The Siege of Amone, September 11th - A dance to remember
Jean leaned back into his chair, but ensured his back kept straight and properly postured in the presence of such an endearing soul, as Reyna could've easily been identified as. Deep down, Jean could tell that there was a certain type of anxiety probably lurking within her mind. There was no way in hell that anyone, especially of one with such pride and purity, would not feel the slightest bit of fear when it came to the tasks of the mole-rat. It went without saying that Jean would be utterly distressed if that role was handed to him, but part of him felt even more guilty about having to send other individuals he cared about to do the dirty work of the Siege. Despite his suspicions, Reyna made her best attempt to deflect all negativity from the situation by ensuring confidence and prominent understanding of the dangers that lurked ahead. The world had been unkind to her, clearly, as it had been with Jean and the rest of Squad 1. It didn't take much to shift ones mind from confidence to sheer panic, and all that could have happened within the blink of an eye or the snap of a finger. Whilst wandering the fields of the Europan Front, listening to the stories of the veteran soldiers and reading all the physical documents and accounts of the Great Europan War, Jean had come to learn that no matter how confident a man or woman could be in their job, duty and objective, the bullet would always fly faster than the time it took to react.
Thinking of the bullet brought a strange silence from Jean at first, where he sat there looking at the table and back up at Reyna with a melancholic nod. He remembered how close he'd come to death at the hands of a metal-plated bullet skimming off of his helmet. The time it caught his steel protection, bouncing off at a strangely miraculous trajectory, he fell to the ground and spend a few minutes trying to gather his surroundings. It was moments like those that made Jean appreciate the life he was living. However, murdering the soldiers he opposed was enough to sway that opinion and perhaps plead the ideological crusade of death cradling a better outcome. Wise men once stated in the past that a meaningless life was not one to live by. Jean himself had once quoted to a Lieutenant at Garnia that living took courage, of course this was during the three days before the rest of his future friends arrived. Quietly, he finally nodded and understood that the past words he'd given were still as relevant as they were now. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before the sweet release of another man's bullet to end the suffering he had. But...there was something before him that reminded him that the future was likely not all bleak and sorrowful. Whilst his silence must've only gone of for a few seconds, the process of thought felt like it had carried on for hours on end. Jean eventually smiled to himself, then back at Reyna, as the realisation that despite all cruelty and darkness that spread itself across the land Reyna still looked as extravagant as the day they'd first met. It took a lot to admit that, of course, to Reyna and so he kept his mouth relatively shut for the time being. Instead, he nodded and at least acknowledged her confidence with an equally as positive response.
"As long as you're ready, I cannot help but admire that courage. We could all use the positivity in our lives, and the beacons that give us it are the ones with true potential." For a second, he couldn't help but contain a thin chuckle before letting it loose, helping to brighten the mood from his darkened thoughts and worries. Eventually, he waved a hand before his face to try and mimic him clearing up the strange things he had to say. "Sorry, I don't mean to talk all poetically still. Conversationalist agendas are still a learning curve for me, you know, as are many things I'm experiencing here. But on a more grounded dialect, I am really glad you are feeling at peace with the whole fiasco. As long as you know Squad 1, and me especially, are behind you on your objective, then I hope that at least helps spring some more confidence."
There was a sudden change in motion as Reyna began to think for a moment, keen on taking Jean's focus away from a small possession of hers without as much of a second to lose. It worked, of course, as Jean himself wasn't as invasive as someone like Diana, Luke or, heavens forbid, Lucia. Suddenly, she ran over to the specific phonograph, or was it a gramophone, and started to cycle through several songs endlessly. Jean looked over with strange intrigue and interest towards her peculiar behaviour, but unlike his usual antics of discomfort he decided to play along to see what she had in mind. Clearly she was setting up some form of entertainment to do with the sound and music of the area. But his expectations were suddenly shaken from their foundations as she ran back, chanting out her true intentions. Dancing? Was this really what she wanted? The beats-per-minute were high in their fabulous swing-tone, suddenly flooding Jean full of memories of how he and Olivia danced around the gramophone in their home kitchen. Jean was silent at first, but slowly felt a smile coming across his face. God, Ines must've been happy to see this expression, if she was paying attention, as suddenly a new light burst out from within him. This wasn't the usual happiness Jean showed on a rare occasion, this was something much more. Blends of nostalgia and reincarnations of the past were spiralling around his head. His fingers went numb and his head felt light. Her hands gently touched the skin of his hand, before wrapping around his wrist and pulling him forward. The sudden collision of skin left his face in a state of red blemishing, but he couldn't help but wash it away almost as quickly as it arrived when she took the lead.
Suddenly, she started dancing first, looking as if she'd been practising for this moment her entire life. It astonished Jean when she began, fully blowing his expectations out of the water. There was choreography, and style, to its passionate yet melodic movements. The swing of the beat was enough to carry her momentum throughout the course of the tune, where she was the central state and Jean was the audience. Not for long though, as soon enough, Jean couldn't help but feel his body fall into a transcending glimmer of hope. Whilst it didn't match Reyna's expertise, Jean was too busy engraving the fun and happiness of the situation into his veins to really care. The moment was suddenly alive and the Corporal was far too engrossed into its upbeat pacing to really engage in negative thoughts. Whilst he moved, his mind began to create images of the past, where he pictured Reyna's position being replaced by that of Olivia. The bar around them was suddenly transformed into a homely kitchen, where the resonance of the room reverberated a loving familial signature. The song was almost similar in its own way too, using the same orchestration of instruments and arrangements of arpeggios one after another, acting as fills to liven up the drawn out verses. Back then, Jean was young, and even looking down at what appeared to be his hands was a younger rendition of himself. He giggled, chuckled and laughed in many ways as the two twirled. The world kept snapping between Reyna and Olivia, glimmering that familiar past over and over again. With Reyna still dancing with Jean, his mind was put at a complete ease as he kept his pacing up with hers, falling behind on rare occasions due to the perfection in her fluid movement. A moment like this would never come again for a long time. This was the moment he'd dreamt off for many years and many nights, hoping to someday replicate with the absence of his loving sibling. The world was not enough for what Reyna had offered on that day, and Jean's heart suddenly felt slightly more repaired. All of those previous days were spent with a gigantic hole, a lack of presence one must admit from where the loving counterpart in his life had died off, the emptiness inside was a little bit more complete than before. It wasn't yet completely repaired, but it was getting closer to it, and Reyna herself was unaware of the effect it was having on the poor tragedy and misfortune of this Francian lost soul.
Endlessly, he found his heart hopelessly falling for her time and time again, unable to really withstand the kindness she showed at every given interval. He was hopeless, wasn't he? Jean couldn't admit it himself, nor would he look himself in the eyes of a mirror's reflection to realise how much of a fool he could've been, but Jean was completely sure that this was a feeling like no other. Never before had anyone in the world, even including Olivia, managed to capture Jean's true emotions for the first time in their life. It was strange, but he didn't dwell on the emotion for too long, as Reyna's movement kept him entranced and almost jealous of her innate ability to keep up a gracious choreography. Eventually, the song came to a close, and Jean himself suddenly found himself giggling away with immense happiness, unable to contain the sudden flow of positivity within his veins. This was uncharacteristic to everyone else, it seemed, but deep down Jean knew that this was the real him, the real individual that roamed the earth, filled with innocence and happiness. As the day continued, it felt like ages as the following songs kept coming, their breaths getting shorter and more exhausted by the dancing of the day. It was a moment that would forever resonate within Jean's polite mind, for the remainder of his potentially short life. Part of him hoped that it would be a life that lived on for years and years more, just so he could imagine the moment he shared with Reyna forever.
The day drew on, and after a while, he felt himself sitting down, out of breath but not out of his mind. There was so much satisfaction in his expression that showed how wholesome the moment really was, one that brought the absolute best out of him that had the potential to stay with his squadmates until death would part them from one another. It was a rare opportunity, one that had never come around and could possibly never come around once again. This was a moment for everyone to remember, and not just for Jean. His muscles ached slightly as the fluidity of the dance left him breathless and exhausted. As he waited for Reyna to eventually stop her dancing, unsure if the other squad members would finally join in, Jean waited for her to slow down and to take her own rest. And so, he approached her with a gleaming, wholesome smile plastered directly upon his happy and glimmering face. And so, he started to talk in appraisal for her efforts.
"You...didn't tell me you could dance so amazingly, Reyna! I'm...lost for words, and breath..." He took a minute to slowly regain the pacing in his respiration before he finally began to conclude what he had to say to her. It took a lot for his heart and lungs to adjust to what he had in mind, and it was finally a strange act of gratification towards her. "Well...I...well thank you, for that. It's...god, where to start? It's made my entire year, no...life, having to do that. Dancing, I've...not done it in years. Years, I mean! Like...loads of them. It's just...refreshing and all. So, I'd just like to thank you, more than I ever could really..."
Suddenly, Jean did the completely unforeseeable. With Reyna within his vicinity, he leaned down so part of his head was aligned with the top of hers and planted a gentle kiss atop of her forehead, as a way of providing his gratitude towards her efforts that day. It was a moment that even surprised Jean himself, one that clearly caused a lot of inner flustering towards how he really handled the situation itself, but the exterior body didn't show any sign of hesitation, only lasting for less than a second before he stepped back and made his way for the stairs. Before he ascended, not really sure if anyone else had fully picked up on what he'd snuck in to the situation, Jean turned around and smiled greatly as he called out to his squad for his final farewell for the day, hoping to spend the rest of the afternoon and night relaxing and preparing his uniform for the operation tomorrow.
"My friends, of Squad 1, hear my voice. Tonight, I want you to enjoy yourselves...but without alcohol because the prohibition is still active. Please, remember to sleep reasonably and to prepare your kit. Everyone must sleep in their uniforms so we can get up nice and early, have a light breakfast and move onward. Let this be a day to remember for a while, for it sure has been for me. It may be the last time we ever share such happiness together as one, but by George we'll make it one for the books. Goodnight, Squad 1. Que Dieu fasse briller le chemin devant vous!"
The Siege of Amone, September 12th - The Launch
The boots outside his tent were furiously engaged in their pacing. Everything outside was alive and ready, gradually getting more and more hectic as the activity soared far greater than the previous day's content. There were shouts and carriages dragged by horses indicating a strict arrival. Several trucks and loads of troops began to unload in immense numbers, all barking orders left, right and centre towards one another. Alexander stood with the tips of his fingers caressing the bridge of his nose, trying to recall the stress of resisting this operation. How had it fallen into such idle minds, ones who were only there to fulfil the purpose of eliminating the enemy forces? There was no consideration for how many potential friendly casualties there'd be, to which many would compare it to the blindness of artillery fire and the fact that the soldiers were prepared to wear gas masks, still many of which didn't know about. The time was ticking by endlessly and his heart beat faster than before. Lucia could still be out there, waiting for a vitalised rescue from her guardian. This could be the end of her. That was something he wasn't going to accept. There was a sense of urgency to stop the operation altogether, but the agent was already loaded into the canister shells and braced for the order to fire. Time was ticking away, trickling away like the water droplets in the gutter.
Eventually, Alexander staggered outside, dressed in the more combat-suitable uniform that paralleled his formal attire. The helmet was tightly strapped around his chin and this time he carried a rifle alongside the regular revolver he held close to his chest. Even for those who held a sense of class and elegance to their appearance, Alexander was smart enough to prepare himself suitably for the situation at hand, knowing that every weapon was going to be needed at his disposal for this coming operation. There was no stopping it this time. All the complaining, alternative strategies and objections he'd made had fallen upon deaf ears, unable to really find their footing in the eventful rising of tension. Soldiers were lined up in their huge ranks, upon his exit, already donning the masks on their faces. There was an almost indescribable fear that many of the onlookers saw, seeing that these Federation soldiers, usually appreciated for the colours and tones of their happiness, to be replaced by menacing and faceless masks in order to protect them from any toxic bio-hazard. Many commanding officers were briefing and rallying their units in order to prepare them for the upcoming assault. The plan was simple, really.
In order to secure a stable frontline within the City of Amone, it was decided that the harmful gas agent was to be used as a clearance tool, providing enough chaos and distractions for the main army to go in and break the usual pocket-based territory that plagued the holy urban jungle. Once the gas shells were sent out, troops would quickly march towards the breach in the wall and start securing each street as well as they could until enough resistance could threaten them. There, sappers would begin barricading streets and setting up a stable defensive route. Those whose squads were involved in securing highly valued political buildings for infrastructure would be relieved and replaced with hardened defenders, preparing for the upcoming assault on the Cathedral of Light, one of the ultimate goals for the whole operation. However, this wasn't something that could just happen in a single day. As soon as the gas went off, it would take just over a week for the forces to secure half of the city and to reunite with any potential soldiers still attempting to complete their missions, including Lucia's squad. This angered Alexander quite a bit as it increased the ever-looming threat that was death. The time began to tick down slower and slower. It was now 0600 hours. On the dot. And so, just like that, Alexander held his breath as the order for the gas canisters began to suddenly fill the sky with an uproar of toxic whistles.
The Siege of Amone, September 12th - Gas! Gas, boys!
Slowly, his mind began to return to the plains of reality, leaving the ethereal land of dreams behind for the morning's early rising. He must've woken up just slightly earlier than the designated end to their curfew, and that in itself was alright. Unlike the previous night, he didn't feel that upset, not for the tension of the building moment. Jean sat up onto the edge of his bed and simply smiled to himself, reminiscing of the previous day. Had he really been so happy? It was a feeling like no other, one that was fruitfully blending his past with the future ahead. It felt odd and surreal to imagine that during the dancing, his mind and body was transported to those olden days of his youth, where the inn was replaced by the kitchen of his own abode. It wasn't time-travel, of course, but rather him almost transcending into the realms of what had brought joy throughout his bleak childhood. There was a strange fear to feel in seeing his eyes snap between Reyna and Olivia, as if it were really his body transcending the laws of time, however his mind was creative enough to fixate strange alterations to what he really perceived as the truth. In reality, it was more that he was simply going in and out of a day-dream, one that was focusing on a particular moment of his past. It felt blissful. The memories of that night were stuck deeply into his own mind and would continue to do so for however longer the world had deemed his life would continue for. As the thought crossed his mind, from the brilliance of the dancing to the soft gentle touch of Reyna's skin to his lips, Jean truly felt a genuine smile come about and rid of his previous diseased moods. It was only for a moment that the smile lasted, for he knew that the future was going to bring much more devilish baggage to withhold.
Sluggishly, he began to rise out of the bed. The morning dew was bare in its entirety and the sounds of rainfall were still very prominent. Assen was known for its terrible weather, at least on a bleak scale, but this was rather extreme. Jean jokingly told himself a rather ironic conspiracy that the Imperials were controlling the weather, only to laugh to himself at the ridiculousness of the idea. As advanced as they were, this was not the kind of science they were capable of. He turned his head to the mirror that he'd looked in once before and sighed, adjusting his uniform and putting on his webbing again. Since he had ordered the entire squad to sleep in their combat gear, ready for an early deployment, it was only worthwhile to check that the equipment he bared was still in high numbers. Though they had some sharp anxiety about doing so, the inn staff were kind enough as to give the squad back their ammo and to have it ready in their webbing, on the slight agreement that until they set foot outside of the area of neutrality no ammo was to be loaded into their rifles. It was a fair agreement, and so Jean had found himself with an empty rifle, yet the ammo needed for its emergency was still close by.
Jean was the first downstairs. The others were likely waking up still or were checking their gear within their rooms. Some were even possibly making the best out of their grim situations like the previous days, potentially enjoying their last moments of peace before they were subjected to moving back out into the storm of warfare. After nodding towards several of the kindhearted staff who'd woken up early for their departure, he walked out of the front door for a moment of silence and fresh air, giving the calm before the upcoming blizzard of course. Catherine was outside too, of all people, working under the cover of the front porch to shield her from the rainfall above. Large patches of the cobbled road were drenched in puddles that spanned for tens of metres, whilst certain gutters on certain rooftops had already split from the excessive precipitation. She was busy with the tables and chairs outside, making sure they were set up in an orderly fashion and with a by-the-book professional standard to be seen. As Jean walked out, she turned quickly and nodded her head politely, smiling with a friendly glimmer to her gaze. As Jean had noticed before, she did seem like an older version of Reyna, in terms of her personality and manner of presentation, and that in itself made Jean more comfortable with talking to this new acquaintance of his. It was a shame that Jean had to leave within the hour, knowing that they may never come across one another again. Well, there were some promises he could make at least.
"Good morning, Corporal! Awful weather we're having, aren't we?" Her radiance of purity outshone the rest of the abysmal weather, but her sense of humour made it more down to earth than most would have expected. Jean couldn't help but smile and lightly chuckle at her oxymoron, talking of the good morning but only following it with the worst news possible. Suddenly, Catherine put down the chair she was holding and smirked at Jean brightly, pointing towards the attire he was wearing. "Well, don't you look all nice and professional in that uniform of yours. I'd bet the Imperials were jealous that you had something more practical to wear than the generic grey backdrop."
Jean knew that there was some practicality to the clothes they were wearing. It, in of itself, was more of an experiment to see how patterned clothing would fair in the field of battle. Clearly they had the urbanised rendition of this new experimental attire, but it definitely felt more comfortable and accessible than the previous olive drabs handed to them at Garnia. In reality, Jean felt a sense of relief that he joined up when he did. Only just above a year before Jean's enlistment, soldiers weren't even equipped with steel helmets for protection, both on the Imperial and Federation side of things. Everyone wore their fancy hats of smart dress and held minimal amounts of protection overall. Thinking back to the time the bullet scraped by his helmet, replacing it with a hand only meant that the life he'd continued to live afterwards would be over before he knew it. Jean looked down at himself and tugged at one of the belts, testing its sturdiness and comfort altogether. There were better clothes to have worn, but in comparison to the usual lice-infested clothes they were handed, this was a godsend. It felt as if the Federation were trying to keep up the morale of their troops whilst simultaneously investing in more effective combat gear. Jean's ears, especially on the train beforehand, had picked up many individuals talking about the same advancements in weaponry, and that someday it could've been possible for a single man to wield the firepower of the Imperial machine guns without the need of a crew to help handle it. Now that was a scary thought. Obviously such weapons this early on in development would hold no use other than to clear trenches or city streets like Amone but there was a sense of understanding as to why certain experimental gear was being pursued. Each faction had to get the edge over their opposition in order to survive. Survival was paramount and death was only a setback for the future of humanity, or so they viewed. At the very least, Jean saw the positive side of war in that it pressured everyone to better their tools of social and military care, helping to advance civilisation in the most gruesome and cruel way imaginable. First aid and surgery had come a long way indeed since the war had started, and many troops were still receiving the best medical assistance available in the entirety of Europa, eventually hoping to put them into practice on the homefront.
"It would be improper of us to not try to be our very best, at least that's what the commanders always say. This and that, always bright and dandy. Y'know, sometimes I think they forget what it really is like on the frontlines. But then again, they would not have been able to anticipate anything along the lines of a inn slap-bang in the centre of it all." As the two chuckle, Jean walked closer to Catherine and smiled greatly, holding out a small bag full of his entire wages earned so far. The soldier's wage wasn't great, but the francs themselves were more than enough to truly show his gratitude towards their hospitality and care. Whilst he'd been stationed in the confinement of this paradise, Jean had almost forgotten what war was like, and the horrors it brought with him. Every single part of him didn't want to leave the inn behind, never to return in order to carry out some extreme military sabotage operation, but it had to be done by someone at the end of the day. Amone depended on it, and so did the inn. "Here, take this. It's all I have, but...take it as a token of our gratitude here in Squad 1. We appreciate all that you've done for us these past three days and, well...I think I should be the one to step up and let you know that we're forever in your debt, from life until death."
"Aww, Corporal, you don't need to do this, it's just part of our job, after all." Jean nodded, but took her hand and clasped it around the coin bag quickly, letting her take control over its spending or savings. With a quick nod, Jean himself smiled in response, letting his words do the talking.
"And whilst it may not be as wholesome, it's our job to preserve these small things you've set up. The imperials are going to be happy that you provide such helpful establishments. No matter who takes control of Amone by the end of this bloody exchange, you'll thrive and grow into something beautiful for other soldiers to be thankful of. My word may be a dime a dozen, one of many you've already heard, but do take pride in the work you do and the safety you provide where others may be ashamed of theirs." As he finished, Catherine felt herself spring into a sense of happiness and cheeriness. There was no greater feeling to her than to hear the voice of one of her own side's appreciation towards all that her inn had provided. She wasn't the owner, no, which made the gratitude ever more sweetening for her, as most of the formal soldiers directed that appraisal towards the old man in charge. But just as she was about to open her mouth in response, a sudden distant thud began to echo throughout the early morning sky. Jean heard it too, and poked his head out from beneath the dry rooftop that shadowed them from the rainfall.
His eyes narrowed slightly as throughout the sky, he began to see hundreds of small silhouettes flying upwards, trails of vapour pouring from behind them. They were trajectory rounds, flying upwards into the sky. Jean's heart stopped for a moment as he suddenly realised that the combat was likely to erupt on a greater scale than ever before. They seemed distant and the ones he could see clearly had completely separate landing points to that of the inn's location, for the early shots. A cannonade was beginning, but for a strange reason their travelling and outlines seemed far different to that of a normal artillery bombardment. Their arc was suddenly cut off as their barrelled down, and from the opposing end of Amone another distant thumping sound could be heard, like that of a bass drum. The flames of war had been ignited again, but no one truly knew what was so special about this artillery bombardment of such proportion. The shells kept going in a continuous stream, arching up and spreading out into what felt like thousands of individual targets. Catherine walked to the side of Jean, close by, and poked her head out into the rain too, unsure of what to make of the scene above them. She seemed more concerned by Jean's more glaring look, one of intense worry and confusion. In that moment, Jean quickly began to tighten up his helmet, preparing for the worst situation possible.
"Catherine, how common is this?"
"What...uhh...Artillery? Well it's common, but I've never seen something that large before, not here at least. Why?" She looked towards Jean with minor distress, unsure of what to make of the events as the thumping sounds began to grow louder and more frequent. Jean finished tightening up the helmet strap and preparing his uniform once more, before turning back towards her. "Should we get back inside? I doubt it's anything of importance to us, here at the inn?"
"Catherine, I want you to head back inside and to start thinking of an escape route, if need be. I don't like the look of this, but it..." Suddenly, Jean was cut off as he could hear the sound of whistling from above. He poked his head outside of the porch once more to see something metallic, large and fast cruising across the sky, far closer than the other shells were going. The whistles instantly reminded him of Garnia, where the bombardment was met with a preemptive whistling from hell. His heart began to race and his mind was thrown into chaos, he walked backwards as he turned to Catherine, trying to call out a large amount of worry and ordering her to get inside, but it was too late. The shell landed in the middle of the street and kicked up a storm of smoke and ash. Some of the windows of the inn cracked and shattered by the sheer force of the street-based shell, sending chiselled dust from the cobbled street into the air. Jean was thrown to the ground, and so was Catherine, though they weren't hurt in the way they'd expect. Jean lifted his head slowly from the ground and looked towards the clearing dust, seeing an oddly shaped artillery shell that wasn't symbolic of any of the regular shells the Federation used. All across its outer layer, words in small print talking of toxicity and high levels of danger left Jean feeling nothing more than sheer agony to its sight, pulling his head up once more to see what it was. Catherine was coughing beside him, just from the wind being taken out of her system, before finding herself too fixating on the shell. It hadn't exploded. What was this?
Why hadn't it exploded? Shells were supposed to detonate upon impact and send shrapnel in all directions, wiping out large areas of soldiers without as much of an ounce of mercy. This one was different though. Its shape looked more like a drill, one to solidify its position into the ground and to keep itself sturdy. The rain fell upon its metallic shell and collected onto the ground, before the artillery piece suddenly burst on its top layer, revealing a thick layer of a yellow mist. Jean's eyes were forced open once more as he saw the speed of the mist, spreading out above and around the shell. Its weight was denser than air and far more terrifying to look upon. The way it engulfed the street began to sporadically inflict fear throughout the two outside, causing both Jean and Catherine to scramble to their feet. It slowly drew closer and closer, creeping towards the inn without any intention to spare it. What was this strange thing? Jean made his way for the door before he struggled to open it, bashing against it heavily. It was locked, or jammed perhaps? The hinges had been shattered by the impact force of the nearby shell, rendering it fully useless for entrance or exiting. He was at least eight metres away from Catherine, who'd stayed in her spot out of immense fear. Jean's pounding on the door grew louder and louder, as he struggled to try and secure their exit from the mysterious mist crawling towards them. He turned around, seeing Catherine in her place before shouting out to her.
"C-Catherine! Get away from there, now!" But despite his aggressive intentions and attempts, it was too late. She turned around to face Jean, just as the cloud began to circle her. Almost immediately, she breathed in a huge amount of the substance, and began to cough violently. Jean reached out a hand, but the gas kept slowly creeping towards him. She collapsed onto her knees and gagged hysterically, her eyes watering and beginning to redden as her lungs kept filling up with the particles in the local atmosphere. Jean began to watch in complete horror as Catherine coughed more and more, violently vomiting onto the floorboards of the patio. In whatever ejected from her mouth was a mixture of saliva, blood and the contents of her morning meal, all blended together in one horrific mess. Her life was fleeting in seconds, quicker than any harmful asbestos was usually capable of back home. Jean called out in fear, yelling her name before watching her twitch and collapse, unable to stand up. He had to react, but he couldn't run in to save her. She seemed to have met her own demise as her hand let go of the coin purse Jean had given her, letting it drop onto the floor and to gather the particles of dust layered within this strange air.
In a state of panic, Jean looked down to his webbing and remembered seeing something so...haunting. The mask. It looked up to him with an emotionless glare, its tinted protective eyes staring directly into his soul. Without thinking, he began to wrap it around his head and face, engulfing his entire humanity with its eyeless engagement. Questions raced around his mind as to why they'd been given these masks, and only to find the answer was that this was an expected attack. Or perhaps, it wasn't an attack on the Federation, or more an assault from them. Jean felt his mind go blank and his eyes water quickly as the mask finally tightened around his head, shielding him from the toxic atmosphere. Catherine was still laid on the floor, drowning in her own vomit it seemed, gargling away in the worst pain imaginable. Jean screamed her name again, before turning and running towards one of the windows that had been smashed partially by the shell's shockwave. With the but of his rifle, Jean began to break the window down more so that he had an entrance, knowing that its already broken structure wasn't enough to keep the gas out. As he ran inside, his breath was sporadic and the muffled voice of his claustrophobic face, tightly wrapped inside the mysterious mask that all of the Federation soldiers had been issued, and called out as loud as he could.
"G-Get the civies out of the house! Go! Everyone else, p-put on your mask! Put it on! NOW! Fucking now! Do it. Please...Don't let it choke you out!" He hoped that everyone upstairs could hear him, everyone within Squad 1, and that they were awake to truly make sense of the horrific situation at hand. It was like a tragic tale of terrifying proportions. The muffling of Jean's voice from the mask made it unclear for what he may have been saying, and it was almost impossible anyone upstairs to hear anything other than the smashing of glass, the shouting downstairs and a muffled scream that was incoherent for anyone listening through the floorboards. This...this was horror. This was true terror. This was war.
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