad. A crumbled, depressingly ugly ruin that was once called a house. But nevertheless, that was a place to shelter from sniper fire, one that they desperately needed.

Michael was given the bed as he was the injured one. Not that he would complain about being given the privilege, but it passively did give him the more impression that he had been a deadbeat of the entire squad. At least Thomas probably had been doing a lot of damage before getting pummeled like that. But still, after he lay his tools down on the bed frame, Michael went to the room next door as he took off the outer layers of his upper clothing and forced the water out of his own convenience. His hat as well, but he could always let it dry. But this shirt he'd have to put this back on again. He wouldn't last through the night without it. To sleep on wet clothing, that cozy warm feeling of new uniform surely didn't last long.

"They did a good job..."

He uttered silently as he looked down at his arm and shoulder. It would probably need some proper dressing, but he owed this to those two.

Okay, it was kind of obvious that Jean had suffered another Jean Moment, but he didn't wanna talk about it. For those of you at home, Isaac was starting to call every sort of circumstance that seemingly breaks or close-to-breaks his Darcsen friend a Jean Moment. It's a description fitting for any event that 'Jean wasn't ready to handle, but he had to do it anyway'. This was also something you could call a Lucia Moment, because the Asseni girl wasn't exactly in a different spot than Jean, at times, or even possibly 'Franz will flip his shit', but we won't be saying that one out-loud. Still, Jean didn't really want to talk about it. They'd attacked, something not-great happened, and now they were gone, leaving some hurt and shell-shocked. Michael was hurt. Was it about Michael? Isaac nodded at his thanks, not wanting to leave it at that, but Jean was practically giving him orders to leave it.

With that in mind, he walked off to 'prepare for departure', which is to say 'look around and make sure nobody is about to ambush them' while Britta was engaged in brief conversation with Franz. Yes, we're back to Franz, who also denied that anything was wrong, when it was plenty clear that something was off. It wasn't for lack of experience, as he claimed it, though. As for Britta...

"I'm alright, for the most part. It's just a bit exhausting, watching over everyone, making sure that nobody about to take us unawares. I don't smoke, sorry."

"I'll take one, just in case."

Isaac had seen the offered ciggy and just sort of yoinked it, in passing. Hey, it was freely given, and while he had never really gotten into the habit, his father always said that the occasional break from the healthy wasn't too bad. Britta, meanwhile, felt bad that Franz wasn't really comfortable talking about what was bothering him. Freya was pretty sure there was stuff up with the likes of Jean, Franz, Lucia...and all of this was basically first impressions, and she was right, of course. If a relative newcomer could pick it out, then it was pretty obvious, and yet Franz was sealed up tight. Damn...

After a short while, Jean gathered himself to speak to everybody. Jean was trying to find strength in this moment.

"Well, they DID say it wasn't gonna be easy to get there."

Specifically, the group they met here said that. Didn't they? Weren't they the ones who expressed how difficult it was...and then a new armored weapon killed the lot of them, if not a good chunk of them? As they all got into 'formation' to go - Isaac and Britta naturally positioned to protect the squad with rapid-fire 'Piss off!' - Isaac found himself thinking about that machine. It was kind of freaky, coming up with a device like that. It was secure from next to all the gunfire and perhaps even the grenades. Although, thinking about it...it couldn't do much if you were right next to it. Oh yeah, drive around, but how much room was there to maneuver in these streets, really? Realistically, you could only be there to do your thing or bugger off, unless you had someone there to keep people from crawling all over your armored self. That was where a crazy idea about jumping onto one of these things and using this prybar device he had was coming from in Isaac's head. He kind of had to think about it, because this wouldn't be the last of those they ever saw. They needed to have a plan when they saw one again, and that meant thinking in terms of 'even if we don't have explosives'.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Time passed.

They'd been in and out of buildings, hit by rain or sheltered by the still-intact parts of this massive city. They had been, as per the intent to preserve the squad, meticulous and cautious in their progress towards the target tunnels. Currently, they were out in the rain, which was not altogether pleasant. The only advantage it had was that the noise of it covered (sort of) the noise of their passing. Providing there wasn't some kind of huge splash involved, they were masked, it seemed. Isaac as feeling some of the strain of watching every shadow, and having to simultaneously be sure of whether or not it was an attacker...and having to check himself from making an unwarranted noise that could draw attention. We'll skip the play-by-play of that matter and just simply state 'Mostly no, but a couple times yes'.

Ahead lay a building that could be potential shelter from the weather, and in fact would suffice, as there was nobody inside. It was largely empty, though, and those that were hurt were taking the beds. Fair enough. Jean also announced that he would be taking first watch. That was not out of necessity. That was out of things just bugging the hell out of him, Isaac was sure. As tired as Isaac's own eyes were, he felt that this was kind of a bad idea. It left him uncertain on the matter. Someone had to keep watch when both Gunners were getting eye-strain. And make no mistake, Britta may not have wanted to show it, but she was fatigued in her fatigues, as well. As people were settling in now, he heard Luke call for a match for his cigarette. That actually made Isaac snort with amusement. He forgot to even ask for one, himself. Ah well. He didn't wanna try it on, just now, anyway. He was looking to make sure that everybody else was okay or at least intact, then looked back at Jean before he spoke to Britta.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"'I could sleep anywhere, even the floor'?"

"That too, but I'm not going down just yet."

"Isaac, you need it."

"So do you, but I won't rest easy without saying my peace, at least. Come one, you'd do this too."

"I'd pick a better time."

"If there was one. Just let me. Get some rest."

She did so, at a spot where she thought she could draw her weapon and shot someone coming in, if necessary. Some out-of-the-way spot like that... Isaac nonchalantly slumped down not far from the chair that Jean had not-quite-managed to get into. He just sort of got down on his back, eyes shut, and then after a moment of silence...

"I'm doing as you asked, but I'm talking in my sleep now. I don't actually hear you IN my sleep, so you can't order me silent."

This was all bullshit, of course, but Isaac continued.

"So, are you gonna talk about it, or do I have to talk about how I'm starting to see us in the charge at the end of my machine gun?"

There were a few muffles of individuals behind preparing for their discomforting relaxation on the floor of a once standing building, but Jean paid little to no attention towards them. Luke's voice was likely the most prominent, and he wouldn't have been surprised if someone along the likes of Franz or whoever forced him to quieten down. Yes, it was the night, but the prowls of the marksmen, spectral hunters and warlocks of the Imperial war machine were still a viable threat for the unlikely band of survivors. All word had been cut off from the entry-point to the city. Amone was cut off, most likely, for another lengthened period of time. Perhaps the Federation had given up on trying to send more reinforcements into the fray and instead turned their attention to defending the outer rims, or putting their full focus elsewhere on the Europan Frontier. For a moment of small relief, the 15th Atlantic Rifles garnered a lot of social traction and fame for their breakthrough of the Garnian Salient. Whilst it didn't feel like much of a breakthrough at all, especially to people like Jean, it was still foolish to say that they didn't win the battle in some way, shape or form. Jean was a pessimist, indefinitely, but even with his inhumane and immoral methods of contributing to the war effort, Captain Middleton did orchestrate the winning strategy. It wasn't much of a strategy, mind him, but it was the best with what they had to offer. No one truly knew how to fight this war. People were either desperately holding on to the theories and doctrines of the pre-20th century conflicts. Others, however, were trying to find and scout out new ways to keep up with the modern tools of slaughter. Middleton, in some way, was a blend of the two. He'd disregarded the importance of surviving manpower, but at the same time using the tools like artillery had gone a long way in his favour during previous battles. On the train to Amone, Jean even snooped through the records of his military victories, and some were even quite admirable for someone as hateful as he was.

Jean felt the stones beneath where he sat dig into his skin and scrape by unnoticed, whereas the chair beside him looked barely strong enough to hold his own weight. With his free hands, he started to gentle rub some of the grime from his rifle that had accumulated over the course of the battle, though most of it was simply the excess of rainwater that gently showered its interiors. Unlike Hill 58, where his gear was dampened in a thick layer of mud, grime and soil, here it was just the dried blood and rainwater that had managed to dress and decorate the Longfield. Every now and then, his eyes would dart back out into the wet streets of Amone, where the shallow showers from above lightly peppered the stone pavements. What rotten luck, this whole weather was. A dank depression encompassed the entire world around Squad 1, and Jean felt it the most. He clutched onto his webbing as he unclipped one of the phantom pockets located just before his heart. From within, Jean pulled out the smallest little piece of paper, smaller than the poetry Freya had managed to intercept those many weeks ago. On its occupied side, there was an image laid before him.

A spirited, yet easily recognisable damsel stared at him with a beaming smile. The first image of her deployment. Jean gently rubbed his thumb across the body and face of the photographic memory, sighing to himself. In her stance, she hadn't been associated with the metallic headgear that the Federation troops were known for. She'd taken a knee, with one crystal-gloved hand resting easily upon it. On her head was the soft cap that held the Federation insignia. Specifically, it showed her regimental insignia, where beneath its avian appearance read the infamous motto of a once ancient and foreign language: "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori." / It is sweet and proper to die for one's country. Simply reading those words brought a tear to Jean eye, which dribbled down his cheek effortlessly and onto the photo he held. Olivia's face upon its white background made him feel insignificant, lost in the trance of memory and nostalgia. It was back then, during a time and day where Jean looked at that first photo with pride and a sense of happiness. She'd brought him up as his guardian, becoming more personally close than their mother or father could've ever related to. The day he first laid eyes upon her formal dressing, having finally heard that she'd made it through basic training, Jean was flooded with appreciation for all that she could do. How foolish he was, and now he'd been kicking himself for thinking such optimistic ways in the past. Olivia was gone. Olivia was dead, likely forgotten in a clouded drainage hole in some random Europan or Asseni field. Officially, she was murdered and ripped from Jean's poor clutches a few months after the First Crossing of the Maren River, specifically at the Battle of Raloth River.

He still imagined her sweetened face, where she would use her age and knowledge of the world to further guide Jean through the wisdom of a good life. Those days were over. All of those happy days were nothing more than a faint and distant echo down the everlasting tunnel of disappointment and deceit. Now, he was stuck and left to conform to this wasting of human life. The Federation and the Imperials were locked in a deadly conflict for a single grand city, one that held much religious and morale-based significance to either faction, yet Jean couldn't of cared any less. There were those amongst his group fighting for a better tomorrow, or trying to protect those at home by doing the fighting for them, yet Jean was no longer committing to it for anyone. Whilst his heart was now only set on both the fantastic Reyna or the equally as elegant Kalisa, there was no nationalism, jingoistic or familial ties left to the war.

Jean's mind was suddenly snapped from his existential suffering when the masculine voice of Isaac caught up and surprised him. Jean shuddered in his spot, visibly jumping in place when he heard the suddenly interception of his trance. With curiosity and a sense of worry, Jean turned his head slowly towards him as he jokingly indicated his slumber being legitimate. Unfortunately, the Corporal hadn't been in the mood for joking around at the moment, nor did he even crack a smile in that small second of humorous intent. Finally, Isaac beckoned for him to talk about the issue at hand, but instead Jean had other plans. In reality, he didn't want to relive the thoughts of stabbing a married woman before the corpse of her lover, breaking their spiritual and emotional bond with the slicing of a shard of glass. Jean instead turned around fully, tossing over the photo. It slid across the floor before stopping moments away from Isaac, revealing the vulnerable, yet youthful, face of Jean's now late older sister. A wild fury had been extinguished within Jean's eyes as his subsided trauma kicked in once more.

"My thoughts, Lance Corporal Black, lie on her." Strangely enough, accompanying his cryptic expression of emotion, Jean only addressed Isaac in a rather formal way, uncharacteristic to his usual mannerism. Jean removed his helmet once more and settled it gently down beside him, revealing his Darcsen hair once more. "She...no longer grows older, and yet here I am, still. W-Who...who decides such things, Isaac? Which deity, religion or ideology allows for us to turn our blades, our guns and our cannons towards one another, ignoring the contemplation of peace and cooperation? S-She was sweet, I'll tell you. A real...angel. Dear sister Olivia, the shining beacon of Liege, some would call her. Always there to help, and never to be helped. It carried onto the frontline too. T-The...the image was taken before her first deployment to the Maren River, where a few months later she was brutally killed on the nearby Raloth River, one of its tributaries. Soon...s-soon I'm to surpass her resting age, Isaac, and I can't live with that. I..."

Once Isaac had enough time to study the image, Jean quickly swiped it back up and held it dearly to his heart, beginning to sob once more. Truly, from his natural self of confidence he once felt as a child, he'd lost all hope in his own emotional state. There was little that could fix his uneasy renditions of mental instability. He felt hopeless, and a wave of realisation finally broke out. Jean's mind began to flood with the very same expressive outbursts he'd been meaning to feel and show since the news came to him, but the pressures of being a good NCO halted him from ever thinking about their deaths.

"I-I...I have nothing left, Isaac. No home, family or friends. My mother and father were brutally murdered a month ago during training...because of some stupid...s-stupid anti-Darcsens who'd rather spill the blood of their neighbours than focus on anything more important. I...I struck a nerve on Luke's oppressive nature because of this aggression, this brutalisation of the innocent. Why...why are we being forced to tear families apart, like mine had? When you've gone through this pain, a thin line is created between wanting to continue in order to survive, or to simply let the enemy gun me down in plain sight." In that moment, Jean had had enough of the reminiscence of the melancholic realities of the cruel world. He turned to Isaac and looked at him intensely. There wasn't any aggression targeted towards him, but Jean knew that in order to get the peace he wanted, he needed to set something straight. "There...there are two small fucking things left in this Squad that are keeping me going, Isaac. Protecting you guys, my friends and allies, as well as looking out to the two I lo-"

Realising how much he'd been spilling on his own emotions, which in itself was damaging to his own morale, Jean quickly shut his mouth and turned away, pointing towards the doors where the others were sleeping and resting. Jean didn't want or need any of the comfort that didn't extend beyond the valley of friendship and camaraderie. Without a real connection other than the friendship and unhealthy NCO conglomerate, Jean kept his finger pointing towards those doors as he finally spoke once more, a sense of agitation in his tone.

"Please...j-just go. I ordered you to watch over the injured and to ensure everyone is resting easy. You need rest. And as my rank dictates, no matter what position you are in, whether it is the ethereal transition into sleep or bloody not, you will go back and rest. This is for your benefit. I can sacrifice sleep to watch over you guys because I will not sleep. If...If everyone wants me to be this perfect Corporal that the others can look up to in times of danger, then I need to show it. T-Thomas has that ability, and s-so should I. So...so please, Isaac...Just...please just look over the others. Make sure their safe. I'll do my part here, but you need to be the person they can resonate with, and the one they can talk to without fear or offending or upsetting, like I am to them. Do...do them all a favour, please?"


Michael had gone into a room of his own to remove the dampening weight of the rain. Lucia, herself, stood eagerly outside, resisting the somewhat dangerous temptation to walk in and help occupy the room. Even though he needed the privacy to go through and adjust his uniform accordingly, Lucia couldn't help but tremble over the fact that he might be murdered in the time it takes for her to realise. Standing outside left him alone and vulnerable, and by the training of her foremaster, Lucia knew that there was no boundary to safety if she wasn't there. Middleton had taught her that, through beatings and starvation, that without the protector and pledged allegiance, there was no guarantee that they would remain safe and alive. In a state of worry, Lucia tempted herself to knock on the door wildly to check if there was a response, but the courteous teachings had ensured she resisted that lustful urge to check on her one true idol. Eventually, when the noises of movement and the creaking of the bed frame made its arrival, Lucia slowly began to open the door and shut it quietly behind her, trying to ensure no one else could come in to disturb the injured Michael.

As she entered, he hadn't noticed her straight away as he seemed to be admiring, or rather contemplating the integrity of, the medical bandaging surrounding the grazes and bullet scars left during that small incursion. Lucia hadn't been that close to the flailing of bullets ever before in her life, but for some reason she felt less exhausted by that than by the waiting in the trenches of Hill 58, where her mind was begging and pleading the gods above to not have her allies retreat, forcing her to gun them down in cold blood by orders of her own true master. Finally, Michael worded his appreciation for Diana and Lucia's craftsmanship on stopping the bleeding, nodding to himself to acknowledge the hard work they tried to put in whilst under stress. Once he said it out loud, Lucia finally blew her own cover of secrecy and giggled lightly, though with a broken undertone still laid within it. Knowing that her signature blessing of innocence would gather his attention, she slowly began to walk towards Michael, her hands clasped together behind her back. Every step had around a second interval before the follow up came by, making her approach long-winded but understandable for her sense of nervousness and worry over her closest ally here in Squad 1. It took just under a minute before she came close enough to finally speak, barely less than a quarter of a metres' width away from colliding with him. Both of them were small, yes, but at least they could meet one-another in the eyes when they spoke to each other.

"I'm...glad you like our work. Diana is quite...she's good at it, isn't she?" Her eyes looked away as she finally took off her helmet, placing it gently down beside where Michael's hat had gone. Her silver hair finally draped down from her shoulders, unfurling like a lotus flower down her back and letting itself free from all entrapment. When she turned back around to face Michael, she finally continued her statement. "It...it was mostly her work, though. I was too focused on making s-sure you weren't going to be harmed anymore."

Once she mentioned him being harmed, her mind ticked slightly. Her eye almost twitched as the notion of revenge suddenly took its toll. From within her natural spirit, she'd felt herself corrupt for one moment as she indulged the ruthless training of combat and resolve given to her by the masters of the Federation's prize-officer. She wanted to go back out there, into the night, with her bayonet drawn in order to hunt down the very man or woman who'd even thought about shooting Michael. She would've taken her sharp blade and plunged it deep into their pancreas, drawing and quartering their insides until they drowned in their own mistakes. Her friends were never to be harmed again, as long as she still breathed.

All of these derivative gestures of violence were obviously drawn from the same sentimental values of her teacher and captor, Alexander-John Middleton. No matter how innocent she wanted to feel and be, with her true emotions being buried beneath a thick and coarse layer of lies planted within her by the Captain's seeds of sorrow, there was always the incentive and natural reaction to pull the trigger on anyone who dared to challenge her innocence. Unfortunately, Lucia could not locate nor stop these sources of issues and feelings of aggression, for they had been blended into her supposed DNA and ridiculed her intentions of being a free-willed beauty that intended on waltzing in the era of freedom. Slowly, she began to walk towards Michael again, grabbing his wrist with dainty gentleness before leading him towards the bed to sit on. Once she placed him down upon it, she sat on the floor alongside the bed, knowing that by Jean's orders it was only for the injured and badly hurt to rest upon. Supposedly alone in the room, Lucia once again locked eyes with Michael again, moving her hand from his wrist to his hand, interlocking the fingers nervously, yet gently.

"You need to r-rest, Mickey...Please. I'll...I'll stay here, by your side, until it is time for us to wake up. Dream of your favourite place, with your favourite thought to accompany it." Her face had appeared to blemish just a small amount when she realised how her hand had locked with his, but she remained confident enough to hold it in its place and to smile innocently to herself, ensuring that Michael would lay down and prepare to rest himself. She didn't want to lose him. For some strange reason, Michael was different from the others in Squad 1. He wasn't anymore compassionate than, say, Jean or Diana, neither was he more brave or more able than the strongest of wills dotted around, such as Britta, Isaac, Franz or Kalisa, but something about him just made her heart...drift away. Into the cosmos, it would flutter around and daintily blow in all directions until it eventually settled upon his own face and heart, similarly. But for now, those emotions were to be explored and confronted later when Michael was in a less dangerous place on earth. Until then, she continued to hold his hand and to sit on the floor on the bedside. She took off her slung rifle and slid it beneath the bed, hiding it from view in order to remove all sights of the horrors that war brought with it. And in her last breath, before finding herself falling asleep with her head only resting on the side of the bed Michael occupied, she whispered politely. "Don't leave us, Mickey. We need you, and I do too."