After his briefing, Amid had been left to meander at the safe house. He'd arrived in India late last night, and really, he should have been sleeping like everyone else. But he couldn't. This whole thing had his stomach twisted tight, feeling sick and nervous. He'd never done anything quite like this; a bit operation on a global scale. He'd never even been outside his own country. This was all very big and scary to him, and, honestly, he had little expectations of surviving it. 

He paced around in his small room, his cot taking up most of the floor. Laying on top of the creaky mattress was his duffel bag. It wasn't big or particularly heavy, but inside were all his worldly belonging. Necessities, mostly. Finally, he stopping wearing scuff marks into the floor and sat down next to his bag, his right leg bouncing nervously. He needed to sleep; he needed sleep very badly. However, over the past couple years, sleep had been something of a stranger to him. Amid could scarcely close his eyes before his head was full of screaming and wailing. 

He probably needed to see a doctor, but doctors cost money. 

The young man finally moved his duffel onto the floor and laid onto his back. The plastic wrapped mattress creaked in protest. He stared up at the ceiling, going over the things he'd been told in his briefing. The men would be leaving their station tomorrow. Tomorrow he would meet the soldier he would serve and probably die with. He hoped he at least liked them.