The rain started to kick up heavily. He saw his ordered troops disappear into the house, following his order quite obediently, at least in Luke's case. A pittering splutter of droplets slamming against his steel-rimmed helmet amplified the true terror of the outdoor world, beyond the supposed safety of their frontline basecamp. War was scary. Terrifying screams in the distance seemed to unruly shatter the little amount of confidence that Jean had laid out within his mind. Mountains' worth of terror continued to hammer down on the group, emphasising that they were no longer in God's country. Assen's border city, bright and holy in its righteous enigma, was now the centrifugal point of all that was to come. Places were believers and peaceful citizens would roam in matrimonial celebration were now stained with the art of war, the roughened and coarse agony of the once hopeful communities. Remnants of that past life were almost non-existent. The inn was gone, as were its people. The peaceful negotiations of Imperials and Federation soldiers within those neutral zones had crumbled the minute the gas and bombs started to fall. Even here, where the battle had ceased perhaps days ago, casings and bullet shells were still seen scattered on every pavement. Compartments to rifles, stripper clips, broken stocks, even fully drenched Imperial rifles themselves were dashed throughout the world. Many were in terrible conditions, drenched in mud, blood and all sorts of aquatic mess. The years of agony were highlighted in the one scene before them. Jean, crouched behind a pile of rubble, awaiting Luke's return from his scouting, egged his mindset into one of a soldier. He tried to ignore the battle around him. He wanted to make it seem like the world was not afraid of its true horrors. He wanted to ignore the pains of past trauma slicing into his skin, infecting it with the blood of his own victims, but he just couldn't. The war was starting to keep him on the edge. Any minute now, or later, a bullet could be fired from any window and his skull could be split into fragmented pieces. One second he could be alive, the next...emotionless. That terrifying linger of death was enough to tremble his fingers. Anyone could pass it off as the coldness of the rain, but Jean's hands shook wildly, even clattering around a small metallic noise of his webbing's clips against one another.

Before Luke came outside, a strange sound made itself clear in the distance. A presence of fire was made out, cleansing the distance well and truly. A scream of human suffering was also heard, followed by several distant shots. Thunder tried to conceal their location and presence but to no avail. The war was here to stay. Even ahead, Jean's eyes were left wide open as a burnt out coach laid ahead. Leaning over the debris pile, he scanned ahead, seeing the remains of a trailer coach. Was it that? No...above it sat the remains of a wiring cable. It was a tram, an entirely scorched remainder of a tram at least. Jean kept his eyes upon it, looking ahead as he saw two objects slumbered right up against the tram's flank. The objects themselves were hard to make out, more akin to lumps of clothing at the distance he was at. Taking out his binoculars, he tried to scan ahead to see if he could make out the mess even more, yet could barely see through the fogginess of the cold morning rain.

He narrowed his gaze, silencing all the noise around him to try and focus in on the site ahead. Initially, he was looking for signs of enemy activity, or simply traps and mines that were laid out. The Imperial forces had been here in the past few days, at least it seemed. Many were scrambling back to an unknown point, perhaps to concentrate their forces a long way. Jean whispered to himself, mouthing out the possibilities of such happenings. The Empire must've known that Amone was on the brink of its final hours. Whoever controlled the next few days' worth of territory would surely dictate who held the ground. This was a game of willpower; who would withstand the storm the longest, and who would repel the oncoming charge first? Imperial defences were greatly intensified and tended to feature extremely vast chokepoints. The only advantage to be seen in the urban environment was the lack of murder-holes, concrete machine gun forts and trenches. Everyone had a somewhat equal chance of cover...providing the buildings still stood tall.

When Luke silently returned, simply giving a quiet nod, Jean waited for everyone to set up before standing up and writing down that everything was clear. Something about Luke's face disturbed Jean. He didn't like the guy, of course, but something seen out there was clearly disturbing enough to shudder even him. Jean finally stood up and silently gestured his hands for them to prepare to move out. Luke asked him a question, taking his mind back to the horrors. What was this place before everything happened? Well...Jean had a perfectly good and reasonable idea of what happened before and why the world looked so grim now.

"Before? Peaceful...righteous. Ask Michael if we get back, he'll know. This is his City of religious importance. Shame battle disturbed its presence." Jean tried to keep a professional tone to his voice, before moving forward once more. The others couldn't have been far behind, judging the condition of their scouting mission. There was only a small amount left. Thomas moved to the another building and began to clear itself out, going in himself to ensure it was all clear. Whilst he did so, Jean moved first, approaching that same tram cart that he'd seen in the distance. "Holy...fuck..."

Pinned up against the wall of the tram's exterior, two bodies laid clustered together. Jean's eyes widened as he held back the temptation to pluck the body for identification disks. Something else caught his eye though. The bodies themselves were charred, scarred from top to bottom in a black charcoal-esc layer. The smell of rotten flesh reeked from their clothes. Jean's own gaze twitched as the reality of the war's destruction became clear. The first was a male soldier, or at least Jean thought so. There was no way to tell. How was there no way to tell? Jean never wanted to describe it, but the gaping hole in their face was not their nostrils or their mouth. Instead, the dripping stench of dried blood, decaying skin and resentful suffering created a wound that went from one end of the skull to to the other, ripping the identity and entire face out of their head. No nose, eyes or even lips could be spotted as it tunnelled through and scouted out the rear end, leaving nothing but the remains of rotting brain mesh behind. Worse still, the skin that was left intact was burnt, charred and entirely smouldered by the tip of someone's flame. The second body was a female soldier, young in whatever features she had left to spare. Her skin too was brutally cooked and burnt beyond human comprehension.

Jean stumbled backwards, halting the group and staring without anything but fear overruling his feelings. As he stumbled, something to the right caught his eye. Further down the street laid...oh lord...

"Holy...shit..." He collapsed onto his hands and knees, and a surge of vomit spewed from behind his lips onto the wet floor. For down that street laid more than just two bodies, who were horrifically mutilated and burnt, but instead at least thirty bodies...all clumped together in one large pile of ash, death and deceit. Jean continued to vomit, clearing out his stomach as Thomas reemerged from the house and found the sight to behold. He simply staggered into a halt, watching in disbelief. Was this in response to...the gas? Such bodies weren't all military too, some looked as if they could've walked a civilian life, or were refugees from the frontlines. How...how could this happen? Here? On the frontlines, where soldiers were only supposed to kill and nothing more? Why was a brutal depiction of how violence was supposed to go down shown here?

Eventually, Jean cleared his stomach and throat of the sick, standing up and groaning, before looking away. He tried to shed a tear for the pity of their lives, but struggled to even amass any emotion out on the frontline. Instead, he turned back to his soldiers, and quietly insisted that they continued on in silence.

There had once been a time...

"Rikes!"

...when things were far more innocent.

"Riiikes! Ellis! Merdo! Harkin Roscoe!"

A time of winter, snow and ice everywhere. And naturally, they all liked to play in the snow. A younger Isaac Black called out to the pack, then howled at them for good measure, before taking a sled and going down a hill. Naturally, because he was going face-first, Isaac soon tumbled out, the sled itself going blades-up when he did. He landed in snow, of course, so there was no difficulty. Plus, he was soon joined by nearly half-a-dozen furry friends! They were all so exciteable! Rikes, the only brown pelt among them was feeling especially energetic, but Isaac already knew why THAT was. He had noses in his face, loud sniffing and snorting, making him laugh as he got up. He did so and two of them went down and showed their bellies before running off and back again. They were all trying to get him to head for the house because it was time to eat soon. Rikes actually took his hat and ran with it.

"Hey!"

He beat him back to the house, of course, not only for being faster, but because every other wolf BESIDES Ellis was circling him. Ellis followed Rikes, as per usual. It'd been about that time. Emeri Black, a brown-haired farming girl with basically a heart of gold, was now scolding Rikes and getting his hat back.

"Thanks, Em."

"No problem. I was just about to call, actually."

"Yeah, I know. They know, too. They're really smart, you know."

"I'll bet. So...which ones do ya think?"

"It's Rikes and Ellis, definitely. They've been doing it in the middle of the night, I bet."

"D'you...think we'll keep 'em long after she has her pups?"

"Oh, we've gotta. At least Ellis to raise 'em a while."

"Isaac...doesn't it bother you that you're gonna lose them, one day?"

He didn't want to think about it, hadn't wanted to think on that, even though it was something he did know had to happen. Isaac knew that some day, he would have to let them go to join their new lives. The thought of losing them...even though they'd be going to good homes...

"It does, but...I can't do anything about it. We raise livestock, and alot of the little ones are cute, themselves, but...we gotta eat 'em, anyway. I don't know what to think about that, Em. I just don't."

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

"...and you're absolutely sure it's him? I don't see a collar or anything."

"They never liked collars. You put one on and they'd walk backwards for like twenty feet before pushing them off and running around like kids, going 'Lookit me! I'm naked!'."

He laughed, but Britta was again struck surprised by the things coming out of his mouth. Rikes was busy cleaning the bowl his food had been on, and then Isaac finally got the vest off of him. It was a parcel vest. It was essentially made so a dog - or in this case, a wolf - could deliver messages and other small materials - like, say, a pistol and some ammunition - back and forth. He was just about to inspect the contents of the vest - It had two small satchels...and a front pocket, weirdly. - when Michael came up and asked about the surprise wolf. Isaac looked up at him and nodded.

"This is Rikes. I put him and his pack through domestic training so they could be owned by people. He's an Apennine Wolf and...hello..."

Rikes was staring between Micheal, Isaac, and Britta now, doing that thing where the wolf stares and just licks its chops once. Isaac was opening that front breast pocket on the vest to pull out something small and official, going "Huh..." as he read it.

"Looks like he's Messenger, First Class. Guess they wanted to capitalize on his speed and smarts. Uhh, Britta? Would you get something medical, preferably with rubbing alcohol? I don't like the looks of those wounds."

"Sure, Isaac."

"Let's see what else ya got here..."

The satchals didn't contain anything, except for one message on a hastily-folded piece of paper. Isaac opened up the thing and read. His brows furrowed, and then he lowered his hands with an exhale. It had been from whoever was regularly in charge of Rikes, and it was dated the same day as the gas attack.



"I'm gonna have to talk to someone in command..."

They could be dead already, either by Imperial attack or...or the gas smog, if it had wafted in that direction enough. Isaac didn't even know where their position was. It sounded like it was inside the Imperial front lines, but that could've been prior to the gas coming down, and now there could be an outpost full of corpses who all looked like they'd been choked to death, coughing up blood. Rikes had survived this, somehow. Isaac began to pet him some, still worried but wanting to reassure the wolf.

"Don't worry, Rikes. You're with me now..."

---

Oliver woke up to the sound of the birds chirping above him. He opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was the familiar green canopy of forest, so he sat there for a while, taking in the scenery. He watched the birds sing and listened to sounds the forest made on a daily basis. It has been a day since he left his family to go out hunting, but he didn't mind, he enjoyed his time out here. It was peaceful, a welcome distraction from the routine of everyday life. Gathering himself took a little longer this morning. A groan escaped Olivers lips as he sat up, his muscles protesting from the strain of all the work he’d done the day before setting traps as he walked deep into the forest overlooking his hometown.

A whine coming from his left jogged Oliver’s senses fully. With a glance to his left he saw his hunting companion, an
Old, Back Labrador called Dutch. Dutch has been with the Sinclairs since Oliver was four, making the dog Oliver’s oldest and most loyal friend.
Dutch whined again as he reached the end of the rope tying him to a tree that was next to Oliver’s sleeping bag. The rope fluctuated between taut and loose as he paced back and forth, but he was eager to get moving to sit still.

“Alright, alright, Dutch,” Oliver said, “I'm up boy, calm down..”

with a groan as he stood up, he shuffled over to the tree and untied his friend. This act was met with a bark and an excited Dutch pressing himself into Oliver’s side, eager for the obligatory pats he knew he’d receive

“Alright, that’s enough boy we got work to do!” Oliver said with a chuckle as he gave his dog pieces of Jerky to eat. It’d be another ten minutes before the campsite was picked up and Oliver and Dutch were on their way, checking the traps set the night before.

Four hours into the day and Oliver had done good for himself, he’s almost caught his entire daily limit of rabbits. Eight per day was the law in Darport and he was at five, this was a good haul. To his left he heard the panting of Dutch, the old boy laying down besides the final trap Oliver set the day prior. Dutch was a strong willed animal, but he was getting up there in age and after four hours of trotting and running through the woods, he needed a break. Still Oliver protested, they were making good time and he wanted to see if he could set a few more traps and catch another two or three rabbits before they went home that evening.

“No, no cmon Dutch we need to keep moving boy, we’re almost done.” Oliver pleaded, whistling and patting his thigh to urge the dog along, still Dutch didn’t move. The old dog was stubborn. “Ugh… Fine, We’ll take a break.. Y’lazy mutt.” Oliver said with a grunt to accentuate his frustration, he stepped over to the tree Dutch picked for himself and slumped down beside his best friend. It was then he started feeling it, the soreness in his legs, maybe the old dog had a point. Oliver sighed and patted Dutch’s head; a wordless apology for pushing them both so hard without any breaks. Dutch wagged his tail, the telltale sign that all is forgiven.

They sat there together against that tree for another forty five minutes, the day slowly getting away from them. Oliver glanced up past the canopy of trees, a glance at his watch confirmed what he already knew, it was noon. “Well Shit.” Oliver muttered as he rubbed his thighs the soreness still not fully subsided. To his right Dutch lapped water from a bowl Oliver placed for him, the old boy likely still not ready to move. Oliver sighed, resigning himself to losing more of the day before the hunt was done. My luck? I might not even get to check all the traps before nightfall. Oliver rubbed his eyes before reaching over for his bag, he wanted to take stock of what he had in case he needed to spend another night out in the forest. Half a bag of jerky, box of .35 Remington rounds and a half empty canteen of water. It wasn’t much gear, but they were maybe a quarter mile away from a creek so if it was really necessary Oliver could get more water.

With another sigh Oliver pulled his father's old
Lever Action onto his lap. The rifle was older than Oliver was if only just, and it was the first gun Oliver ever fired. He smiled as he ran his hand over the rifle carefully, fond memories of his father having him shoot at cans teaching Oliver from an early age how to shoot. Thanks to Oliver’s old man taught him how to maintain and care for every inch of this rifle, hell every inch of this forest. A rustle of leaves ahead of him and low growls from Dutch snapped Oliver out of the memories of his father, he quickly patted Dutch on the head to silence the dog, as he looked on ahead. Out from behind a tree Oliver saw the outline of a Buck, its antlers sporting four points. It seemed the thing hadn’t heard Dutch’s growls as it approached, the healthy looking animal too absorbed with the grass it was eating. Oliver smiled at what felt like the first bit of good luck he’d gotten in a long while, if he managed to put down this buck he could sell it for twenty dollars and that would help his mother pay for the rent easily. Quickly and silently, Oliver shouldered his Lever action, resting his elbow on his knee to stabilize himself, he got ready to place a shot on the animal.

A loud Bang! startled both Oliver and the buck, the latter dashing away deeper into the forest. “No, no no no..” Oliver muttered and he quickly gathered himself and looked toward where Dutch should of been, he wasn’t. Dutch had already ran down after the buck, barking all the while. “Shit!” Oliver now shouted as he ran after both his dog and the prize he wanted. What the hell was that? Oliver thought as he ran after the pair of animals ahead of him. The answer was pretty clear, hunters likely firing a shot at some animal nearby them, just another example of Olivers luck screwing him over. With a grunt of frustration Oliver slowed down to just a walk, He’s lost Dutch and the deer and running blindly through the forest was just going to tire him out and get him lost. After a few moments of heavy breathing and gulping down the rest of his canteen, Oliver took stock of where he was. The creek would be to his left and to his right he saw the land beginning to elevate, a small cliffside forming overlooking the creek. Giving the tracks he was chasing a hard look he noted that both Dutch and the deer were running off toward the creek, so Oliver made toward the right and up the cliffside, highground could help him spot them.

He reached the top of the Cliffside overlooking the creek, It easily was fifteen feet above the water, rocks and pebbles dotting between the two places. Oliver hardly had time to think about the height, his hunch was right. Sighting in his rifle he spotted the same buck that ran off making its way toward the Water, no sign of Dutch, Worrying. Oliver would have to find him, even if it took all night. Pushing those thoughts aside, he inched forward slowly, his rifle at a low ready as he got right up onto the edge of the cliff cautiously, the rocks up here felt a little loose, this cliffside likely about to give way thanks to the roots of the trees surrounding it. Still Oliver scoped in, remembering the lessons his father taught:
Aim for the heart, breath, count to four, breath out, Squeeze the trigg- Just as Oliver was pulling the trigger, panic struck him as he felt the rocks under his feet begin to give way, jerking to get back his aim went off, the loud bang and the bestial sounds of the deer made it clear that a shot connected with the animal, but that was the least of Olivers concerns as he began to tumble fifteen feet down the side of the cliff, his head and his side banging hard against the side of the cliff and then the pebbles below. Oliver came to a rest right beside the water where it all went dark for a time.

---

Flashes of light. Pain. More lights. The world slowly came back into focus for Oliver. Once again he found himself looking up at the canopy of trees, but the groggy feeling he felt earlier in the day was replaced with a dull pain in his side and a maddening headache. “Awh.. man..”

Oliver complained as he touched a hand to his head, feeling a slight wetness on his forehead. A glance told him what he already knew; blood, he was hurt. He took a while collecting himself after that, wanting to make sure the fall didn’t do worse than give him a hard bump on the head. To his luck, finally, Oliver found that besides maybe his pride and his head, he wasn’t too badly hurt. A gentle touch to his side, and only a slight tenderness, not a sharp pain coupled with no shortness of breath made it pretty clear to Oliver nothing was broken. Still, he had to find Dutch and that deer. A bark and a splash solved one of the two problems for Oliver, maybe his luck had turned afterall?

Dutch ran up to his friend, tail wagging, he was excited to see Oliver, Oliver was excited to see him. “Well Hi to you to Dutch.” Oliver said with a small chuckle considering the situation he now found himself in. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed away some of the blood from the side of his head. Mom’s going to throw a fit. Oliver thought to himself, doubly so when he glanced at his watch and realized it was now close to evening, he was due back home an hour ago. “Shit” Oliver muttered to himself as he quickly grabbed up the pack and gear that spilled all over the creek when he fell and rushed to find the deer, he shot it that much was clear from the blood trail leading off. Luckily for him, it didn’t take long to find the long dead animal besides a tree not far from the creek, that's where his luck ended. It didn’t take long to notice the deer had bled out, from a gut shot, the fall threw off Olivers aim just enough and now it was likely that a large portion of the deer meat, as well as its price was ruined now. A groan escaped Olivers lips as he silently cursed his luck, but he had no time to mourn the bounty he would have otherwise gained from the animal, he still had to drag it back out of the forest, and it would be nightfall soon.

With Effort, and sheer grit, Oliver pushed past his own pain and dragged the Carcass out of its final resting place, out through the forest, and into the back of his Truck The drive into town was thankfully not a long one, the streetlights leading up to Mr.Sheffer’s Butcher shop was a welcome change of pace after the fall he took out in the wilderness. Pulling up to Mr.Sheffer’s shop he noted to his relief it was still open. Oliver stepped inside of the shop and immediately drew the eyes of everyone inside. Ignoring most of the worried and repulsed looks they gave him on account of his and various animal blood on his person he walked over to the counter and rang the bell to call attention to anyone working in the back.

A clang of metal followed by a curse is what Oliver heard before a booming voice shouted from the back room.

“Out in a minute!” Mr.Sheffer shouted, but it was really more like five. The burly old man’s slow movement gave Oliver enough time to look around the shop, noticing in the back of the shop, seated at a table enjoying a sandwich was a man in a military Uniform, a sergeants rank on the shoulder. The man noted Oliver’s glance and nodded at him, a polite and silent greeting shared between the two men.
Another loud bang noise drew Olivers attention back toward the door into the backroom. In front of the door stood the looming figure of Mr.Sheffer with an annoyed look on his face. Oliver regarded Mr.Sheffer for a moment, it has only been two weeks since he last saw the man, but Oliver figured he must’ve gained at least twenty pounds since that time. Sheffer was as tall as he was fat, and Oliver couldn’t help but be intimidated by the bearded bald man’s figure.

“Shit Sinclair! What the hell happened to you?” Mr.Sheffer bellowed, the annoyed expression turning into one mixed with slight concern as he regarded Oliver.

“What this? Nah, It’s nothing Mr.Sheffer. You should see the other guy.” Oliver responded in a dismissive manner, a grin on his face.

“Other guy.” Mr Sheffer Scoffed. “Sure kid, whatever you say, you’re still bleeding all over my floor, so sit your ass down and i’ll have Amelia clean you up.” Mr.Sheffer said it in such a way that Oliver knew this wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. An order Oliver complied with.

“Amy! Get your ass out here and bring a first aid kit!” Mr.Sheffer shouted into the backroom, eliciting another bang as another voice shouted back.

“Alright! I’m coming!”

Another two minutes passed before out from the back room jogged out a young girl in Overalls. Amelia Sheffer, Mr.Sheffers eldest daughter. Unlike her father, she was not at all intimidating standing at just about average height, and slender. What she lacked in terms of being intimidating she made up for in her beauty. Oliver couldn’t help but let his eyes linger on the girl as she worked around the shop, she was a year younger than Oliver and a big part of the reason he liked coming to Mr.Sheffer to sell his meat as opposed to Darport city.

“Howdy Amy I’m sorry about all this.” Oliver managed with a cool smile, still trying to play down his injury.

“Howdy Olive, don’t you worry about anythin’. I’ll get you all fixed up.” Amelia responded, with a courteous smile as she got to work on cleaning off the blood from the side of Olivers forehead

The two shared a comfortable silence, Amelia working on stemming the bleeding from Olivers cut, giving him some medicine for the pain, the two occasionally exchanging glances into each others eyes. Mr.Sheffer watched the two in silence, his look of concern turning back into annoyance as he cleared his throat.
“Sinclair, your mama came through earlier on boy.”

“Did she?” Oliver responded, glancing at the man. Shit Oliver thought as he waited for Mr.Sheffers response.

“Damn right she did, damn woman came in here hollerin’ about where the hell you’ve been and if I’ve seen you, why in the hell are you so late, you were due here ages ago.” Mr.Sheffer said with a grumble as he crossed his arms.

“Yeah Olive, where have you been? Y’got a lot of people worried sick about ya, Bill came in with your mama and we-” Amelia couldn’t finish her sentence before Mr.Sheffer cut in.

“Right! That damn Cumberland! Came in here with your mama. Let that woman get all uppity with me, then had the balls to talk back to me when I raised my voice! You boy’s don’t got any manners I tell ya! Back in my damn day . . .” Mr.Sheffer then trailed off into a story about his youth that Oliver couldn’t be bothered to care about.

“Yeah well, sorry about that Mr.Sheffer. I got held up during the hunt, y’know.. Lost track of time, got all turned around.”

“Right.. Well, y’got anything for me?” Mr.Sheffer retorted coldly as Amelia finished cleaning up Olivers cut.

“That’ll bruise up somethin’ fierce Ollie, but it shouldn’t bleed no more.” Amelia said in a soft, sweet voice before turning to her father.

“Be nice papa.”

“I’m always nice!”

“Mhm….” Amelia said with a roll of her eyes before smiling at Oliver again then turning heel and heading back into the backroom to finish her chores. Both Oliver and Mr.Sheffer watched her leave. Oliver’s eyes lingering for a little longer than he perhaps should’ve, Mr.Sheffer slamming his hands on the table Oliver was sitting at to snap his attention back to him.

“So.. Sinclair… Got anything for me?” Mr.Sheffer said, the words exiting his mouth like a low growl.

“Yeah. I got somethin’ for you Mr.Sheffer, it’s in the back of my truck.” Oliver said standing up, heading for the door.

“Four point buck, good meat on it took me a hell of a long time to get it out of the forest.” Oliver said smiling at the man. Mr.Sheffer didn’t smile back.

“Four point huh… alright let's see.” Mr.Sheffer replied as Oliver pulled down the door to the bed of his Truck, Mr.Sheffer fussed from behind him.

“Gut shot.. Damn it Sinclair, I thought you knew how to shoot.”

Mr.Sheffer’s words stung, Oliver stayed silent.

“Son of a bitch.. This’ll be a pain to clean. How long has it been dead?” Mr.Sheffer asked as he scratched at his beard looking over the Deer, as well as the sling of rabbits laying beside it.

“Few Hours?” Oliver replied and was met with more cursing from Mr.Sheffer.

“Damn it Sinclair.” Mr.Sheffer growled as he grabbed the hind leg of the buck

“Grab the rabbits and follow me inside.” Mr.Sheffer said before hefting the buck over his shoulder in an impressive show of his strength, lugging the animal inside with relative ease and into his backroom. Oliver followed behind him, nervous but eager to get home. Inside the backroom, Mr.Sheffer got to work on placing the Buck on a hook, quickly chopping off the Antlers and getting to work on butchering the meat. Amelia buzzed around the backroom as well, fluctuating between cleaning countertops and handing her father tools he requests without delay.

“Alright Sinclair. What do you want for him?” Mr.Sheffer says, not looking away from the work he was doing.

“I reckon that buck weighs quite a bit. there's plenty o’ meat coming’ offa him.” Oliver says, trying his best to talk around the obvious problem with his statement. Mr.Sheffer didn’t reply.

“Id reckon 18 Dollar’s outta cover him.” Oliver says hopeful.

Mr.Sheffer bellowed a dismissive laugh before replying.
“You reckon I’m a fool Sinclair?.”

“No sir.”

“Then why’d you say 18 Dollars, y’know I can’t use most of the meat on the chest.”

“Right…”

“Try 5 dollars Sinclair, I’ll give you 1for the rabbits.”

Oliver stayed quiet for a moment. Six dollars for almost two days of work.. That can’t be it.

“Now Mr.Sheffer, cmon now. That buck’s got plenty of meat in his hinds, and back. He’s worth much more than five.”

“Five dollars Sinclair.” Mr.Sheffer growled, annoyed at the attempt at haggling.

“Amelia go get his money.” Mr.Sheffer barked at his daughter who moved quickly for the door to comply with the order. Oliver moved to block her.

“Hey wait, Mr.Sheffer c’mon sir. I got mouths at home to feed, please be reasonabl-”

“I don’t give a damn Sinclair, everybody’s got mouths to feed! Don’t be a pain in my ass now kid! Move out of the way!” Mr.Sheffer barked, angry at Oliver’s actions.

“Sorry Ollie..” Amy said as she tried to move past him quickly to retrieve the money.Still Oliver persisted, taking Amelia by the elbow as she tried to move past him.

“Hey wait, cmon Amy. Mr.Sheffer, I’m not asking for much mor-” Oliver couldn’t finish his sentence, the air knocked out of him as he felt himself get lifted off the ground, instantly his grip on Amelia’s elbow lost as he now found himself desperately holding onto the maw of Mr.Sheffer as the brutish man slammed and then pinned Oliver against the wall. Oliver felt the soreness in his ribs spike one hand firmly wrapped around Olivers throat, holding him in place.

“No! You do not! Touch! My! Daughter!.” Mr.Sheffer screamed in Olivers face, the rage in his eyes apparently and enough to quell any fight Oliver might of had.

“Mr.Sheffer..” Oliver said in between coughs as the screaming continued.

“I don’t give a shit Sinclair! You take what I say or you fuck off and stop bringing your food here! I don’t give a shit what your problem might be! You want money son? Get a damn job! Or bring me something I don’t have to work doubly hard to use you son of a bitch!.” Mr.Sheffer continued to shout obscenities as Oliver sat there choking for a time taking it all in without protest or fight. Before long Mr.Sheffer let him go.

“I Don’t want to ever! Ever! Catch you layin’ a hand on Amelia y’hear me son.” Mr.Sheffer said, his voice coming down from an incoherent scream, to a loud shout.

“Yes sir.” Oliver said, clearing his throat. Pointedly not looking at Amelia, he didn’t want to risk it.

“Daddy.. It was fine.. He didn-” Amelia tried to finish speaking, but a pointed glare from her father silenced her before she could.

“Get the boy his money, so he can get gone.” Mr.Sheffer commanded, Amelia complying silently, Oliver still not risking a glance at her.

“Sinclair… Take the Antlers” Mr.Sheffer said, his voice showing just the tinge of sympathy, before fading.

“You can get something for it in Darport city, Folks like making fancy knives.”

“Right.. Good idea.. Thanks Mr.Sheffer.”

“Yeah son. Take your money and get gone.”

Oliver complied, looking at Amelia as she handed him the money and the Antlers. The look on her face one of concern and sympathy. There weren’t words spoken between the two, but they both noted nothing has changed despite the situation that had just occurred. Oliver made his way back to his truck, Dutch sitting in the passenger seat. As he was opening the door to his truck to greet his dog he heard a voice from behind him.

“Hey Sinclair!” It wasn’t Mr.Sheffer, even though the words were the same he was used to hearing from him. Oliver turned his head to see a man he hadn’t noticed before, a patron of Mr.Sheffer. The man was in a military dress uniform, sergeants stripes on his arms and a clean cut look about him. He approached Oliver, holding out a hand.

“I’m Sergeant Whitaker Vinland Army.”

Oliver nodded warily at the man shaking his hand before replying.

“Howdy there Sergeant Whitaker, what can I do for you?”

“Well let me be frank son, I was in Mr.Sheffer’s shop just now enjoying my evening dinner after work down at the recruiting office in Darport city, and I couldn’t help but overhear your.. Conversation.” The man paused for a moment, clearing his throat. The event was loud and no doubt awkward for everyone within earshot, Oliver’s cheeks blushed red as he listened to what the man had to say silently.

“Anyway son, I'd be lying if I said I didn’t take stock of you soon as you came inside the shop. You’re able bodied and strong enough I reckon, though I suppose you could do with a little more meat on your person.” The man chuckled in an attempt to diffuse the awkwardness. It didn’t work.

“I wanted to let you know that, the army pays its soldiers well son. Eighty three dollars on the bi-week. Now, I reckon that’s more than six dollars per day now.”

“I reckon so.” Oliver replied coldly, not liking the remark about the money he currently had on him.

“So, here’s my proposition son. Come down tomorrow to my recruiters station early, bring your mama if’n you wanted to keep her informed. I won't lie to you, it’ll be dangerous. There's a war, but you’ll be able to more’n pay for whatever it is you and your mama need. I’ll even throw in 18 dollar signing bonus.” The man looked Oliver over, a grin on his face.

Oliver was caught in his web. “Y’know.. Thats.. A lot of money Mr.Whitaker..” Oliver cleared his throat, the prospect of it still too much for Oliver to outright refuse.

“Yes son, it is. Paid for by the Vinlandian Government. For every man and woman that wants to serve.” The man’s grin never left his face.

Oliver nodded

“Alright sir, I’ll come down tomorrow with my Mama to talk more about it at least.”

“That’s all I’m askin’ for.” Said Sergeant Whitaker, producing a number he could be reached on.

Oliver left not long after, heading home to his mother and sister where he was met with hugs, slaps and another hug. As both his mother and sister went from topics like where he was to what happened to his face, to being angry about the money Mr.Sheffer had given him, to apprehension over the offer Sergeant Whitaker had made. Still, Oliver made his mind up, for his family he’d do anything. And the next day he went with his mother to Darport city, where he then signed his enlistment committing himself to the armed forces, being shipped off for training not long after that.

In the midst of the Autumn rain, Jean reached into his breast pocket and slowly unwound the chain of his pocket watch. Its brass encasing was tightly knitted between the small links of metallic beads that usually clipped itself to his pockets. Instead, Jean had simply wound it up and placed it within his pocket, hoping to make the least possible noise as he could manage. Mustering the faint effort to read the listed time, he noticed that they were due to conclude their patrol shortly; at least, they were supposed to be heading back shortly. The journey itself would take maybe another twenty minutes if they stuck to the cautious route they'd taken, but it could've easily been scrambled in ten if they were more reckless about it. Jean sighed heavily, wiping a single thumb across the glass screen of the watch, clearing it of the cold foggy vapour that had trickled atop of it. The weather was extremely aggravating, ruining their focuses. Looking around, he took a small peak at Thomas again, he was fumbling around with his revolver for the hundredth time. Who could plame him? There was no way he could fire a rifle with the state his arms and shoulders were in. Whatever had happened during the bombastic engagement with the armoured car and its sturmtruppen, the soldier who'd engaged Thomas had left a nasty infliction upon Thomas' well-being. No matter how much he smiled, Jean could see his teeth grit with discomfort whenever he moved his arms too much. Even two weeks after the wound, he felt the pain, almost as if it were a phantom occurrence still haunting his body.

Jean lifted his head upwards, searching further down the street. The remainder of old barricades, machine gun nests and sentry posts were left abandoned and derelict. They didn't seem unfit for service, but perhaps their placement was less in tune with the potential defensive strategy that the Imperial Army had planned. Whatever it was, their concentration had clearly been pushed back elsewhere. Spreading their numbers thin was harmful, and funnelling the Federation into some sort of a street could be more effective than their previous occupational movement. Countless amounts of wreckage littered the city streets where pedestrians would've previously been. Bodies of prisoners of war were also scattered amongst them. It had seemed like the Empire had gotten what they desired out of their prisoners, and disposed of their burdening presence to psychologically break the will of the Federation. Every body Jean passed he held his breath, hoping it wasn't going to be a face he'd recognise or met before. Even now, where he was crouched, a face-down corpse resided in its olive uniform. Similar to the old uniforms previously worn by the squad at Garnia, Jean enveloped a strange distaste for the lack of smell the corpse let off. It felt almost new, natural perhaps. Nothing seemed to eat away at it, or decompose the body. Along its sleeves and shoulders laid a few insignia and identification discs. Jean scrutinised closer, peeping down and reading what regiment or force they'd belonged to.

"One hundred and seventh Royal Grenadiers?" Whilst rambling to himself, Jean slowly flipped over the corpse, unsurprisingly being met with a pale and white-faced individual who was devoid of all colour and emotion. It felt weird to inquire on a corpse, and the fact that he was seemingly capable of going through a dead body again, but the amount he'd seen had began to numb his experiences with the deceased. Especially after the previous corpses he'd seen... "The fuck...This is a Gallian regiment?"

Looking back towards the rest of the Squad, he silently ordered Victoria to go investigate what could be the last building they needed to search and beckoned for Thomas to make his way over to them, Inés following behind. Knowing Victoria was busy handling whatever she could, and with Luke potentially watching further down the street, he put his investigative mind to ease as he lifted a small metal disc from beneath his collar. It read out Private J. Thompson, 107th Royal Grenadiers. Thus, the confusion was confirmed either way. From what Jean knew, the Federation were supposed to be rushing to the aid of Gallia, hence the Northern Wessel campaign's purpose, but this seemed rather different. If it were a Gallian Volunteer that may have made more sense, but this was without a doubt a regiment of their stature. Royalty was not really embraced elsewhere in the Federation as much as the Gallian community loved to. Jean pointed at the corpse and whispered to Thomas, hoping he could shed some light on the situation.

"The hell is a Gallian doing here? This make any sense to you?"

"No clue, mate. Might be something to do with that whole Federation-Gallian relationship thingy? More like a dysfunctional marriage, but that's my best guess." Before he could inquire further, Thomas seemed to speak in a darker tone, knowing very well that the others who were reliant on his morale-boosting were nowhere near him. "Unfortunately it doesn't really matter, Corporal. It's another dead man, and we're seeing loads of them around every street corner. Let's refocus on the task at hand and get back pronto!"

Jean sighed heavily, before standing up and looking further down the street. A large set of rubble was seen not too far away, and Jean wanted to ensure that they kept their eyes out for anything worth notifying the command chain about. Thomas too spied ahead, looking out and staring into the abyss before them. Both of them sighed to each other. Instinctively, Thomas slowly got back onto his feet and clutched his revolver tightly. Halfway down the road, he passed an assortment of small tin cans and a seemingly empty fuel canister, all silently taking in the excess rainfall into their containers. Muttering to himself at Jean's small hesitation. It was more of a playful mutter, at least it seemed like it, but perhaps Jean's recent reluctance to head into the fray first and foremost was starting to dampen his actual involvement in their journey. Times like those were the worst, where Jean felt himself fall behind in the journey through life. Everyone began to solidify their futures and their places in the squad, whilst Jean simply fell under the title of a failed leader. How typical...

Suddenly, out of the damned morning bleak, a thump shook the world. Several hundred metres further into the Imperial territory, a enormous explosion of sound and noise blasted into the silent rain, spitting agonising tension throughout the sky. Jean leapt in his place and Thomas ducked where he stood, their heads quickly fluttering into the sky. Whenever they looked upwards, the specific sight could not be located and the trickle of rain kept landing in their eyes before they could triangulate it. The eruption of sound shook the very foundations of Amone, and following its explosive prelude came the whistle of a...was that a shell? The familiar sound of an artillery gun firing, yet with the firepower of an entire regiment, burst into the sky. The whistling stream of a singular ordinance soared highly through the misty sky, carrying onward. Jean's head turned back when he saw the direction it must've been heading.



All of her uncomfortable nightly dreams were shaken from their tender slumber when an excruciating burst of noise banished all silence from the early morning air. Sitting up in bed, her breath drawn to short intervals of panic, she heard the uproar of shouts coming from outside. The early morning walkers were heard shouting sightings of an object, hurling towards them. Freya struggled out of her bed, clutching onto Naomi's jacket and walking to the window in a half-tired limp, letting her free hand rest against the window frame whilst she poked her head outside. A whistle sounded in the sky, acting as a crescendo interlude following the opening act of bombastic cannonade. By the time she'd scanned the sky, it was too late. Her eyes began frozen in place, and the plummeting metal drill slammed onto a street or two away from where she spectated.

Almost immediately, she was flung back, the force of the shock and explosion cracked the windows, shattered the mirrors, broke the bedframes, blistered the bodies of those lucky enough to escape its blast radius and scorched the streets in an eruption of smoke and plume. Ash spewed around every corner as Freya screamed, panicked by the intrusion of the now unexplained infestation of death that had brought itself upon them. As she was flung back, a shard of glass scraped by her finger, narrowly missing her burning eyeballs. The heat could be felt, even from the other street, and the blast rendered all of the slumbering Federation soldiers in shock. What...what hell had just been unleashed upon them?


The explosion's intensity was felt even from their further scouting positions. Jean's eyes lit up like firecrackers, sparked with an unrelenting fear for the destruction they'd just witnessed. What had fired? What had suddenly brought chaos to the resting soldiers of the Federation army? Turning behind him quickly, the noise still echoing throughout the morning dew, he turned to Thomas and opened his mouth to speak. And before he could even get a word out, something worse struck the squad's vision. From the small tins next to Thomas, a single bullet slammed into their metallic body and burst a furious flame into the sky, sending Thomas flying to the side and across into the middle of the street. The far smaller explosion personally forced Jean and his Francian companion into cover, holding their helmets down as the marksman's shot skewered the very peace and safety of their distant spectator-ship. With the burst of what seemed to be ragnite fuel, Jean reemerged his head slowly to see where Thomas had landed, his mind constantly praying that the Oceanic had made it out alive. A few seconds passed and he scoped out the body, struggling and wriggling around on the floor. Life! Life was still in his soul. And before he could smile, Jean noticed something different.

As Thomas crawled back, trying to drag himself across the street, part of him remained in place. A trail of blood soaked into the cobbled paving as his shouts of pain sprang into view. Where he crawled, part of his leg remained. Jean's eyes widened tremendously and he screamed out Thomas' name, finally realising the separation of his limb from his lower half. The sight of a familiar face snapped from their left leg tore his mind into pieces and he began to think irrationally, hiding behind the cover and poking his head outside as he called for his name, over and over again. All that he got in return was the screams of Thomas' agony, a striking fear of perhaps his time slowly coming to an end. Time was ticking away, and yet what they had to do was so unclear. A sniper had been introduced into the fray, and now they were pinned into a stalemate like nothing before. A personal battle of wits and choice had begun. Jean turned to Victoria and Luke, his voice trembled with confusion, fear and anger.

"W-Where did that shot come from!? W-Was it a marksman? Answer me, someone!" His senses began to return slowly as he put his back against the pile of rubble he hid behind, breathing heavily before shouting one last time. "T-Thomas, keep yourself still! They're going to see you!"

Little did they all know, now a Fox had began to sniff them out. With their sights trailed onto specific points, and the very best attempts and reducing his exposure, Wilhelm had found the perfect bait to relinquish his anger upon: those who'd gassed his friends. Now came the decision. Does the man live, or die? And it could come down to one fateful decision...

Luke’s eyes traveled down towards the ground as Jean answered his question, quietly rubbing his thumb over his rifle’s bolt as he thought on his answer. “Peace… Righteous,” he muttered under his breath, trying his best to relate to the words in some way, but those words felt so distant… so foreign. When’s the last time he’s felt that way? He silently ran his fingers over the scars on his face with a small frown. Would he ever know a peaceful life? Or was he doomed to keep forcing himself forward through this shitshow that was his life? He shook his head and sighed before pushing himself up, following his team as they began to move on. As they moved through the ruined city Luke began to notice a few more burnt out buildings they passed. He arched a brow and tightened his grip around his rifle, finding the burnt out structures to be very unnerving. A shiver ran up his spine before quickly catching up to Jean and Thomas. Soon Thomas broke off to clear out another building, leaving Jean and Luke outside. Luke silently scanned their surroundings, his rifle raised slightly, though attention was soon taken as he spotted Jean heading for a nearby tram cart. Not wanting to get separated he quickly followed behind him, though as they grew closer he would soon regret it.

As they grew closer a familiar foul stench reached his nose. Luke gritted his teeth, silently hoping they wouldn’t come upon the same horror he had seen earlier. Sadly he would be forced to lay his eyes onto it again. At least he wouldn’t be the only one this time. He managed to catch a glance of what looked like two charred bodies before Jean stumbled back, Luke stepping out of the way before following him with a small frown. With a small sigh he rubbed his eyes before looking to Jean to say something, though before he could say anything he noticed an even more terrifying scene just down the street from them. A pile of charred and mutilated bodies just left out in the middle of the streets like trash. A nervous smile crawled it’s way onto his face, his lips quivering and his breath becoming faster. “You gotta be fuckin kidding me,” he muttered with a terrified chuckle before taking a step back in fear. As Jean fell over to vomit Luke quickly turned away, clutching his eyes closed and covering his mouth to hide his trembling smile. Flashes of the burnt corpses continued fill Luke’s mind, screams of pain and agony over a roaring flame echoing in his head again. Slowly he breathed through his nose, trying to calm his nerves before opening his eyes and pulling his shaking hand from his mouth. With a short cough he took one last deep breath before turning back to Jean and Thomas as they composed themselves. Silently he gave a firm nod towards Jean as he silently ordered them to move on.

Luke felt a bit of relief as they left that horrific scene behind with his team, though the images would still occasionally flash into his head and send a shiver up his spine. Maybe coming along on this mission was a mistake. No! It had to be done and this was his chance to stand out in the ranks. There was no time for regret. Luke silently built up his resolve to push on and moved with his team to get their job done. As time passed they came across the remains of a lost sentry post with the bodies of what looked like several prisoners who had been executed. It was a bit unnerving really, knowing these poor bastards were just pushed to their knees and killed like some wild animals. He’d prefer to die fighting then on his knees. As Jean inspected the bodies Luke searched the area, looking for anything useful. Maybe a few spare bullets, grenades, anything that can be useful. Sadly this place looked picked dry of anything useful. He managed to hear Jeans rambling as he stated that these were the Royal Grenadiers and turned around with an arched brow. He honestly didn’t know who they were, but they sounded fancy. Right now though it didn’t matter though. Luke gave a quick prayer for the poor bastards before moving slowly along the streets, keeping an eye out for any dangers, leaving Jean and Thomas to speak.

Luke silently fell into his thoughts, kicking some rocks to the side before looking back to the others as they began to move up the streets. His eyes drifted down though towards a few fuel canisters in the street, some of the fuel leaking onto the ground. He arched a brow, why would anyone leave those behind? Those could have been useful to someone. He shrugged and moved across the street, but froze as a distant thumping noise. Instantly he knew what those thumps were and dove into a nearby man sized crater. With gritted teeth and closed eyes he clutched onto his helmet and awaited a barrage of artillery shells to rain down onto him. They never did though and slowly he opened his eyes before peeking out of his crater. Slowly he rose from the crater and clenched his teeth in anger before quickly walking back towards Jean and Thomas. “Fuckin Imps, can’t they just give it a fuckin-” before he could finish he managed to hear a distant gunshot before his vison was ingulfed in a bright explosion. Luke gave a shout of shock before he was sent flying through a ruined stores broken window, crashing onto the hard and rotten wooden floors. A groan escaped Luke, though all he could hear was a high pitched hearing as he laid on his back with gritted teeth, his vision blurred and his body aching in pain.

Slowly he began to regain his senses before rolling over onto his hands and knees. After a few hard coughs his hearing began to return. Sadly, the first thing he heard were screams of pain and agony from outside the building. “Fuck,” he muttered before coughing a bit more. He looked over to his right and snatch up his rifle before crawling over to the shop window. Gradually he peeked outside before his eyes widened to see a legless Thomas in the middle of the street. “Fuck!” he hissed in anger before falling back down behind the window. Silently he ran several ideas through his head on what to do before hearing Jean bark out questions about the shooter. He gritted his teeth and growled. “I got nothing! No eyes on the fucker!” he shouted back before ripping off his helmet and tossing it aside in frustration. As the helmet rolled along the floor it stopped next to some shattered glass from a mirror that laid scattered next to some old mannequins. Soon an idea formed in his head before he crawled over to the shattered mirror, plucking a sizable shard from the floor before wiping it clean of dust until he saw his dirty face.

With a deep breath he eased the piece of mirror out the window and began to scan the streets, looking for any signs that may lead him to the shooter. It looked empty with no signs of their attacker, but soon he spotted a large tower down the street. Sadly he couldn’t see the sniper, but he’d bet all his money that’s where he was. “Alright, alright you fucker, just you wait,” he muttered before crawling towards the shops entrance. With a grunt he knelt near the door frame and spotted Jean. “I think I know where he is, the church tower north of us. I couldn’t get eyes on the prick himself, but I’m betting that’s where the fucker is. That’s where I’d be at least,” he said before resting his head against the doors wooden frame. “No way we can take the shot to take him down, too far,” he said before glancing over to the legless Thomas with a frown. There was no way they could get him with the bastard gunning for them. There had to be something they could do! With a heavy sigh Luke scanned around to spot anything that could help them until his eyes came upon an abandoned field gun on the corner of the street pointing away from them.

Could they possibly use that against him? Was it loaded? Was it even functional still? They’d have to aim it towards the bastard as well and there was no way the sniper would give them the chance. Luke rapidly tapped onto his rifle, trying to come up with a plan before looking to Jean with a firm look. “Jean, listen up I think I got a plan,” he said before pointing towards the field gun. “If I can get to it I could get it working and hit the prick shooting at us, I know the basics, thanks to a few people from basic training. I’m gonna need you to get the pricks attention though, if he sees me I’ll be a dead man,” he said before giving a small sigh. “It’s a long shot, I know, but it may be our only choice. The longer we sit here, the less chance we have getting out of here alive,” he said before glancing to Thomas with a frown. “He won’t last long and the fact he’s still breathing could only mean the bastard in the tower is using him as bait, but I don’t think that will last much longer so we need to act now,” he finished before gripping his rifle tightly and locking a firm gaze with Jean as he awaited his reply.

@LetMeDoStuff

Diana’s Brutal Reality – I was having a nice dream… – September 27th, 1914 (Siege of Amone)

---

Diana was having a bit of a strange dream, while sleeping because of what happened yesterday basically. She definitely did enjoy the fact she ate something better than the military rations that usually is given to the troops. It was the only real reason she was able to sleep peacefully because it was a good meal. However, there are many things that happened in this dream. She had a smile on her face while she dreamed.

---

---

Diana was blushing a bit heavily, while sleeping in the bed she was assigned to. However, she was shaken awake by a very loud noise, which was outside of the building she was sleeping in. It felt like an earthquake, which woken her up and she was definitely in shock. Did the enemy just attack them while most of the Federation soldiers were sound asleep? This was a question in her head, but it was pretty obvious since she’s in a war zone and shouldn’t be taking it lightly. Don’t want to end up dead like so many of the federation soldiers. She got up slowly, which she couldn’t believe what had happened. ”W-What the hell happened? I was having a nice dream...” Diana said, with a shocked look on her face.

It caused her to be pretty afraid of what she might see if she exits the building because that was a tremendous explosion. She decided to see what had happened even though she was shaking and was definitely afraid. ”Come on Diana, you need to see what had happened...” Diana thought to herself. She decided to get a move on and got outside and noticed where the blast, which woke her ass up. Her eyes went wide and wondered what the Imperials used against them.

She looked around and noticed some of the federation soldiers, were panicking about what had happened. ”Looks like I should’ve been doing something other than sleeping… but I didn’t want to go on the scouting mission with Jean, Victoria, Ines, Luke and Thomas. Please don’t die any of you its better if everyone returns safely. I love you, Jean...” Diana said, with a bit of a terrified look on her face. She doesn’t want any of her squad mates to die no matter what. It was mostly because she held her hands close to her chest and was breathing in deeply because it feels like this war is becoming worst, by the moment. She deeply sighed while looking at the what is going on right this second.

@LetMeDoStuff

All things considered, it was a wonderful dinner, a nice respite from the terror that surrounded them. If only it could have lasted...

Rikes' cuts and scrapes were looked after. He was gonna be fine. His 'uniform' was kind of a mess, and there wasn't a replacement available, so while Isaac had tended to his wounds - Not an easy task. YOU try helping someone who nips at your fingers when you hurt them. - Britta had at least managed to find some needle and thread to make the vest less...destroyed. The wolf had had a few close ones, or he snagged it alot. Hard to say, really. This tear here could've been a knife, or a twisted piece of metal... That one had definitely been a bullet, as it matched a scarred part of his body. The process took at least an hour. Once it was done, they'd reconvened to the so-called barracks that was the sleeping area and decided to take a rest, Isaac idly petting the wolf.

"I thought he was gonna take your hand off, back there."

"No, he wouldn't. Between my training and the army's training, he's more likely to kill an Imperial Soldier than anything. He knows better."

"So, can I...?"

"Yes, you can pet 'im."

He chuckled as she did so, and the wolf grunted with certain approval. Here, it was finally when Britta shared what was bothering her.

"My little brother is in the army, Isaac."

"Your brother? I didn't know you had one."

She nodded, solemnly.

"Hans has always looked up to me, so...I guess when I joined the army to lighten the load, back home, he must've thought it was the best thing to do, as well."

Immediate thoughts went to Jean and his dearly departed sister, Olivia...

"I've tried to get word to him, find out his situation, right now. I'm pretty sure he's through training by now and serving somewhere."

"If I hear anything, I'll let you know."

"I'd hope that anyone would, but thanks just the same. I did get word out that I wanted to hear from him. Barring some communications block, I should hear something from relatively soon."

"I'm sure you'll get thr- Hey, whoa!"

Britta had been scratching Rikes behind the ears particularly well, just then, and the wolf let out a groan and a whimper before hopping up and proceeding to lick the young woman's face. The suddenness of it surprised her, immediately breaking the tension that'd been there and she fell back on the bed they were sitting on, trying to keep this shaggy beast out of her face.

"Oh my god, his breath is horrible!"

"Rikes, how dare you! I was there first!"

They managed to get him off and the wolf began running around a bit at random as Britta cleaned her face off. She then smirked at Isaac.

"'I was there first'? I don't recall a permanent claim being made, Mr. Isaac."

This actually caught Isaac by surprise, enough to make him feel red with embarassment.

"The things that come out of your mouth, I swear..."

"It's just what naturally comes to mind..."

Britta sighed and shook her head, shoving the Edinburgher over with one swift motion.

"I'm just teasing you, you crazy wolf-man. Now, make room on this thing. We both need rest, and I want to be around someone that doesn't have dead animal breath."

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

So, sometime later, we have a fairly-pleasant scene. The two Gunners were asleep in the same bed, essentially making sure the other didn't fall out of it. They hadn't done anything more than try to get some sleep, but to say they weren't thoroughly comfortable around each other would be a blatant lie. Rikes, in his somewhat-repaired army vest, lay nearby.

Sometimes, he snored.

Other than that, there was very little disturbance that could be noted during the post-dinner moments - which were relatively peaceful and calm - and now. Now was when everything went wrong. Now was when that moment of peace was suddenly broken. Now...was when the shot rang out. More of a Boom, to be fair. Like a cannon. In fact, the words 'cannon shot' was exactly what occurred to Isaac as his eyes opened. Then, his mind leapt directly to 'Mortars' and even 'Gas' before resolving to...

"Oh no, not again..."

...as the close-up blast of Hill 58 went through his mind again and he clutched the waking Britta tighter, half-thinking there was going to be an explosion right nearby again.

It WAS nearby again!

The moment the far-off sound of a cannon fired, Britta had slowly come to, but Rikes alot faster. He was on his feet with a whimper and a growl. Then as she felt Isaac grip her, she knew exactly what he was thinking...as the in-bound whistling of a high-velocity object was incoming, coming close-



That resounding explosion, the sounds of shattering and destruction not far from here, and yet loud enough that it almost seemed to be on top of them... The way Isaac reacted, after his too-close encounter with a mortar shell...completely understandable. The Lance-Corporal soon came back to reality when he realized the explosion was both not imagined and very different from the mortar shell.

"What the heck was that? Sounded more like a cannon, than anything."

Basic training. They familiarized them the sounds and sights of explosive materials being shot and such at the training grounds. Isaac got up, as did Britta, to strap on their equipment. Outside the barracks, there was activity and even panic, everyone asking the same questions: What was that? Where did it come from? Isaac wanted to get some binoculars... Hell, there WAS a pair, just lying around! He saw Diana nearby, looking just as shocked.

"We're at the ready, Diana. We have to be prepared to move out, 'cause I think they'll be asking people to go find out what that was...and guess who will volunteer us. Get the word out."

He got out his binoculars now to look around while shouting "Everybody suit up! We're being attacked!".

---

Oh, ok. Interesting. Michael didn't know dogs were a part of the army. Apparently, it looked like it was a long part of Isaac's companionship already, so it was safe to assume that it was just Michael not knowing things. He learnt something today.

Having enough of Rikes and Isaac, Michael remembered why he was here in the first place. He headed over to where the garlic breads were placed and grabbed a couple more, thankfully before the next batch of hungry soldiers finished them off. Then he headed back to where Anna was sitting to hand her her favorite dish. Upon seeing Michael, carrying her nostalgia ticket, the sapper couldn't help but beam with sparkly eyes.

"I'm really gonna taste garlic bread?! Thank you Daunte for taking your time!" She squealed

"You're welcome. And please feel free to call me Michael, if you are insistent on using your first name." Michael chuckled a bit at her response. Is this really a thing among Francians to squeal at good food? Francian cuisines indeed are worth it, but really? But at least she responded with much less of second-handed embarrassment, and to be honest Michael found it kind of cute

"Hmmm..." She seemed to be lost in pleasure right now, of perhaps impeccable taste. "Ahh...Such a change from the usual rations we have."

Michael nodded in agreement. Not that garlic bread was his favorite dish, but it sure was a good change to the bland and tasteless rations that were made just to keep soldiers alive. If talking about cuisines, then seafood paella would be his personal favorite, then dumplings, though that one wasn't easily accessible, as it was like at the other side of the planet, in some far away colony of Edinburgh. But eh, those were the luxury of peace that Michael was supposedly fighting for and toward. Now, anything but rations would suffice.

---

Once dinner had been served, it was free time. One could supposedly take that well-fed stomach of Britta's love and care and call it a day, ending it with a high note. But the two sappers had a couple of other things to discuss. Plans for the tunnel assault.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, but we're gonna have to bundle up on this small piece of paper." Michael said as he took out the folded paper from his pocket to be laid out on the table before him.

"What is it?" Anna went to sit beside Michael. "Is that a map or something?"

"Yeah the tunnel map." He said. "I happen to capture this during the briefing."

"Oh that's so nice. Makes our lives much easier."

"There are two entrances to this tunnel, the north and the south." Said Michael. "The north is a little far away than the south from here, but it's not much of a big deal. We ought to take both routes in to make this faster."

"Split up?" Anna was a little skeptical.

"Well, we probably have no chances even if we are together anyway, so I expect this to be a secret attack. The faster we blow it up, the faster we can get out, and the easier we can get out alive."

"Ok." She seemed convinced. "We'll depart as soon as the sun rises the day after tomorrow, so we ought to arrive at the location around eight. Let's make it eight thirty as the marked time. We'll enter at once when the clock strikes."

"Agreed." Michael looked over the map and marked two spots on the map. "I've been studying this map earlier today. I think we can spare a couple of explosives for these areas. They're the medical bay, so many soldiers would be in the area. If we can block their exits, we'd essentially take out a majority of the men we may have to fight."

But in exchange, these men...

"Hmmm, that seems like a pretty good idea on paper." Anna said. "These areas have two exits like the entrance. So we'd have to blow them up at almost the same time. Is it even possible? We can't talk with each other when doing it."

"Then we'd just have to arrange the time for it. We should attack this first, to cut off their reinforcements, then ammunition and whatever storage we could deal with later."

"Then make it eight fifty to reach the area. We'll commence the attack at that time sharp. But, in the case you or us fail to make it..."

"We'll just have to do whatever we can, and only whatever we agreed on." Michael admitted the painful possibility. "If I can't do my part, you don't have to finish it. Just do yours and leave."

"Fair enough." Anna couldn't really disagree. If a part of the tunnel was destroyed, it wasn't like they didn't try for the other intact ones. And frankly enough, Anna was already heavily opposed to such a risky operation already, she'd take any exits she can. "But to think these soldiers will be buried alive if we manage to pull it off..."

The thought was already cruel enough, not just for Michael but Anna too. But they'd likely have to. Facing that many soldiers at once is a huge risk. But that wouldn't make it any less immoral however. Was this the sort of things that commanders and officers would have to make everyday? If that's the case, then Michael would have had a more sympathetic look to them. Hopefully that justified some of their decisions. That they were doing it in good faith instead.

"I know my heart is going to tug me for long." Michael sighed. "But we have to do it."

"After the initial attack, we're on our own then. Me and my partner should attack these areas."

And the roles were then split. Anna and her company would proceed to demolish the northern part of the tunnel, where the ration storage were located, whereas Michael and Reyna would attack the heavy ammunition area to the south. There would be no deadlines after the eight thirty and the eight fifty time. After that, it would come down to merely each individual's courage and responsibility to their duties.

---

September 27th

It had been a good night sleep. One that did not involve pain, hunger nor thirst nor misery. Instead, he was fairly relaxed after the good meal the day before. Although quite far-fetched, he did wish for more days to be like this. He was up quite early though. Last night he had taken the opportunity to sleep early and catch up on the sleeplessness that he accumulated ever so slightly ever since the White Hart trip. Nevertheless, the awakening was also partly due to habits that had been drilled onto him for long, perhaps even longer than military life, so even if he wanted to sleep more, he couldn't.

Quickly getting out of bed, Michael proceeded to have a bit of a stretch exercise around the camp ground, before heading over to the kitchen area. Even if there was nothing to feast on in the morning, watching the sun rise would still be a thing worth seeing. Especially when it's so peaceful and quiet right now. One could lose himself in such a spectacular view, when majority of people are still asleep, to momentarily erase the horrible gory of war and enjoy what nature perhaps really wanted us to do.

'May God have his eyes on us tomorrow, and bless all who deserved his blessings." The Cruxian mused his prayer quietly within, before drawing a small cross with his finger on his chest. Perhaps a simple and crude prayer, but the Cruxian God that Michael had chosen to believe in, should be ok with it. If he really was the all-loving God that people of his faith said so, then he should need not colorful prayers. He did find colorful prayers a little too superficial, but not like he objected to it anyway. Cruxian is a pretty obscure religion after all.

However, for some particular reasons, Michael found another one of his kind that belonged to that camp. A dazzling lady with beauty that seemed to transcend this world. Her strange and wild gem-colored hair went in a yin-yang relationship with her uptight collared military uniform. But the most striking feature that dictated her similarity in Michael's impression would be the crucifix worn around her chest. The same sort that Michael had in his pocket. At first glance, Michael was a little taken aback, before she finally spoke to him, with manners that befits what she had just displayed.

"Ah, yes. You're more than welcome to." He replied, still somewhat curious about her. "If you need any help with the squad with the squad, I'll answer as best as I could."
@CFProxy

The chair beneath her withering body was close to collapsing, falling apart from its shoddy craftsmanship that had been blended by the aggression of the war surrounding it. Every time her body moved, the entire seat creaked and tilted in place. Had she not already been sat there for seven hours, she'd likely had escaped it out of sheer effort. However, whilst her legs were still firmly in place and her rear-end remained planted against its maleficent wooden structure, she did not dare to move away. From outside of her temporary holding cell, Middleton could be heard dealing with more military matters that refused to leave him alone. Lieutenant after lieutenant, captain after captain, major after major, even two colonels paid their visage. Lucia sometimes listened in, hoping to garner some sort of information out of the situation outside. She'd been training with her Captain ever since Jean's squad had reunited with the entire Federation liberation force here in Amone. Now, all she could wish for was either the sweet release from her confinement to find the ones she'd began to grow attached towards or the announcement of the upcoming battle. Middleton seemed highly impressed by certain stories Lucia told of, despite the disappointing circumstances. Her ferocity in combat had been unleashed only once upon two assaulting personnel. An act of defence, nonetheless, but one that spoke of the confident and quick-thinking nature of her tutor. Under the threat of someone's gunsight was the likely trigger for her survivor's instinct, but it wasn't enough to start warranting the perfect soldier that everyone envisioned. She was required to be able to go on the offensive, pursue the enemy into the bleak with the same ferocity as she'd shown before. There couldn't be any hesitation. She had to be prepared to pull the trigger again and again.

Lucia's expression was that of an empty husk. Recently, all of her effort was put into thinking. It was all that she could do: think. Finding what kept her alive was a difficult search. Previously, it had been the 21st Edinburgh Fusiliers that were her purpose. She gave them life on a frontline that only saw darkness. She played games with the younger guys, sang songs for the older men, nurtured the elder women and comforted the mutually aged girls. She was a beacon of hope, and yet now what was she? Back when Middleton hadn't snapped, blaming himself for every unforeseeable consequence of the 21st's final battle. Thousands dead, in the blink of an eye. And when that happened, the man she looked up to was destroyed alongside them. What remained now was Captain Middleton; a different breed of national hero who emphasised brutal tactics to get results. Whilst his morals were still there, he knew that the only way to victory was to keep advanced strategies updated and to break the spirits of the Imperial 'menace' that had taken everything from him. Lucia never understood what happened back then. Days after her fifteenth birthday, all the faces she saw and knew were split from their necks and shoulders. It was a...massacre.

---

"H-holy shit...keep the fire up on that left flank. Richards, resupply the emma'gee now!" Thousands screamed out in torment, barking orders as they were funnelled into the most brutal of traps. Once their mass charge had began, the Empire had assaulted the lines they'd charged from, encircling the entire regimental strike force in one fell-swoop. And now...they were trapped, in No Man's Land. Hundreds took shelters in old dugouts, artillery craters, bombed out shell holes, amongst the unburied corpses that littered the world, amidst fallen trees, cowering withing the debris of old trench lines and whatever the dead-man's homestretch offered. Lucia's head was buried under Middleton's arm, who moved slowly throughout the piles of panicking soldiers. The pressure was being ever-the-more pressed upon their feeble positions. What was originally four miles of encircled territory was now minimised to less than a kilometre. This was no longer a charge, or a simply push into the heart of the enemy's territory; they'd fallen into the blunders of the Imperial strategic geniuses, finalising themselves into the pockets of destruction. This was a last stand. Lucia's eyes burned as the sights of those she'd grown to love were splintered by their hopelessness. There must've been at least two companies worth of soldiers left, still grasping on to their little breathing room. "Richards! Richards, for fuck sake I said get that-"

"'E's caught a blighter, Sergeant! I'll g-grab Rogers to come and take the position!" Explosions rattled their helmets and every second was littered with the endless peppering of bullets, shrapnel and dust. Smoke scattered the battlefield and the mid-Autumn rain continued to brutalise the world around them. Lucia scrambled across the muddy floor, her small and frail composure being the only advantage she held against avoiding being shot.

Her scramble was exhausting all the energy out of her. Why was she out here in the first place? Middleton was not the man who'd ordered her to join the fight. In all honesty, he'd had no idea about it at all. It was when the first Imperial counter attack struck, swinging around and encompassing the entire regimental strike force into their exemplified pocket. It was here that Lucia's nerve finally struck, and she sought to act as a brave girl; her goal was to finally live up to the expectations of all her comrades. Hundreds of men and women were trapped in the now constricting battlefield, and someone had to let them know about the encirclement. Someone had to ensure everyone knew so a breakout could be attempted. Pushing further would just expend supplies and energy, ammunition and needless lives that were now scarce to begin with. Lucia had never set a foot on the battlefield, or ever outside the trenches of the frontline. This...this was her first doing, the first pursuit of courage which ended up disintegrating into naivety.

As the artillery struck, and the bombs fell from the Imperial sturmtruppen's pockets, she scaled the ladder as soon as someone screamed for a runner to take position and pass information onto the advancing forces ahead. Lucia did it. She volunteered herself without a second thought, never realising the consequences of her actions. Middleton was everything she had at that time. Alexander was her guardian, her soul reason to be alive. She stormed over the steps of her trench and rushed into the fray, running for what could've been an entire kilometre. The largest stretch of No Man's Land ever recorded, seemingly, had been cleared only to allow advancing space. She ran. The bullets could be heard behind her, spouting from the barrels of their guns. She dared not to look back. Her mind was set. And yet where did it land her? Into the fray of hell's own manifestation, that's where. And yet here she was. The message was passed on but little could be done. Lieutenant Middleton was forced to find a way out, but the only breakthrough attempt was squashed immediately. Now, it was a last stand. They'd said their prayers and loaded their guns. Shots rang out for an hour. A whole hour. When their guns ran dry, they skewered their enemy with bayonets, stealing their rifles after. And when those rifles ran dry, they took rocks, their fists, axes, shovels and whatever they could muster to break the advancing opposition. Lucia cowered, her eyes immediately being rinsed with blood as soon as she arrived. Why...why had she pursued them? She saw Alexander, revolver tightly clenched between his fingers, the wire around his wrist, putting shot after shot into every direction he could. He dove between foxholes, narrowly avoiding mortar shells and grenades being flung their way.

Bodies were churned into pieces. Pools of blood forged where those were struck and the defenders began to break in spirit. Some took to their weapons, hoping that in the Valkyrur's unyielding spirit that they were to be blessed in the afterlife. Others were sanctioned to torment, cowering in holes surrounded by their fighting brothers in arms. Some silently looked at photos of their families. Lucia had been there for an hour now. She'd seen at least two hundred dead bodies, or men and women in the process of dying. Now, she sat in her own foxhole and prayed, hearing the screams all around her. The sounds of Imperial gunfire was getting closer and closer each minute, constricting them like the viper of war.

"Fuckin' hell! Someone give me a round! Give me a stupid fucking bulle-" The regimental Sergeant's neck was split across the sides, shattered in a burst of blood and ache. His vocal chords were struck cold, and the body collapsed onto the floor. His pained face landed next to Lucia's feet, the emotionless eyes silently screaming out to her in their fleeting vision. Lucia shrieked in fear, pushing herself rearwards away from the familiar face. An arm clamped down onto her collar.

"Lucia, get into this dugout now!" Alexander flipped her over, their faces able to meet as he pointed to the now exposed remains of an old sentry dugout. Despite the order, Alexander was only replied with through static expressions and a constant shudder of fear.

For the first time since they met, Lucia sparked a sudden aggression within his voice. The battle cry of his voice was faint, angered by the anguish that surrounded the entire regiment he so dearly cared about. Alexander twisted and turned, pulling Lucia across the mud carefully as he kept his head low down. Both were essentially flat on their stomachs, dragging themselves across the very blood soaked mud they'd used as cover for the past hour. The dugout was close by, but its traversing distance felt like an eternity. Each burst of gunfire slowed them down and the flickering of soil shooting up into the air whenever a bullet came close forced Middleton to take his time.

"Sir, the enemy are right on our doorstep! We ain't got breathin' room now!" A nearby Corporal shouted, trying to land his last few shots onto the now closing-in sturmtruppen. Their uniforms were now becoming clear. Grenades were expended and now the final fight came down to unleashing their upmost aggression. For them, it was like shooting fish in a blood-soaked barrel, knowing very well that soon they were out of ammunition and down to only their body's strength.

"Hold your ground, we can find a way out of this!" To little to no avail, Alexander tried to keep the spirits of his declining forces up and high, despite knowing the hopelessness of his situation. His breath was heavy, fast and unresting.

"N-no way, this is it, chaps! I don't want to die like-" The interrupted pleas of the men and women were cut short. Finally, the descending vultures were upon them. Their numbers had declined below triple digits, and it was only a matter of time before it would finally end. The boots were heard coming closer. Lucia tried to contain her tears but let them flow out, letting her rifle hang by the sling behind her as Middleton tried to rush for the dugout. There, he was intercepted by the butt of a rifle, where he was tackled to the ground. A struggle quickly erupted between the two as the Imperial soldier kept him pinned, struggling to restrain the officer enough to put an end to him. Lucia watched in panic, fear enriching her very soul. Never before had she felt fear like this, even on the day she discovered her parents' demise. This was a bloodbath. She tried to reach for her rifle, instincts once again taking control of her, yet she could not find her strength to aim it up, point it towards the aggressor and to pull the trigger. Her mind could not muster the courage. She instead stared, seeing Alexander ruthlessly punched despite his intent to survive.

Alexander failed to draw his knife, before being pinned down. The Imperial soldier seemed to notice something peculiar about the man he was fighting, suddenly beginning to physically thrust his fist into his skull again. This was no meagre soldier to kill, but an officer of the ranks. In his grasp! The promotions and medals that could come from it! Instead, the Imperial soldier finished Alexander's consciousness off with one last slam of his fist, before quickly moving to drag him away. Lucia felt herself growing even more helpless and tried to pursue, only to feel the stock of another rifle bash against her own face...where everything went black.

---

Lucia sat in her crooked chair, her mind furiously questioning the past. Everything on that day went wrong. The friends she'd made were gone. Her inability to pull the trigger...all it did was result in Alexander, herself and four surviving soldiers to be captured by the Empire. Nearly two months of captivity. Lucia never liked to think about it. The shouting elderly men with canes and swords strapped to their belts; all of them were aggressively pressing them for information. Lucia couldn't utter any words out of fear and naivety, unsure of what information they wanted. Every question they asked was met with confusion and tears. It wasn't surprising that the Imperial captors eventually took pity on the clearly below-age girl, eventually separating her from the interrogation programmes set up on the other soldiers. Three were shot. Alexander, a familiar Private and Lucia were left to rot in the dugouts of Imperial trenches for seven weeks. Each day, Alexander became more and more broken. They'd walk him across No Man's Land, towards the soldiers that were slaughtered next to him, and make him stare at their bodies for hours on end. They would tell him that his information was vital, and that more like them would die if he did not spill information about upcoming assaults. Alexander stood strong and held his ground, at the cost of the last thing he held dear. His sanity.

After then, the escape eventually conducted by Alexander forced Lucia and the other Private into a frantic pursuit across the previously lost lands of the Asseni warzone. Two days of hiding, crawling and scavenging eventually took them back to the Federation, and all were changed. The Private was sent home with several medals and accommodations, whilst the Lieutenant and Lucia were both slugged into the trains and trucks of the Federation's war machine and debriefed. Within days, Middleton returned to the front, eventually being granted a new commanding position in another regiment. Lucia was never given the choice, for she was now Middleton's. Whatever they did to Middleton changed him. He never saw Lucia as a daughter anymore, or so he seemed to think. Every second they spent together was him building her up for something bigger, something that Lucia didn't know or understand. She was trained to shoot, trained to kill and trained to sacrifice her very dignity for the ones she would love. And yet, here she was. The first kills she'd made were for one she held close to her heart: Private Michael Daunte.

The nearby explosion barely shook her from her muse. Lucia paid no homage to the explosion nor to any of the soldiers now frantically running around asking questions. Alexander popped his head inside and ordered her to remain on the premises for a while longer whilst he investigated the extremely violence that had been unleashed upon their homebase. And all the while this happened, Lucia sat and thought to herself about what she really was.

Victoria had kept quiet as the scouting party crept through the wasteland that had been Amone, hunching over subconsciously as if to press her tall form as close to the ground as possible, fighting the urge to crawl through the dust and grit like the rat who's skull decorated her hat. The destruction caused by the distant artillery fire was awesome in the literal sense of the word, instilling a sense of breathtaking fear and apprehension towards the engines of misery that could end scores of lives in a single explosive burst from far out of view. She respected them, what they represented: power. Power through force, power that could extend itself to reach thousands of yards away. No one was above them. You either paid the respects they were due or they took your life. Simple as that. Just like back, the strong took what they wanted.

She knew of course just how monstrous it was to respected those engines of violent death, knew it was a symptom of deep troubles. But she was in no position to complain. That same repulsive glee at the thought of violence that had plagued her three years ago was thriving in this awful environment, flourishing in the bombed out rubble. The Rat was taking control just as it had in the fight at the party, the same force that made her gouge out a girl's throat and crush a man's skull into mulch with her rifle keeping her keen and wary. Rats cared only for their own survival and that was her only goal for the time being: survive to see Elizabeth again.

So the Rat kept going, her usual smirk drawn into a tight lip grimace that made her ugly scar stretch tight across her face. She didn't say a word, simply checking the remains of buildings when instructed with a workman like efficiency. Smoothly she'd wheel through each room, checking corners and opening closets with her bayonet, all the while scooping loose change and trinkets of varying worth into her pockets and bag with hardly a thought. Whoever had owned them before wasn't around to ask her to stop. Every now and again the though of looting one of those towers would cross her mind, tempting her with visions of gilded religious iconography relics of saints. But even she wasn't so greedy that her common sense was dulled. Those were the most likely places for a area denial booby trap, a grenade rigged to go off or a knife attacked to a makeshift crossbow, hell even a rifle with a string around the trigger attached to the door.

So Vicky just waited for the Darcian leader to give his next order, picking under her nails with her bayonet as he considered whatever it was officers considered and snapping to attention why she was addressed. The only answer Jean got was a thumbs up in response, creeping in with a silent snarl etched on her face, fully loaded and ready to kill. So it was a bit of a letdown when all that was in there were crates of ammo for the sandbagged guns and a few opened tins of food. Oh well. She continued up the stairs to the second floor, taking a moment to eye her squad through the window before taking a lazy look through the cabinets and end tables. Torn open envelopes, bits of a journal, scraps of cheesy love poems written by a truly artless Imperial soldier, nothing of value or interest.

Until she kicked at sloppily wrapped bedroll, dislodging a few dead cigarettes and a sheaf of papers written in Europan Common. The Rat moved to dismiss them offhand at the apparent lack of value but stopped cold as the words IMPERIAL DEFENSE PLAN jumped out a her. Curiosity now aroused Victoria squatted down on her powerful haunches and leafed through the sheets, brown eyes widening as she read. She was looking at the Empire's final desperate solution to hold Amone, reading a map depicting a tightly focused line of defence running through the Cathedral. It called for troops to be relocated, ammo and food and medicine to be stockpiled, new equipment to be issued all in the name of making themselves as hard as possible to dislodge. There were would be no rout, no falling back to regroup. The Imperial Army would have to be beaten to death and dragged out of their trench, driven from their defences and into the maw of the Federation war machine with bullets and bombs and blades. It was going to be costly for both sides no matter who managed to hold out longer. "Fine then cunts." She thought to herself with a grin. "Let's see how long you hold up."

She might've just earned herself a medal, or a promotion! That would be fun, a set of stripes on her sleeve to rub in Luke's face. Private white was gone, Corporal White was here to stay. Chuckling at her delusions of grandeur Vicky put the plans back in their folder and tramped downstairs, ready to show off her find when she heard the scream. Immediately the Rat kicked into action taking cover in the stairwell and clutching her carbine, waiting for any follow up sounds with her finger on the trigger. Let them come, let them come, let come!" she repeated to herself, getting herself ready to draw blood by way of repeated mantra. But nothing came, Victoria calming down after a minute or so and walking out into the rain. Heavy drops of water pitter-pattered against her hat and rolled off her canvas cape, the Oceanic stepping towards Luke and Jean. Before she could reach the tram car the Francian had gotten to it, reacting in horror to unseen threat. She sprinted towards him with rifle in hand, boots leaving prints in the mud and dust as she skidded to a stop next to him.

She had been expecting to see an Imperial ambush of some kind, not corpses. She breathed a sigh of relief, a wan smile on her face. While the Rat had been craving action Vicky didn't exactly want to trade bullets if she could avoid. So the sight of bodies was welcome to her. The smell much less so. She was reminded of when the ranchers would burn their infected livestock, the charred flesh left to rot in a pit and stinking up the air. Her mother had once told her that meat was best when it was falling off the bone. By that standard the soldiers and civilians down the street were positively delicious. More roasted corpses choked the path, a feast for maggots and crows and a source of confusion for Victoria. Had they been doused with gasoline before being set ablaze? But why waste the time and effort? Was this just a show of power, or a test of some new weapon.

She turned to asked Jean what he thought but decided against it when he collapsed, inquires about his health dying in her throat as he vomited. Instead of asking if he was okay she simply pursed her lips and dropped her canteen next to him, the offer of clean water there if needed it. Once again she was having second thoughts about her squad leader. Was he going to break down every time he saw something horrific? They would never get anything done if every few blocks he started puking his guts out. The Rat wanted to drag him up by the arms and slap some sense into him, beat every last ounce of cowardice out of his system until he was a competent leader. But she did no such thing, simply spitting on the ground in disgust and continuing onward when instructed.

The Gallian regiment proved to be of some interested, Vicky digging through pockets until she found a medal to compare to the one she had stolen during the gas attack. Just as she had thought, it was a Gallian decoration of some kind. The new award was placed in her pocket next to its older counterpart, the clinking of metal drowned out by the sudden sound of a shell arcing towards the camp. "Fuck!"

The explosion had been big, big enough to be felt all this way from the camp. They were really stepping up their game. But there was no time to consider that, not when a bullet caused some stray Ragnite to explode in a burst of flame and shrapnel. Instinctively she threw her cape up to protect herself from the searing heat as she dropped to the floor, dragging herself behind a pile of rubble and looking around to take stock of the situation.

Marathon was fucked. His leg had been suddenly and violently separated from his body, the limb lying in a pool of blood away from it's owner. All she could do was go pale in the face and tremble violently, a thumb jerking towards the rough location of the shooter. She simultaneously wanted to curl into a ball and cry and rush the shooter so she could tear them limb from limb, white hot rage clashing with fear. Rage won out, listening to Luke's plan through a haze of a screaming need for revenge. Her first thought was drag Thomas back into cover but the fucking sniper would be expecting that. Luke's plan was a good one, but she wasn't waiting for their piece of shit officer to find his balls and answer.

She was going to get shit done.

With a roar of pure hatred the Rat exploded from behind their cover, using the natural gift of speed she had honed in back alley brawls and dusty footraces to propel herself past Thomas and his leg, past Jean and his weakness, past Luke and his mommy issues and towards the field gun. She screamed as she fired wildly at the tower, three shots burying themselves in the stone, challenging the Imperial bastard up there to take her out she blasted them directly to Hell. She was sailing across loose cobblestones and lead bullets, graceful in the way a rampaging tiger was, or an avenging angel dragging sinners down to eternal torment. Grace and fury melded into a single form...

Until she slipped and smacked directly into the gun, splitting her forehead. The Oceanic killer swore violently as pain flashed through her skull and blood matted the strands of hair hanging across her face, forcing herself up from the ground and checking to see if it was loaded. It was, she was clear to start dragging the barrel of the gun into position. With a groan of rusted metal from the cannon and grunt of exertion from Vicky the barrel began to turn, the Rat focused on blowing the tower to high hell. Luke could come over there and help or stay there and confer with the piece of shit officer, it mattered little to her.

@LetMeDoStuff @Jacky

‘What a shitshow,’ Luke thought to himself as he leaned against the stores door frame, his grip on his rifle tightening as the seconds passed them by. That field gun was probably their only chance in taking down their distant attacker, but getting to it was a real struggle. One wrong step into the wrong spot will end up getting them killed. They needed to do this perfectly, in sync and as a team. There was no other- “What the fuck!?” Luke spat out in shock as he heard a roar from across the street before looking to see Victoria charging forward with her rifle raised, firing wildly as she continued to roar in rage. "Godamnit! You stupid bastard!” Luke barked in frustrated rage before hissing in annoyance and bolting out of his cover, sticking to the side of the street and swiftly moving from cover to cover. A few bullets pinged mere inches from him, each shot making his heart skip. His goal seemed so far away as he sprinted for Victoria and the field gun, but by some grace he managed to reach his goal.

With a grunt through gritted teeth Luke slid behind the field gun next to Victoria and tossed his rifle to the side before helping her move the gun. A stressed growl escaped him as he used all his strength to move the gun with Victoria. Finally with a heavy metallic thud against the stone pavement Luke gulped in a wave of air before glaring at Victoria with annoyance. How could she just charge straight in like that!? Luke wanted to say something, but he was denied the chance as another bullet pinged off the metallic gun. “Move!” Luke barked as he shoved Victoria to the other side of the gun and began to aim the field guns barrel towards the tower, tying his best to remember the basics of aiming this thing. Soon enough he finished, silently hoping it would get the job done. With a quick deep breath Luke readied himself before slapping his hand against the guns medal frame. “FIRE!” he roared before being drowned out by the guns might blast. Within the blink of an eye the guns shell slammed into the stone surface of the tower, putting a sizable hole within the lower right corner of the tower. “Fuck you!” he shouted in rage, a grin spreading onto his face before it shortly dropped in dread as the tower remained tall, the damage just wasn’t not enough to bring it down.

“Fuck me,” he muttered before he ducked back into cover as another bullet slammed against the field gun. “Shit!” he hissed in anger before looking for anymore chances to bring the tower down. Nothing but empty shell casings surrounded them, all useless to them! ‘Come on, come on! There has to be one shell around,’ he thought to himself before glancing to the right to see a spare shell on the curb. Out in the open. In the kill zone. Great. Luke gave a small sigh before glancing out of his cover, only to duck back down to avoid the whizz of another bullet from his attacker. “Damnit, why can’t this shit ever be easy,” he muttered to himself before taking a deep breath and launching out of his cover. A round crashed near his feet, sending a few loose bits of debris flying from under him and only spurring him to move faster. With a swift motion he scooped up the heavy shell and hugged it to his chest before spinning on his heels and bolted back to the gun. Unfortunately in his hurried attempts to get back Luke tripped over his own feet and slammed his head onto the hard pavement. It hurt like hell and blurred his vision for a second, though it may have been a godsend as he unknowingly avoided another round from the shooter.

Through his pounding head he forced himself to scramble back behind the gun, breathing heavily and wiping a bit of blood from a small cut on the right corner of his head. “Son of a bitch, I’m gonna need a drink after this,” he groaned with a heavy breath before ejecting the used shell from the field gun and jammed the fresh one in. “Alright you son of a bitch!” he growled as he readjusted the gun a little higher to hopefully get the killing blow on the tower. “Fall already!” he shouted before firing the gun again, silently praying for a successful shot on the tower. The shell crashed into the higher corner of the tower and a massive chunk of rumble tumbled to the ground. The tower still stood tall, but Luke held his breath for a miracle.

@Smike@LetMeDoStuff

Diana’s Brutal Reality – Wanting to give Lucia a hug – September 27th, 1914 (Siege of Amone)

---

Diana kept her hands close to her chest while looking towards the area, where the explosion happened. She was quite distracted, because of her thoughts going wild and because of the look on her face. It was a definite shock of how big that explosion was in terms of what her facial expression was. She moved her head to look around the area and noticed Isaac Black, which she heard his order. It took her, a moment for a bit to breath in and out but she rolled her eyes because of whom they would send out to investigate. ”Yeah I know who will volunteer us, it’s pretty obvious. I will definitely get everyone the word about what’s happening and going on, if they don’t know already.” Diana said, with an annoyed tone in her voice because she knows who will volunteer them. The self-righteous prick, Captain Grumpus, that’s who but it wouldn’t be too bright to say that out loud.

”Should probably get my gear as well since it’ll be important since we are going to be heading out. I wonder what the Empire shot out at us, however. I hope the federation doesn’t have anymore surprises like the gas...” Diana thought to herself, while having a frustrated look on her face being reminded of what happened earlier this month. She started to get a move on since Isaac told everyone via shouting to suit up. It’s a good thing she had the thought of suiting up anyways, because it wouldn’t be smart to go out there to investigate what the hell happened without her gear. She walked quickly to where the rest of her gear was standing, she put her rifle on her shoulder and put her helmet on since it wasn’t on when she was sleeping.

Diana shook her head and sighed at what’s going on. She decided to find her comrades via telling them what the hell is going on and what Isaac’s orders are about investigating what happened. It took her but a few moments to remind herself that certain people will be busy after the scouting mission is over. She kinda blushed a bit since one of those people were Reyna and calmed herself down because that dream is still in the back of her mind. ”I should probably not try to look Reyna directly in the eyes for awhile since… that dream was… a bit too real it seems.” Diana thought to herself. She walked out of the place, where she got her equipment since it was in the same place where she slept at anyways. It was pretty much a hectic cluster fuck since everyone was panicking, etc and she had to find the rest of her squad in this mess. She decided to go check on Freya, since she is closer than certain people in the squad if they are further away. It was a bit hard on her, since she wanted to check up on Lucia but probably would be hurt by Captain Grumpus. She wants to show compassion to Lucia by giving her a hug, but Captain Grumpus wouldn’t probably enjoy that. In her heart she wanted to do that, to show that everyone in Squad 7 cares for Lucia.

She went to Freya to check up on her, because what are squadmates for, in her mind that is. It took her until she stepped on some shattered glass in Freya’s room to realize how bad this place was. ”Freya are you alright? Isaac wants Squad 7 to get ready to investigate what the hell happened. It woke me from my sleep… Better safer than sorry since Sir Hard ass would want us to investigate that anyways.” Diana said, basically saying Middleton/Captain Grumpus. However, she was slightly distracted by the fact she wanted give a hug to Lucia, it was pretty obvious on her face that she’s definitely worried about Lucia’s well being. However, how she paused with my sleep something was up with her.

@FalloutJack@LetMeDoStuff

Luke gritted his teeth, his heart pounding yet still holding his breath as the final shell crashed into the tower. "Damn it," he hissed as the tower remained tall before glancing over to Victoria with narrowed eyes. "This could have been easier if you just went with my plan, but nooooo, you just had to charge in like some maniac with a death wish!" he shouted with a huff. "I swear sometimes I feel like I'm the only one here with any actual sense," he muttered with the shake of his head. Luke was still pretty upset with Victoria for charging in like she did, but it was less of messing up his plan and more for putting herself in danger like that. He wouldn't admit it allowed, but she was really the only person of the team he really trusted. Maybe it was the mother act she was putting up, but he truly didn't want to see her dead for some dumb mistake in battle. "Fuck just fall already you-" he paused as the earth below them began to rumble and felt his eyes widen in silent awe as the tower began to crumble. As the stone crashed against the earth Luke couldn't help but grin in joy before looking over to Victoria. "It fell!" he shouted before letting out a cackle and whooping in victory. "Yeah, that's right you bastard! Don't mess with the Federation!" he barked before letting out another laugh and scooping up his rifle. He watched as the tower finally crumbled to the earth for good before lapping Victoria on the shoulder with a proud smile. "Looks like my planned worked. You're welcome," he chuckled with a cocky look.

Victoria whistled through her teeth as the field gun bucked and roared, watching the shell arc towards the tower and colliding with the ornate symbol of peace on earth or love to all mankind or some other tenet she had never paid much attention to. She spat on the ground dismissively at the explosion, the only effects visible some dislodged plaster and a tremendous boom. "Worthless fucking thing!" She muttered, grunting as she muscled the artillery piece into a better potion as Luke scrounged for more shells. "I was going with your plan shit for brains!" The Oceanic shot back. "Only I wasn't going to arse about and discuss how far my thumb was up my ass with the Francian while a man bleeds out! You take too fucking long!" Luke was in no place to talk about stupid mistakes, Vicky letting out a harsh laugh at his claim of being the sensible one. "Just focus on dropping the tower and crushing the Imperial bastard under it." As if in response to her words the structure began to buckle under it's own weight, structural integrity giving way to the catastrophic damage they mad managed to do. "Eat shit you fucking cunt!" Victoria screamed, the foul mouthed young woman crowed as she watched the tower reduce itself to rubble. "Federation had fuck all to do with it, this one was on us." She corrected Luke with a smirk, adjusting her hat and topping off her rifle with a fresh clip. "Yeah you're a real tactical genius you dense piece of shit." The adoptive mother gave her son a friendly punch in the back, checking her bayonet. "Ready to confirm a kill?"

A large grin remained on Luke's face, even after all of Victoria's shit talking. With a chuckle he wiped away some of the blood from the cut on his head before looking over to Victoria as she insisted the Federation had nothing to do with their small victory. "Whatever you say," he said before stumbling forward from Victoria's punch to his back. Another chuckle escaped him as she called him a tactical genius. "Better believe it, at this rate I'll be leading the whole Federation army," he declared with confidence as he checked his rifle. Luke frowned slightly as he saw a few scratches on it, but glanced over to Victoria with a smirk as she suggested going to confirm their kill. "Sounds good to me," he said with a toothy grin. Before they began to head towards the collapsed tower Luke turned towards Jean and the Injured Thomas. "We're gonna make sure the fuckers dead, take care of him!" he shouted as he tapped on Victoria's shoulder and nodded towards the tower before moving forward. "Let's go get our prize," he muttered with a dark and hungry smile. It may have been a bad idea, but Luke wasted no time moving towards the collapsed tower, jogging forward with his rifle at the ready. Assuming Victoria was close behind him Luke gave a chuckle. "Just imagine the praise we'll get for taking out this guy, we might even get pushed up a rank," he laughed before slowing down as they neared the building. "If only this guy was Green Fox, but his aim was to shit. If we had him we could be looking at more than a promotion," he said before he reached the front door. Silently he looked to Victoria and signaled her to get ready to breach the door. Slowly he peered through the shattered window and scanned for any life. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Don't see anyone, get ready to go in. This time stick to the plan, we go in slow and keep our eyes open," he said before rolling his shoulders with a small sigh. "On your go."

Vicky let Luke preen and brag for the time being, not especially compelled to crush his pride at the moment. If he got to big for his boots that would come later but they had bigger issues to worry about. When she said confirm the kill she hadn't been referring to digging a corpse from the ruins. The sniper must have known that the tower was exposed to enemy fire, right? They would've had to have been a complete imbecile to not have some sort of quick escape route. A ladder, a rope hanging out the back, a pile of blankets to soften their fall if they jumped. Hell even if they didn't there was no guarantee that they hadn't just gotten luck and managed to survive the fall without being brained by a beam from the roof. There was no guarantee that they were even injured. Luke's grin was met with a quick nod from his sister in arms, Victoria following his gaze towards Jean and...

Marathon.

She wished she could do something to help him, wished she knew anything about injuries or medicine. Some way to ease the pain or stop the bleeding, something constructive for once instead of just bludgeoning another problem to death. Just once she wanted to repair something, to improve someone's life! But she couldn't, forced to settle for leaving Thomas to bleed to death in a filthy dust coated gutter while she sought revenge. It hurt Vicky deeply, a stabbing sensation burning a hole in her gut that made her want to sob. So she ignored it, hardening her heart and slipping back into the increasingly comfortable persona of the Rat so she could drown her guilt in blood. She stayed a couple of paces behind Luke, rifle at the ready as her comrade babbled incessantly about nonsense. Some no name sniper wasn't worth a promotion, maybe a congratulatory pat on the back at best. "His aim was good enough to take out the only member of our squad who matters." She grunted darkly. "If Thomas dies moral is going to collapse." She was certainly going to collapse, fall into a dark pit and emerge changed for the worse. She could see the storm-clouds on the horizon and all she could do was ignore them and take her position at the side of the door. A deep breath, a readjustment of the carbine in her arms, and then a swift kick to the door, the Rat pushing into a new burrow.

Luke winced as she mentioned losing Thomas, having briefly forgotten how serious his injuries were. It wasn't as if he didn't care, but the rush of their small victory clouded his thoughts. "Sorry, didn't mean it like that. I'm sure he'll pull through, he hasn't made his name out of nothing," he assured her with a confident smile before raising his rifle at the ready. Finally Victoria kicked in the door and rushed in with Luke close behind. "On your left," he muttered before drifting to the left of her, his rifle carefully scanning their area. With a quick breath through his nose and his heart racing Luke tapped her shoulder before moving forward. "Watch yourself, the fucker could still be kicking," Luke stated before lettings his eyes scan the building, his eyes flicking over to the ruined tower that was once connected to it. It looked like an old church. It could have been a nice place before all of this, but now the walls were filled with holes, the floor decaying or splintered. Everything around them was scarred by their war.

Silently Luke switched over to Victoria's right side and got a good look at what remained of the tower. "Wait," Luke halted her by placing a hand on her chest, at first not realizing his invasion of personal space, though silently approving of what he felt. "Look," he whispered before pointing to a small puddle of crimson blood near the rubble of the tower. Slowly he approached the puddle and knelt down to get a better look. "He must have slipped out somewhere, sneaky prick," he muttered before dipping his finger into the blood and rubbing it against his fingers. "He couldn't have gotten far, let's-" before he could finish two loud cracks filled the church and two rounds punched into the wall near them. "Get down!" Luke barked before wrapping his arm around Victoria's waist and diving behind some rubble, just in time to avoid a few more rounds that were determined to land their mark. As Luke scrambled to his knee Luke heard a few softened curses before peeking out of cover. "I can't see the bastard, can you?"

Vicky's knuckles were white from how tight she was squeezing the barrel of her gun , watching Luke cautiously. The boy wasn't known for thinking about his words before he said them and she wasn't sure she would be able to keep herself from rabbit-punching him if he wasn't careful. Thankfully for both of them he managed to figure out a suitable recovery, the Oceanic nodding hesitantly at his optimistic words. She didn't know whether or not he actually believed it or if he was merely attempting to comfort her but it didn't bother much either way. Whether Thomas lived or died was now entirely out of their hands. They would have to focus on keeping themselves alive. Her boots crunched bits of wood and the skeletons of rodents underfoot as she stormed into the church, peering into dark corners as her eyes tried to adjust to the dim light streaming in through dust caked stained glass windows. The Rat didn't say a word as Luke pressed past her, focusing on trying to sniff out the sniper before they could find her. It was like the games of hide and seek she had played as a child in abandoned farmsteads and shuttered houses. Spot the other person before they could find you so you could scurry away to a safer spot.

She looked toward the shorter boy at the whisper, looking down at the hand invading her privacy. "Wrong place, wrong time to be trying to get luck fucker!" She hissed, knocking his hand away dismissively and looking at the pool of crimson. "We hurt the bastard at least." She muttered, keeping a look out for more of the telltale liquid as Luke dipped his fingers like a child with paints. Her gaze fell on a shadow, a burst of movement from a previously unnoticed figure that sent two bullets at her faster than rifle or revolver should have been able to. The Rat froze in place as the rounds slammed into the wall, fumbling with her own firearm before being blindsided by another assailant. She hissed angrily as she was brought down, prepared to pull the pin from a grenade and blow the both of them to high hell when she realized just who had tackled her. "Thanks." She muttered, rising to a crouch and taking position next to him. "He's in the doorway, that way!" She sent a shot of her own at the shadowy form, trying to hit any part of the sniper she could.

"Doorway?" Luke muttered before peeking from his cover again before his snapped to the doorway of another room with a collapsed wall. "I see the fucker," he confirmed with gritted teeth before ducking back down as he returned fire again, the shots more consisted than some rifle. "Shit," Luke hissed before closing his eyes as he started to think of a plan. The bastard could shoot faster than them so it'll be more of a risk getting from cover to cover. Soon his hand drifted down to his grenade and he finally opened his eyes with determination. "The bastards held up in that room and has a clear beat on us, so how about we flush em out?" he suggested holding up a grenade he'd stole from a dead Imp a few weeks back. "We gotta get close enough so we don't fuck up somehow, so we're gonna have to work together to close the distance," he stated before peeking out of his cover. "We'll take turns moving up, one person moves while the other keeps him pinned. Simple enough right?" he questioned with a small smirk. "You go first, I'll cover you. On three you move like hell to the nearest bit of cover, I'll follow after," Luke sighed and let his finger rest on the trigger of the gun. "1," his heart began to race again, beating faster than ever in his chest. "2," flashes of his family back home ran through his mind before a steel like resolve came over him. "3!" with a shout of defiance Luke popped out of his cover and fired a round towards their opponents cover, quickly loading the next round before firing again. "Fuck you asshole!" he barked before ducking back into cover, not seeing Victoria get to her cover and silently hoping she went with his plan.

The Rat was sure that the sniper was using a normal weapon. Whatever it was shot too fast to be bolt or single action, firing shots so fast that she and Luke were outgunned by a single person. She was feeling more exposed than she liked, her height making the very top of her hat peek out from behind the heavy wooden pew she was hiding behind. As more bullets whizzed past the Oceanic tried to sink as low as she could to the ground, managing to sink a hair's breadth out of sight. Rushing forward and screaming like a banshee wasn't going to accomplish anything except making the sniper use up some of his ammo on her flailing body. They needed a real plan, Vicky turning to Luke with an expectant look. If he wanted to be a leader now was a good time to show his intelligence. Flushing the sniper out was a very good start, the Rat palming one of her own (properly issued) grenades and giving Luke a grin in return. "Works for me. Let's give him something to think about." It was simple, but effective. Hopefully. Two of them against only one sniper, it would be easy. Right?

"Sending me first to test the waters I see. Fine." The Rat prepared her legs to run, drawing once again on the reserves of speed she had built up. She was crouched like a sprinter preparing to take off, hearing Luke count. Seconds ticked by, anticipation building up inside her like a bottle of champagne ready to launch a cork across the room. Luke fired and she took off with the bullet, boots slamming against the creaky wooden floor as another bullet passed her by. With a grunt the rage and adrenaline fueled killer threw herself into another bit of cover, a heavy desk that had been overturned sometime during the siege. Now it was Luke's turn, the Rat pulling the pin on one of her grenades. Two seconds seemed to drag on like fish trying to swim through molasses, the shocktrooper taking a brief moment to consider the fact that the currently ticking explosive in her hand could easily take her arm off. Before that could happen she tossed it overhead towards the sniper, the grenade bouncing with a heavy clunk. Nothing for another second...

And then another explosion, sending shards of wood and metal through the room and into thudding into her cover. If she was lucky the sniper had just been blown to pieces. If she wasn't, well then Luke had a window to move.

With a heavy breath Luke loaded a few more bullets into his rifle before peeking out to see that Victoria reached her cover. He gave a breath of relief before seeing her toss a grenade over her cover and ducked back into his cover, waiting for the blast. After counting the seconds the room was filled with a loud blast, some debris flying over his head and shaking the floor below him. A grin came to his face before glancing over to see it had just reached the edge of their attackers doorway, but his cover seemed to hold up. With a hiss of annoyance Luke took this moment to jump over his cover and dashed for a fallen pillar over some rubble. Just as he was about to reach his destination a few rapid shots filled the air and whizzed past him, sadly one grazing his arm and forcing a quick shout of anger before diving behind cover. "Shit, that hurt you prick!" he barked in anger before looking at his arm. It was only just a graze, but it still stung like a bitch. With a growl of annoyance he peeked out of his cover and felt a bit of relief as he had made some good distance between his target. Scanning his enemies cover he noticed the collapsed wall made a decent enough hole into the room.

With a deep breath Luke pulled out his grenade and crawled to a better vantage position. Once he was in a good enough spot Luke felt his grip tighten around his grenade before pulling the pin and popping out with gritted teeth. He was greeted with several shots, but he managed to chuck the grenade away before ducking into cover. It seemed like luck was on his side as he peeked back out to see the grenade sore through the hole in the wall. A curse of surprise could be heard from their attacker before he spotted the figure scramble out of his room. He had managed to reach the doorway, but the blast had sent him tumbling forward. Not wanting to waste anytime Luke charged from his cover towards the fallen sniper as he had tried to recover. Just as Luke was a few steps away from him he raised his pistol, but with a snarl Luke used the butt of his rifle to knock the pistol out of his grip and slammed his boot into his jaw, sending him falling onto his back. "Don't move fucker!" Luke barked in rage as he aimed his rifle at his head. The sniper groaned and seemed dazed by Luke's attack, but Luke had managed to noticed his arm was messed up, most likely broken. Luke chuckled as he looked down at him and glanced at Victoria. "So, this is our little Sniper. I was expecting more."

Vanquished by the uninspiring demeanor of the rifleman, the marksman let a gasp of air escape his bloody mouth, letting his arms linger on the cobbled floor he was backed against. Spoiled by the riches of this unfortunate encounter, Wilhelm attempted to sit up, but failing miserably without the support of both of his arms. There was no shame in defeat, not even when he was blindsided with past rage and fallen due to his own damnation. Instead, the Imperial let out a sigh of relief, as well as a sigh of disappointment. He looked to the side, where the pistol had been knocked out of his grip. It’s magazine was likely only containing a few more bullets, and he had no intention of trying to wriggle out of this one through violence.

“Bested? Perhaps I was too reckless this time…” He coughed, spluttering out the words as he gritted his teeth. Frail eyes fell upon his disfigured and out-of-shape arm, contorted into angles it shouldn’t have been. The shock was not yet wearing off and the pain was only a small fraction of what it would become later. Momentarily, he lay on his back and just let the man angel his rifle towards his head. Slowly he took his cameoed helmet off of his head, revealing more of his elder and worn out state. Blood stained his forehead from a cut or four, where pieces of brick and stone had bypassed the underside of his helmet and scraped just enough of the very skin on his scalp. As he spoke, his definitive Imperial accent distinguished him from the other. “I understand the pride you must face, and I admire your ability back there. I don’t...admire your integrity though, Fed’. But...I’m not in a position to speak of such judgements.”

Crouching behind her makeshift cover the Rat listened to Luke’s footsteps, waiting to see if the new barrage managed to bring him down. They didn’t but judging by his cursing he had gotten himself clipped. She wasn’t especially worried for the boy. If he had the presence of mind to shout at the enemy then his injury was likely just a flesh wound. She decided to let him have a little more fun, waiting in silence. The sound of shifting dust and refuse under someone’s body, yet more cracking of gunfire, another metallic thump and a panicked shout followed the roar of a second grenade. The Oceanic peeked out from behind the desk just in time to see her comrade knock their opponent to the ground. He was finished.

“Good shit Luke!” She vaulted over the wooden barrier and stomped up to the Edinburgh native and the Imperial fucker he had disarmed. “Nice plan, glad I trusted you.” There wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in her voice, only warm, motherly affection that contrasted almost perversely with the ugly scars on her face and wrists, the chunk of her ear that was missing and the ugly grin she wore from the thrill of battle. The mother wrapped an arm around her surrogate son’s shoulders lovingly, hawking up a wad of phlegm and spitting it squarely into the sniper’s eye. But this scratched up and broken armed Imperial wasn’t just any sniper.

“Holy shit. This is the Fox!”

They had managed to stumble on scourge of the Federation, knock his tower down and break his arm so he was completely at their mercy. A victory for sure, but one that was likely going to cost Marathon his life. Thomas Carter, Oceania’s greatest hero, dead at the hands of some piece of shit sniper. It was nothing more than dumb luck, a whim of the harshest mistress known to man. It could have been Luke getting blasted across the street, or Ines or Jean. Maybe Lady Luck was pissed that Thomas had managed to escape death so many times before, and now she had come to collect.

“For the most feared sniper in the war, you sure miss a lot. How many hits did you score? One? And you fired, what, a dozen bullets? A little underwhelming.”

The Rat was trying to hide her rage behind a veneer of mockery, holding her rifle by the barrel over her shoulder as she stared down at the Fox with unfiltered hatred. “Green Fox, what a stupid fucking name.” The butt of the carbine was lowered to just above the Fox’s face, the young mother pulling it back sharply and slamming it into the Imp’s teeth hard with a sickening crunch.

She had more in store, but first she wanted to gloat. “Look at this.” She hissed, opening her bullet ventilated cape to reveal the Imperial flag she had taken off a dead officer. “I snagged this off one of your comrades who choked to death in the gas. I’m going to take things from every single one of you I kill, and I’m going to kill a whole lot of you. I have no love for the Feds, but you Imperial cunts have pissed me off enough to build a fucking museum to house all the shit I take!”

Unscrewing her bayonet and tossing the rifle behind her the Rat pounced, grabbing hold of the Fox’s face and carving at his nose and ears. She was going to make him a featureless monstrosity and break his trigger fingers, and she wanted him to feel it. “Do what you want, just don’t kill him yet.” She instructed her boy, biting her lip in concentration as she carved up a fox.

The Fox almost growled in agony, as the blade cut into that body of him. He spat out in anguish, feeling the pain annihilate his interior mind. His face had been drenched in blood. With a broken arm and a broken spirit, he could not do anything to compensate for their brutality. Skewering his mind was only the pain, and yet now the adrenaline of his own upcoming demise forced him to ignore the agony they were putting him through.

“Then take i-it! Value my goods over the people…” He slowly began to curl a menacing grin upon the tip of his lips. With his free and fixed arm, he gently placed his palm against her arm, knowing full well his broken fingers could not muster the grip. Wilhelm’s eyes were bloodshot, burning in their agony. “An eye for an eye, Fed’. Or...maybe I’ve taken more from you than you could ever from me!”

He struggled to move, unable to force himself out of her constricting grip. The blade’s edge had mutilated something beyond humane measures. How Luke were to respond to the sheer brutality of a cursed woman were to be revealed, and yet the Fox just sat there, groaning and yelling out in pain as each tormenting battlement was made against his body. Humans were no longer going to find their way in the war, only the vast indecencies of monsters who prey only on those they deem unworthy. Spitting blood onto his own clothing, he mustered out the final phrase, knowing full well his fate was sealed.

“T-then burn us all! Burn us whilst your friend...oh...I recognize him. The one who lays still, outside...whilst you pursue inglorious charms! Ha! Shoot me then, and claim...your...prize.”

Luke remained still, silent as Victoria dish out her own personal justice against the sniper. He would have joined her in her taunting and gloating of their fallen enemy, but he couldn’t help but lose his voice as she revealed their snipers identity. “Green Fox?” he whispered to himself, not sure how to react. This was the mighty Green Fox? They really just took the bastard down? Several emotions flew through him; anger, shock, joy and even a bit of disappointment. This was him, the man who’s been a thorn in the Federations side. Luke only shook his head and took a step back, allowing Victoria to finish her work. An emotionless look remained on his face, feeling nothing from Victoria’s brutal justice. The old him would probably wince and look away, but now this seemed so… small. It was odd, even as she carved up his face. The world around felt still with a deadly silence lingering over him, though the only thing he could hear was Fox’s voice. Every word sticking with him before finally returning to his senses.

Quietly Luke placed his hand on Victoria’s shoulder and pulled her back before taking a step towards Fox, an emotionless gaze remaining on his face as he stared down at his crippled opponent. Without a word he let his eyes examine the man, taking in such a sad sight. “Green Fox,” he muttered with a hint of disappointment. What should he do? He had thought up of so many scenarios if he would ever end up in this position, but everything seemed to go right out the window. Slowly he pressed the barrel of his rifle against his knee cap, stared into his eyes and pulled the trigger. A shot rang out within the church and a spray of blood coated his pants before he swiftly pressed his rifle against the next knee cap and pulled the trigger. He felt so numb to it all. Staring down at his victim with a cold and uncaring eyes Luke. Wasn’t there supposed to be more? There should have been more joy in this victory, pride or even a chill of excitement, but no. There was nothing.

“Is it supposed to be so boring?” Luke questioned aloud before raising his rifle towards Fox’s gut and letting another round fly through him. “I wanted more,” he said before stepping over him and slamming his boot into his broken arm. “This should have been so much more thrilling,” he complained before letting out a small sigh. “I… I’m kinda disappointed,” he said before looking over to Victoria with a bored look. “Maybe a few trophies will make me feel better,” he hoped before pressing his rifle against Fox’s head with a small frown. “Green Fox,” he scoffed before letting out a small sigh. “What a let down,” he said before preparing to pull the trigger, but he paused, arching a brow as a thought came to mind. “Wait, I should probably save my bullets for something more worthwhile,” he said before laying his rifle aside and crouching over Fox. With the crack of fingers Luke wrapped his hands around Fox’s throat and used all of his strength to slowly strangle the fallen snipe.

Over the choking and squirming from below him Luke simply stared into his victims eyes, cold and uncaring. Luke grunted in frustration as Fox struggled, but nothing was going to change. This was how the man died. It felt odd though, this whole scene felt so familiar. As he tried to figure out this odd feeling a scene flashed within his mind, causing him to blink a few times and shake his head. What was that? For a brief moment Luke closed his eyes and felt his heart skip a beat as the memory of his mother strangling him as a child filled his mind. With a feral like snarl Luke tightened his grip around Fox’s throat and glared into his eyes, the flashes growing stronger and only pushing him harder to choke the last bit of life from the man below him. “Get out of my head,” Luke growled, hoping that somehow choking this man would get rid of the memories.

Soon enough he began slamming the man’s head into the floor, grunting and growling like a mad animal. “Get out!” he shrieked as the memories continued to fill his head even more, causing him to lose touch with himself for a moment before blacking out for a moment. Once he returned to his senses Luke was staring down at a cold and unmoving corpse, his hands still tightened around the dead man’s throat with a pool of blood under his beaten in head. With a racing heart and heavy breath Luke sucked in as much air as he could into his empty lungs. Finally he released his grip from the dead man and sighed, sitting atop of the corpse before clearing his throat and tearing Fox’s dog tags from his bruised neck. With a groan he pushed himself up and snatched his rifle before glancing over to Fox’s pistol, a bit of interest in the weapon before shambling his exhausted body over and scooping it up.

Silently he stared at the new looking pistol within his hand before looking up towards the ruined alter within the church. Behind the alter his tired eyes spotted what looked like the dark shadow of a smiling woman staring directly at him. He knew what it was supposed to be, but he was too numb to care. Clearing his throat Luke turned towards Victoria and walked past her without eye contact. “Come on, let’s go meet with the others,” he muttered with a dry tone. He was definitely going to need a drink tonight.

Luke and Victoria were ahead of their game, moving out towards the right flank for some sort of artillery piece. And after the shots were fired out, the tower began to crumble and fall. Jean's heart leapt in place, and his first regret sank in as he began to get up and crawl out of his confined piece of cover. Standing where Thomas had once stood, he turned his head towards the duo who'd succeeded in their task. They celebrated aloud and proudly announced their victory, seemingly laughing to one another. Was this how they viewed the skirmish they'd found themselves within? Jean stared with his eyes peeled open, deprived of all previous energy. The fatigue was getting to him, as a lack of sleep and stress of the battle had taken its toll. The crumbling sound of the church tower emphasised the true horror of this war, in which no religious or sacred house was free of its deathly jaws. Amongst the sounds of crumbling bricks and collapsing foundations, the appraisals of two Federation soldiers cheering became the only voice to sing out. They were...happy? Happy that they'd done something so death-defying yet fanatically infuriating. Jean raised a hand towards them, gesturing for them to make their way towards him again. After all, him and Inès were left with the now growing agony of their fallen comrade. Jean's hesitation in where he stood conflicted his mind. What was he supposed to do? He raised his voice again, trying to holler the pair back over to assist in their superior's well-being, but a dismissing retort spouted his way.

That...bastard! Luke dismissed and left Thomas' safekeeping in the inexperienced hands of their comrades. Sure, the more aggressive and capable Darcsen beside Jean was indeed a worthy soldier, but she was no medic, likely as much as Jean was himself. That training was exclusive, completely segregated, over to the medical casualty divisions of the Federation Army. It reduced training time and ensured that the specialist roles could have the best training around. And yet, here? A man with a missing leg screamed and began to writhe in their upcoming anguish. Jean turned, yelling back to the pair as they seemed to start heading a completely different direction.

"H-hey! Luke! Victoria! G-Get back here and help, leave the bloody guy..." And as all luck would have it, the Federation warriors had departed before they'd acknowledged his order. As they left, a sinking sensation bled into Jean's heart. He turned, scrambling towards Thomas to accompany his fellow Darcsen in the unyielding treatment of his ally. Even to the naked eye, Thomas' situation was bleak and utterly devastating. A few metres away from them laid the severed half of his leg. Separated from the knee below, its shins and toes looked almost fresh and alive. Jean's eyes were left in a state of shock, where even his hands refused to move. Locking his gaze upon a real fleshy remain of his friend tortured his mind and punished his will to continue. Even Inès, who'd composed herself more to the situation, frantically moved around to try and find ways to stop the bleeding. Where single gunshot wounds were at least sometimes preventable, this was an entirely different situation. Mustering the courage to even place his bare hands upon the fleshy membrane left behind was extreme enough as it was. Jean saw Inès acting, finding pieces of cloth blown off of his uniform and trying her hardest to unprofessionally seal the river flow of life force draining from his leg. Jean placed a hand down beside Thomas, taking a knee to his flank and lifting his chin up to meet his eyes. As expected, the gritted teeth and terribly restraint attempt at withstanding the agony was all that greeted them back. "T-Thomas! I need you to tell us...what to do? You know what to do right?"

The hesitant and fanatic pressure of Thomas' own life forced Jean's voice into a state of trembling doubt. Begging and yielding to his lack of knowledge didn't give anyone the confidence necessary to potentially pull through, but Thomas himself tried to grant the tide of a jovial tone. However it was drowned out by the deafening illumination of his fleeting breath. His hands fumbled across Thomas' webbing, his pocketed chest and removed the strangely unfamiliar hat he was wearing, unlike his usual and more famous icon.

"Fuck if I know...I'm just a bloody farmer." A painful cough spluttered out the words he delivered, shaming the potential courage Jean could muster from the already bleak situation. Even the undertones of humour within his words were washed away by the stench of blood, and by the trickle that slipped from behind his dust-covered lips. Another small application of pressure was placed upon his leg, resulting in Thomas audibly yelling out at its unforgiving sensation. Inès resisted the urge to withdraw her unsuccessful pressure, trying any logical thing she could to prevent further loss of life. Jean took Thomas' hand as they began to visibly shake. "Agh...How bad does it look...y'young fuck?"

"It's okay, right? Yeah, right! Thomas you're okay, just keep breathing, I think. We'll think of something, we'll get you up and running in no t-" Thomas quickly interjected, interrupting Jean's false assurance with a second hand sandwiching Jean's. His body twitched and his eyes grew cold. A colourless deprivation of colour starved his skin as it paled in comparison to its predecessor. Jean's eyes flushed into a flurry of panic as Thomas spoke weakly.

"Don't lie, cunt...I can see the world getting...a bit..." Gasping for a final breath of air, Thomas' grip began to weaken and his hands almost flushed out of Jean's own. In the fleeting second of his life, he let slip the final word of his very existence. "Dark..."

And as he fell back, unconscious, the pair of untrained medical staff sat in awe, staring at the ceaseless emptiness of the husk they crowded. His head fell aside in a slump and his hands lost their last efforts, slipping back onto the moistened pavement, dampened by his own pool of blood now left behind. Silence encompassed the world around him. What could've been the passing of shock had only revealed to be the mortem of another faceless casualty. Amone had claimed yet another life. Jean's face dropped into an unending hang, where it loosely fell to the floor. Jean's spirit faded. It...not only faded: it extinguished in the humidity of the Autumn showers. A distant cackle of machine gun fire, elsewhere in or out of Amone, fluttered as the only accompaniment to the unforeseen passing of a beloved warrior, at least in Jean's own eyes. A wave of thoughts and emotions quickly shot through his mind, sprawling around like a disease or virus let loose. How could someone he personally knew fall before his very eyes? Was this real? He was a war hero, not a common soldier, surely he should be surviving every possible encounter? He'd been through worse, why was this situation a sudden stop to all that luck he'd had?! What would Freya think? What would the Squad think..? What would...Jean do without an icon to look up to? Jean's eyes watered with the tears of his own sorrow. Suddenly, grief and deranged spouts of genuine sadness started to barricade off words of expression. All that he could do was let slip almost painfully familiar emotion. They felt...melancholic, as if they were the very same emotions he felt the day Olivia was pronounced K.I.A. How could he stay happy in that moment? Instead of previous breakdowns where his mind had gone into a frenzy of abnormal dejection, the depressing picture before his very eyes was simply enough to break his eyes. He slowly buried his face downwards into his hands, now stained with Thomas' drying blood. The rain pattered down atop of his helmet again and the minutes began to tick longer than they ever had before.

Time felt like an amoral concept now. No longer did it pace itself quickly to flush away the images of loss before the survivor's eyes. Instead, it drew itself into a string of unending and agonising seconds. Every forced passage of time became a testament to the war's true colours. Horror. Fear. Death and destruction. All of these ruled the lives of those who joined the frontline. Those who did not fear it instead embraced it, finding their place into inflicting as much damage as humanly possible, to the point where they themselves were no longer human. For a while, he thought of his growing resentment for everything that had happened: Jean's hesitation to act, the lack of medical knowledge supposedly shared by the group, and Luke's efforts to scrounge up another kill. Alongside that, Vicky joined him in a sadist's march, pursuing the goals of only treasures stained in a man's blood.

Eventually, their footsteps approached, closing in onto his position as they slowed down upon their sight. Jean stood up, not even letting his mind or body hesitate to grab his things. No eye contact was made. He didn't know if they'd seen Thomas' final resting spot yet or were still caught up in the excitement of their little child's adventure, but Jean made it clear that their words would not speak of such ignorance on everyone's behalf. A friend had been killed. An entire nation would likely mourn because they themselves were either focused on matters deemed unimportant to Thomas' life, or even through the fear and confusion of the rapid situation.

"We...fucked up...all of us." Jean quietly muttered to himself, slinging his rifle over his shoulders again and wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. A change in his tone was clearly damaged by the sights and sounds of this unworthy battle. He wanted to forget it. He wanted to go home. He wanted to leave everything behind and retreat from all forms of combat. And yet, there was nowhere to go from here. Everyone wanted to push forwards and left those who died behind. Jean had to supposedly leave the dead behind too, but not this time. "There's...nothing left for us here. Let's go back..."

Jean removed the now completely drenched cape from Thomas' corpse and began tying it around his severed limb, at least trying to catch the remainder of the pouring blood from seeping into his uniform. The last thing Jean wanted was the body and bloody of Thomas' vanquish to stain his clothing, let alone his mind, skin and dignity. Perhaps this was the last consequence for his unfortunate positioning as a Corporal. No one likely thought he deserved his leadership position, and this was but a testament to that query. Jean had fucked up. He hesitated. And even when there was nothing they could do, his reactions to the corpses of other dead soldiers left Thomas to lead the charge, leaving him open to the traps ahead. Jean could've been in that position instead. Jean could've been the one to die. And yet here he was, cheating that chance through incompetence and tragic luck. Once Thomas' mortal wound was now covered to a bare minimum, he nodded to Vicky halfheartedly to lift the body and struggled beneath the weight. It was a long walk home, but perhaps this was his punishment. It was only fair. No one here would blame themselves, would they? Blame the sniper, blame the man behind the gun. But in actuality, perhaps it was everyone's fault, and the war's, that took away a brilliant young man from them.

An hour of staggering back left the world to its darkest hour. The morning didn't get any brighter, nor did the day that came closer. After a while, they reached the very same barricade that they'd left that morning. This time with one less breathing soldier with them. As their silhouettes came into the picture, Jean simply raised a rifle by its receiver, holding it sideways to show that they were indeed Federation soldiers upon approach. When granted entrance, all that was left for them to do was stare at the unfortunate body of a familiar face. A bloody...very bloody face. Struck with a falteringly pale expression and the emptiness of any other casualty, wherever Vicky would take him was up to her. For Jean, he silently began to return to his tent. He made no eye contact with anyone, even those who'd stalked and paid virtue to the shell crater a street's distance away. Jean didn't even think about it, and for the first time in a few days, he tucked himself away inside the linen frame of his temporary home. All he could do was prepare for the next day and dwell upon the events that had subsided. More than Thomas had died today, but never before had someone Jean been close to extinguished before his own weakened gaze.

...

"Why did you bring them here?!"

"That's not it-... I-I-"

Sounds of gunfire and explosion rang in the air. The smell of blood and gunpowder clogged the lungs. Soldiers were rounding up civilians and executing them in the middle of the street. Field guns and grenades were being used to quickly destroy structures and take care of the people hiding in them.

"This is all your fault!"

"I... I swear I didn't mean to!"

Piles of dead bodies littered the road, whose heads were all turned towards one person standing at the end of the street. Lifeless and twisted expressions decorated their faces as their eyes fixated on the same point of interest.

The girl takes a step back, hugging herself with her burnt arms trying to keep herself from passing out and hyperventilating. Eyes wide open filled with fear and distraught as she locked gazes with the eyes of the corpses ahead of her, tears also streaming down her bloody and burnt cheeks.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm s-sorry."

Her eyes then moved to meet the owner of the one standing beside her. Their eyes and expression filled with rage and contempt. And even as it was covered in blood and bruises, sent shivers down the girl's spine. It belonged to her best friend, Beatrice. The girl flinches under the heavy gaze and stumbles another few steps backwards, away from the figure and away from the piles of corpses. However slowly, the figure starts walking towards her in a menacing manner.

The girl eventually backs herself to a wall. Unable to find the strength to keep moving, she slides down the wall and collapses on her bottom. The pained screams of people shouting for help, being executed, burnt alive and shot were getting louder until it was all she could hear despite the carnage going on. She curls herself into a ball to block out the sound, but it was of no help.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." It was all she could muster as the figure of Beatrice leans down to her, bringing her mouth close to the shivering and crying girl's ear.

...

In a second of clarity, everything else was quiet. And the following words were as clear as day.

"It should have been just you."

---

A violent spasm knocks the Darcsen female off of the makeshift bed before crashing onto the cold and rough uneven floor, with a particular bump on the ground digging into her side that made the fall rather painful. The girl was gasping for air as her eyes tried to readjust to the bright light that was showering her from the open window. She kept one hand on her side to soothe the pain with the other laying on her chest to try and get a grasp on her breathing as her body began curling up in a reactive manner.

It took a few moments before the adrenaline went away and she was able to calm herself down. With deep hasty breaths and the sweat dripping down her face, she took quick glances around the room that she was in.

It was the makeshift tent that she and several other people were put in when they got told to stay because they were being transferred to Edward Company. The bleak empty nearly tent wasn't a comfortable place to sleep, but it's not like they ever got a choice with these.

A head peeks through the opening and looks around the room before setting their gaze on the person on the floor. "Yo Larsen, you're being reassigned to your old company apparently. We're moving out to meet them so get your stuff packed and ready." The head disappears for a few seconds before popping back in with a more concerned look. "You alright?"

After a groan and a deep breath, Kalisa barely manages to reply. "Y-yeah." She forces herself up and sit back on the bed that she fell from. She rests the back of her head on the bed and closes her eyes as she melancholically continued. "I uh... I just had a bad dream."

"Well, if you say so. Be ready in twenty." The other person disappears once more, and the somber silence of the tent came back as the Darcsen let her thoughts wander, desperately trying to not go back to the nightmare she had just experienced.

"I swear, I didn't mean to."

...

BOOM

The ground shook and the sound of a massive explosion made her get up onto her feet in a panic.

"What is that!?" "What happened?"

Kalisa ran out of the tent and joined the other soldiers who were staring at the explosion that was happening pretty far off from where they were. It looked pretty big even at this distance, and she worries that her old companions might have gotten caught in it. She holds hope that they would be fine, even more so now that she'll be rejoining them soon.

A hand taps her on her shoulder and she turns to see the same face from earlier, if a little agitated. "Command says we go now."

---

It's been about a while since they started walking. The entire company was quiet and unsure. It helped Kalisa out to sort out her thoughts, but eventually all she could think about was running ahead to make sure the people she knew were alright.

Her restlessness was showing, as the soldier next to her leaned in and lightly grabbed her hand that kept moving around the trigger guard of her rifle. "Hey, they're gonna be alright, OK?" He gave her a weak smile to try and reassure her that her friends are safe. It was at least enough to stop her hand from flinching, and she took a deep breath before reply with a soft 'thank you'.

"We're here." The voice this time came from the Corporal, and shortly after everybody came to a stop.

The place looked absolutely devastated. Many buildings were destroyed, some barely standing and looked like they would crumble with just a light push. The morale of the soldiers were pretty low. A lot of lives were lost, and some still even panicking over dealing with other wounded. One unfortunate soul had even lost a leg, and from the looks of it died due to blood loss.

Kalisa took a look around, and couldn't quickly spot any familiar faces in the vicinity. She had inquired about the location of whoever was in charge, and was promptly led to the tent where her fellow Darcsen had apparently been stationed at.

Tact be damned, the girl had quickly entered the tent and found a friend. The panic and distraught on her face was replaced with one of elatedness as she walked over to his side. "Jean?" As she took a closer look though, she had noticed that he wasn't in high spirits. He wasn't panicking like he was the last time she found him like this. Something really bad must have happened.

"...Jean?" The girl reaches out with her hand, if a little hesitant.

Luke stumbled out of the church, a bit of rubble nearly tripping his tired legs before he emerged into the cold rain, wincing as the cold droplets splashed onto his exposed head. Where was his helmet? It was all a blur, his mind could not think straight at the moment, their victory over the mighty Green Fox left a stale taste in Luke’s mouth. There was no glory, no grand thrill of overcoming a great enemy. It was just him killing another man in this war. The way he killed him though and those damn memories… it all seemed to have drained him. Why did he feel so numb? Where was the feeling he wanted, the feeling of accomplishment and glory? It was all so frustrating, but he had no energy to show it. Instead he simply made his way back to Jean and Thomas, briefly wondering about the condition of poor Thomas. Unfortunately once Luke got a look of Jean and a motionless Thomas, it was pretty clear the end result of their encounter. A small sigh escaped Luke as he reached the two and stared down at Thomas, an emotionless gaze lingering over the corpse. “Sorry pal,” was all he could mutter before running his dirty hands through his hair.

He glanced over to Jean as he stated they all fucked up and offered no reply, seeing no sense to throw his opinion in the mix. Even he knew now wasn’t the time. ‘Just bad luck is all,’ he thought to himself as he bowed his head and muttered a quick prayer for the fallen hero before walking up the street, letting Jean cover up the bloody stump. As he waited up the street keeping guard he glanced over to see Jean finally finish up and lift the corpse up with Victoria. It seemed like a burden to carry him back, but Luke knew he had no say in the matter. He hadn’t really talked to the guy too much, but from what he had seen he was a decent guy. A shame decent people die, but this was war. At least they got the fucker who took him out. There was some solace in that… wasn’t there? He shook his head, clearing his mind of the thought before moving, staying ahead of the two as he silently took point. The trek back seemed shorter than before, even with them carrying a dead body back. Soon they returned to the camp barricade, Jean signaling the guards as they approached.

As they entered Luke glanced to the guards and saw their shocked expressions as they laid their eyes upon the fallen Thomas, all of them in a state of disbelief and sadness. Luke simply walked on by before seeing the state of the camp after the empires bombardment upon them. It was a sad sight indeed, but Luke only had one thought on his mind. “God I need a drink,” before reaching for his canteen, though arched a brow as he noticed it missing. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered in annoyance. Thinking back, he must have lost it in the chaos of their encounter with Green Fox. With a small sigh he walked over to a nearby pale of water and scooped up some cool water with cupped palms before greedily slurping it all away. As he went for another scoop he noticed a few people approach from he left and glanced over to see a some random soldiers approach him, all of them wearing mixed emotions of curiosity, anger and sadness. Luke arched a brow before slurping up some more water before flicking his hands dry and looking up at them. “What?” he questioned with a low voice. The first soldier out of the group looked to the others before speaking up.

“You were out there, with the scouting team weren’t you?” he asked before glancing over to the corpse of Thomas. Luke followed his glance and stared at the fallen soldier before rising to his feet.

“Yeah, what of it?” he asked with slight annoyance. Luke managed to notice the soldiers fist tighten and arched a brow.

“What… what happened?” he asked before falling quiet, letting another soldier, a young girl speak next.

“How could he of all people… who did this?” she questioned, or more like demanded with a small yet venomous tone. Luke silently stared between the two before looking back to the rest of the soldiers all waiting for an answer. What was he supposed to say? That Thomas had some shit luck and got his leg blown off? It’s how it happened, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to tell them that. Instead he looked around, noticing a few more soldiers who heard the questions being ask pause and listening in. Luke was about to wave them off and head back to his tent, but the jingling of metal reached his ears and paused as he realized what made the noise. A thought ran through his mind before he looked back to the group with a hard look.

“You wanna know what happened?” he asked, his voice growing so they all could hear and gaining more nearby soldiers attention. With a deep breath Luke gritted his teeth and spoke. “Green Fox happened!” he hissed with venom and earning shocked expressions and chatter. Soon enough more soldiers approached, all their attention drawn to Luke as their urge to know how such an unfortunate ending befell their hero. Now seeing more soldiers approach Luke pulled over an empty ammo box and stood atop it with a hard gaze looking out to them all. “That’s right! We encountered Green Fox during our mission! That bastard, that scum sucking snake of the empire ambushed us as he hid away in his damn hole! Thomas… I couldn’t do anything to stop it. We all fell for that cowards trap and Thomas fell victim to the rats tricks. Before I knew it he was… he was on the ground, to far for me to help him,” Luke fell silent afterward after noticing more soldiers approach and shook his head. “When it was all over I was… we were to late, Thomas had passed,” he muttered with a lowered head. As he looked back up he saw the mixture of anger and sadness within the soldier's eyes.

“It’s true, we were unable to save him, but I promise you that coward Green Fox will never claim another life of the Federations armies!” he swore before ripping out the deceased Fox’s dog tags and holding them up for all to see. “We made sure that bastard never fires another shot!” he declared with gritted teeth. The soldiers all looked in shock and awe as they stared at the dog tags. “That’s right, those bastards dared take a hero such as Thomas from us, so we’ve taken theirs. An eye for an eye!” he barked as he dangled the tags with a vicious shake. “Thomas was to great of a man though compared to that damn coward, so we’ll make sure to take more than just a pathetic excuse for a sniper from them! We’ll march right through this city and push the bastards out once and for all!” he proclaimed with confidence and earning a few loud shouts of agreement. “We won’t stop here though, no, we’ll keep pushing until we’re knocking down the Emperor front doors! We’ll make them pay for this war! We’ll make learn what happens when they fuck with the Federation!” as he finished several soldiers shouted and cheered to his words and seemed to have a new wave of confidence and determination wash over them.

“In the name of Thomas Carter and all of our fellow fallen comrades, we’ll make them pay!” he boomed before hopping from the ammo box and marching his way through the crowd of amped up soldiers, all ready to strike back against the empire. As he made some good distance from the crowd he gave a small sigh and glanced back to see them all disbanding with new eagerness to fulfill their duties. A small smirk came to his face to see the results of his little speech before turning forward and making his way back to his units tenting area. Thomas's death was an unfitting end for him, but maybe his name could still be used to inspire others to keep fighting on. Luke chuckled before placing the tags into his pocket and continued on.

Jean spent the time brooding, thinking away at the unforgiving torment of their previous incursion. Brutalised by the reality that someone he'd grown to trust and like over the month was now subjected to death, he'd turned to the tent's crude bedding once more, sat upon its edge and staring blankly at pieces of paper he held in front of him. Upon it laid something he held, still to that day. Of course, it was shrivelled, falling apart mostly from the years of torturous aggression the paper had taken. Most of its words were smudged and its cursive font blistered into near disintegration. And yet whilst its pages were ruined, stashed away in Jean's personal logistics footlocker that he had been provided as an NCO, the first two words still remained as they were. Those first two opening words were enough to keep the letter as it was, giving it the life and meaning that it held in Jean's heart. A finger stroked the embroiled swirls of dried ink. In that instance, he absorbed the emotions that he'd once tried to suppress the day he arrived on the frontline: familial melancholy. Marked up and toiled with sadness, Jean wiped away the last tear from his eye that day, hoping to return to the land of emotionless turmoil. He'd witnessed someone close die. Jean had seen Thomas' leg separate from his body, before being emptied and drained of all blood from the wound. Singed into his mind like a blacksmith's implant, the visionary torture toyed with the deepest emotional distress Jean suffered from. He hated it all. Life was seemingly being stripped down to its bone. He'd heard brief news that his squadmates were still alive and had luckily been grazed by the excruciating blast of the shell's inferno. Even now, an hour or so after the shell had been dropped, the everlasting sounds of distant soldiers yelling medical orders or transporting the dead out of sight continued to ruin the midday's mood. Morale was beginning to topple once more. The devastation was unearthly. Hell had once again spread its overbearing wings over the land it strove to infect. Jean couldn't help but feel the immense emotion that spread throughout the Federation armed forces. Amone had become a confined, walled off battleground that yielded a form of combat unlike any other. Trenches were never dug and battles were fought on motion and positioning, not on who had the deepest hole dug. Once he thought of how the war had shifted in its tone upon entering Amone, Jean looked back down towards the piece of paper he held in his hands. Silently, he whispered the first two words once more.

Dear Jean. That's all he could read. Most of the letter was known off by heart, but everything else was almost entirely wiped, crumbled or washed away from the years of wear and tear. Behind it, the very last photo Jean knew of her remained held together by a rusty paperclip. Olivia's crumbling existence was forgotten by all except Jean. He held those two beginning words to heart, knowing that someday that could be the only documentation about her as a soldier, and as a sister. Instead, Jean closed the letter, staring only at the photo now. Her uniform was pristine, neatly pressed and up to the standards of past wars. Back then, the standards for the army themselves were about conduct rather than fighting ability. Helmets hadn't been introduced and even the trenches were yet to be established when that singular photo was taken. Who took it was beyond Jean's sense of knowledge, but he knew that either of them were likely dead in the waters of the Maren only the following year. Spluttered and cut by the bullets of her adversaries, she was gone. Jean was left without a family, nor the closest friend he ever had. And now? He'd felt like it was all coming back to him. Thomas' death only made him ever the more concerned about how Olivia was murdered and whether it was painful. She deserved the best and could have received the worst. In times like those, Jean became desensitised to the reality of the world around him. No more could he imagine these as but nightmares; instead he saw them as a reality he lived in.

Jean's paranoia grew as he put the photo away, leaving him in the empty tent alone once more. Even his thoughts wandered away, letting him stare at the floor with the need to relax. Jean's stress had grown exponentially. He felt for his squadmates, for Franz, Michael, Freya, Reyna and even Vicky to a very small extent. Today was a day someone was lost. Not everyone was close to him, in fact few were. He hoped that those who weren't lucky enough to know Thomas well were at least at ease with the situation. Shouts of rallied martyrdom came from a nearby Luke before disappearing into the distance, aggravating Jean more to the point where he stood up and paced back and forth all across the tent. For fifteen minutes, he looked back to his rifle and disassembled it, before cleaning a component or two and reassembling it. Tomorrow was going to be another day of excruciating pain, violence and death. Thousands were going to be pitted against one another in the streets of Amone until only the last man stood tall. Just like at Hill 58, the charge itself was not going to be sparred of the never-ending suffering.

And as he sat down, sighing once more, something took him off guard. A slow shift in the tent's opening flaps suddenly revealed an approaching figure. Jean's eyes didn't meet them at first, refusing to move out of the shameful presentation of what he'd become. The disturbed eyes and the thousand yard stare pointed straight into the ground made him ashamed of what he may have looked like, suspecting the new acquaintance was just another officer looking for able bodies to use. It was when the voice rang out that his expectations were subverted into a spiralling confusion of emotional intrigue.

His name? The female voice sounded so...familiar? Jean's eyes shifted in their sockets and rolled towards the angelic concern of a friend. And as his mind was previously left in the darkest corners of humanity's dismissal, Jean saw her. A walking beauty, stood with a concerned and hesitant interest in his unworthy position, reached out and held her hand hanging in the air. Motioning his gaze towards her, he spent a second to study everything about her, embracing the heavenly glow of her aura once more. Around her neck laid a far familiar scarf circumnavigated her throat. It was a face he'd been wanting to see for a long time, a very long time, and now she stood before him, reuniting with only a distraught Francian to greet her. As he stared, the pain in his eyes almost flushed out immediately as an oddly fractured smile began to plaster itself upon his face. He stood up slowly, hesitant and trembling at the knees.

"Kalisa?" Even after she spoke his name, all he could do at first was respond by confirming her own. Without a second to spare, he took the hand she'd held out and drew it closer to himself, embracing her with a sudden and unprecedented hug. The embrace was heart-warming. The feeling and sensation of a familiar beauty colliding with his broken body was truly an invigorating sensory overload. Softly having taken her hand to draw her near, he felt almost alive for once, having touched the skin of a figure who was not yet dying. He wasn't aware of the move he made at first, simply going by the instincts of her appearance, and more or less to prove she wasn't yet another hallucination. "O...oh...lord, Kalisa! Where have you been!?"

For once, he started to smile more, moving out of the hug but keeping his hands gently plastered onto her shoulders. Jean's face moved only a few feet away from her own gaze, revealing his blended emotional distress and outburst of happiness to see her once more. The Darcsens had been reunited. Around her neck circled the scarf that he had given to her a long time ago, still in the same position as before. Gently, he moved his fingers to the familial symbolism to the Robin-Charpentier Darcsen insignia, reuniting with the silky softness of its dainty texture. Jean's cheeks flushed as he realised she'd kept it the entire time, as if out of its comfort. Or perhaps...no, she couldn't have kept it for sentimental values.

"My...my scarf? You...still have it, Kalisa?" Jean wiped a forming tear from his eye, clearly overtaken with a rush of emotions. The balance of his distress for Thomas and appraisal of Kalisa was toying with his very head, forging a unforgiving flourish of happiness. Once again, he felt that strangely similar attraction that he'd felt those days before when they were still working alongside one another. "It's...I've missed this, and yet it brings the beauty out of yo-"

Jean's consciousness seemingly snapped back into reality as he quickly drew back onto his bed, moving away nervously and silencing himself with an embarrassed flush of pink in his cheeks. It had been far too long since Jean had complimented or really flirted with one of the three girl's that he'd found himself deeply affectionate towards. Quietly, he whispered a few apologies to himself, at least loud enough for her to hear, out of the sheer embarrassment of his overreaction.

"U-uhh...sorry, Kal', I mean...Kalisa! Sorry, it's...I'm just happy...extremely happy to see you're still alive...and well, I hope. You...look amazing...uhh...amazingly well, yes!" Jean sighed, tossing himself back onto the unfolded camping bed that he'd been assigned within the tent. Exasperated by the emotional temptation, he tried to compose himself once more. "I'm sorry, it's...been a really rough day. I went out on a Scouting Mission and...well Squad 1 lost Corporal Thomas...I'm...still a bit in shock, I won't lie."

Well, well, well...

What did we have here?

There was rubble and wreckage all to be found across the tattered remains of Amone, a most fitting locale for their final pittance in a simple task that had, as what seemed almost inevitable, taken a turn for the worst. At the resound of artillery fire over the patter of the gentle rain both above, what downpoured did little to alleviate the chaos that lie below. And throughout that conundrum, Inès did commit herself most thoroughly to that man, shaken and battered, as she did bear witness to the pitiful scene about her.

Those few among the fireteam of scouts paid as much mind to discipline and organization as they may have the day's precipitation. One of these fools did scrape together a plan on the basis that firing drills and running exercises constituted as an apt tactician, and just as soon found himself joined by another more foolhardy to insist his justification was not hasty enough, and flung herself into the fray just as well. Just as well, another fool had clamored about, waving his hands as he darted back and forth looking for some manner of inspiration from which to obtain orders, when the fact of the matter was that they were there all along; Report back, and bring everyone back to base. Yet, as it would seem, even so simple of ordinances could be needlessly...obtuse, when the time came to put order into action. No, for the time being, as Inès performed the most necessary of tasks, she too was carrying the burden of a squad dead-set on refusing to coordinate with one another, whilst a pained Marathon was left to her very best care.

She heaved for one moment, lugging up the taller man into her fold, and dashed wildly into what sparse cover there could be. Another heave signaled her release of the man, himself holding upon her for dear life as if the Darcsen were the man's own mother. She felt him quiver. Shiver, as if he was cold. He shook and tremored with every waking, hurried breath at irregular intervals, as if a thousand frissons came over him like the man, standing so proudly and strongly not seconds ago, quaked like an invalid. Inès set his back against a wall, well feeling him shudder with every fleeting moment. Time was of the essence. Think, Inès, think!

Reaching down to what remained of his half-limb, her fingers pressed further and further along each and every vein she could feel, yet as she applied more pressure, felt the coursing vessels almost deflating with every press. Over her thighs and legs, herself, she felt it. Warm. Clumping. Like it stuck to ever fiber of her and imprisoned her with dread, like it suffocated her limbs as rapidly as it poured out like it were a boiling oven of molasses and sap. Even in the lukewarm summer shower, it seemed to burn. Sear, almost. Leave a scar deep and unique into her as Inès felt the Oceaner's blood weep whilst he cried in pain, and impress into her clothes the life it so gleefully imparted from Thomas' own. And the more pressure she did apply, even through the hemorrhage, the profuseness, the carnal sickening that she so calmly overcame...Thomas shed tears.

His voice was a soft thing, at the edge of hearing, but to his caretaker, it was most thoroughly pronounced. Thomas, the great, invincible Pride of Oceania, wept in pain, his mouth agape and crying for air. With each moment came another sorrow, another gasp, but in that strength to cry his breath drew weaker and weaker, more irregular, hurried and as if he were drowning to his own tears. His entire body shivered more the greater he tried to draw for air, until all he did was make constant vibrations, like his heart itself marched steadily until his death.

Inès looked over him. Full well...she was giving what she could to spare the man, yet had neither the tools nor the expertise to grant him redemption from this horrid mistake. Desperately, she would find new veins to press, only to find them soon deflating to a constant offset of blood upon her, and the sobbing mess before her growing into agony so deep, the strength to scream was robbed from him.

Yet...if she could not save him...Inès could...

...the woman looked down at her side, meeting gaze with the closed flap of her satchel. Max had given her a few things to trade away, of course...or use them in case of emergency...but she could never...

Her hand met with the top of the bag. The bleeding lessened. There were shouts and gunfire, and the roars of such detonations grew further with each moment, until it deafened itself to her action.

Another case she undid, well in the bottom of that bag. Then a bronze hook she undid, to which the strapped, constrained elements unfurled themselves in the dark. The bronze shone through, four rows neatly distorting their glisten as the rain assailed them. Down her bag, she reached, almost hesitating with how slow she grasped her tools, yet as she felt the cold, cold cylinders come around her fingertips, the retrieval came with ease.

Thomas' eyes paralyzed in fear, shaking as he deathly stared into the rain above even as the irritant of drops into his very eyes muted to his sensation. He responded to Inès' brushing not, uncaring that she had cleaned him up or tilted his head. Nonplussed that he now faced the Darcsen head-first. Apathetic to how she unbuttoned his shirt and jacket, coursing her hands until she found a familiar, urgent sensation.

A sharp pain came about him. He felt his chest tighten, pierce open like his body was almost being sundered apart by some manner of explosion, so intense was that initial sensation. Then...it...came over him...it was...

...it was...

...like...

...heaven...

...

...

..
.
.
.
..

Thomas fluttered his eyes into bliss, some sensation of peace overcoming him, like some surge came awash over him as what came of the harsh reality set in, not to be gone, but to be accepted. That these, were, in fact, his final moments. That what was here were the circumstances, no matter how unpleasant or brutal they may be, and yet...Thomas felt his missing leg itching. Tickling. He'd ceased shivering, a sudden, cooling calmness washing over any shock throughout him. And he'd certainly feel nothing as he numbly felt the cold bronze withdraw from his chest, not even the apparent drop of his body like his own bones were being plucked from his skin did register as anything more than a light pat.

Thoughts coursed over him in some...blurred fashion. Unfocused. Unready, like...like they came by all too quickly for them to count. And amidst what remained of the pleasure of life slowly sapping from him...Thomas smiled.

He remembered so much...

...so much...and so little...

...
..
.

.

..

...
..
.
.
.

"...girl...?"

His mouth hung in awe to the angel before him.

"...Thomas?" The seraph called back.

Thomas crookedly smiled, for deep down, no matter what any of his logical senses might have said, that there was no literal angel before him. Yet...for too long, Thomas beckoned for any manner of cherub...this day...he knew, somehow, some way, would come, for on that fateful day, there would need for there to be an angel to guide him along that final expedition.

Inès was not the angel he had hoped. Yet she held him like only an angel could...and looked upon him with two cherubic eyes.

Two...soft...

...heretic...

...stern...

...austere...

...weary...

...melancholic...

...beautiful, beautiful eyes.

And he smiled.

"...I need another..." He wished.

And awash came over the man, in a blissful blur, another willful hole did he feel inscribe into his bare, bleeding chest, and deluged in numbness did he feel whilst the second pillar struck him where he lay. And so, his wish was granted.

He felt his body deflate with his simple exhale, like the air which gave him life slowly defusing into the world around him as the life which he so righteously stole was reclaimed by the earth, as she so righteously retook what was owed her for so long. In the few moments of peace to follow, Thomas hushed, slowly taking back in small amounts of air, as if not to anger the earth around him whilst nothing else mattered. It was an awash, serene peace in which he came to with his own body dissipating. And he did so all with the willing company of one.

The one he never asked for.

The one he never wished for.

Yet...the one who was there for him. In the last moments that he needed someone the most.

And yet...Thomas laughed. Weakly chuckled, each chortle coughing up streams of tears to run across his face, his pain, whilst Inès above only held as she still tried to save him. He laughed. Laughed at her futility. Laughed in knowing full well that help could only be made when those wanted to be helped.

And laughed...painfully. With sorrow and remorse...in knowing he had failed her.

"...it's alright, lass..." Thomas hushed. He chuckled, looking back once more into those two azure gems...

"I'm...bloody...fuckin'...heheheh..."

His laughter came painfully, even the numbness never failing to mute the tears he swallowed. To the end, he'd be that beacon he hoped to inspire in every one of his friends, comrades, family-to-be. Friends he'd never met, or friends he'd neglected. Friends who could have been, and friends who never were. And he still regretted every last moment of it.

"I-i'm...why...why did I..."

Inès squinted, slowly shaking her head in some manner of pained confusion.

"...bloody fuckin' Riley...oh...Riley...why did I let you go on the charge..."

"...How-...Howard, mate...why'd you go on the trench raid with me..."

"Wess...bloody Wess...why did you say to go without you..."

"...Prim, Prim, gal...I-I...fuckin'...why-why...why didn't I just say I loved you...why didn't I tell you...before..."

He felt the nothingness loom over him. His angel clenched him harder, he felt, Inès listening politely to the corpse below her speak those parting verses. They were...pained. No matter the morphine she injected him with, no matter how numb his body lay as he murmured and stared distantly into his closing eyelids, he felt that pain stronger than ever before. A guilty, conscious pain, of one that no medicine nor science could hope to bandage, whilst the wisest of the animals proclaimed their miracles might help their fellow creatures through such struggles. Thomas knew it all to be lies...and had lied to himself for too long.


"And fuckin' Val. Sweet, innocent, Val...i'm such a fuckin' cunt..."

"...why did I leave you behind...why'd I leave you without a brother..."

"...why'd I leave you without a son..."

He welled up. In those final, sad-set eyes, in the alienation of rain and debris about him, Thomas recalled the dusty scenery that was his home. It's people. His people. His friends, his family...his beloved who he would never see, not for some time, he earnestly believed, looking to the sky as his mind reached to where he felt himself longing.

But...of course...Thomas wept one last chorus. A requiem to who remained. Unfortunately remained, so it would seem.


"Frey'..."

It came out as a crying grunt, pained, like that bronze needle stabbed right through his lungs, and for any semblance of memory, he would have to fight just to say. Numbness overruled his corporeal sensation, guilting him into calmness.


"Frey', you bloody idiot..."

Thomas weakly looked to his angel above, something he, out of frankness, didn't deserve. Pallidly...he chuckled.

Freya was a fool for rejecting the seraph above him.

Freya needed an angel more than he did.

And Freya's cherub had, to her, long departed to heaven, and for whatever beacon Freya might be, the travelers to her were only led astray.

But Thomas laughed once more in sorrow. For no matter how much a fool Freya was, he looked well inside of him on his deathbed muse, and resoundingly, he knew he was the sorrier. He'd abandoned living for the people he loved, and told himself he'd die, carrying with him the things he wished he'd told them earlier. And now, in the final moments he had accepted too long ago...Thomas couldn't tell Inès that the woman she loved needed someone the most...and would never accept them.

Thomas...was not Freya. If he had accepted his own demise so long ago under such different circumstances, integrity to himself proved far more grave than any manner of worthless muse. Slouched in some haze...he felt the aching returning...a swell over him as he struggled again. His time was now. His time had passed.

Slugging his head up to Inès eyes once more, the weak man did gaze, and for one final time, tried to crack a smile.


"...hey...Inès?"

She quirked up, softly residing over what was left of the legend in her arms. Tried as she had, Inès' attempts to still save him bore no fruit. He'd turn colorless, cold, bleeding over her in slouched, neurotic smile.

"Yes?" Inès responded.

"...one...more." he begged.

The final needle impaled him. He felt the gate to heaven open before him.

He had let go...he hadn't told everything. No...that man would die with many regrets set before him, sobbing still that he had not the strength to confess them all, even to a stranger. Even the secrets she'd need the most. Even to the people who needed him most. Yet, for all too long, this, Thomas felt, was a befitting end for a man like him:

A propped-up hero on paper-thin premise, hollow and ready to be discarded as soon as he'd gotten wet.

And so...Jean called back.

"T-Thomas! I need you to tell us...what to do? You know what to do, right?"

Thomas smiled.

"...fuck if I know...i'm just a bloody farmer."

There were some words, some cries as he had just cried, and Thomas found it all adrift in a void. Hollow. And pointless.

"I can see the world...get a bit..."

"Dark."

This was it.

He wouldn't meet Him standing tall.

And that was alright.

He wouldn't make love to anyone.

And that was alright.

He wouldn't have a real job. A house of his own.

And that was alright.

He died a disposable hero, in a faraway land fighting for money, instead of protecting the people he claimed to care about.

He died knowing his only friend from home could only bear more pain to the one who loved her, and did nothing to stop it.

That was unacceptable.