Roger stared out a window leading to the black void of space. he was in a space station which housed hundreds of starships, Both Terran and martian, around him were faces both new and old, faces of the Terran's he tried to kill and Martians he killed for. he uncapped a flask of whisky, taking a long gulp of it. He blinked and for a brief moment, he was in a city torn by warfare, soldier's in blue killed soldier's in red, each one screaming they killed or were killed. laser's flew by and men lived and died, Then Roger opened his eyes, the he was in a station, below him was a city recovering from it's wounds, around him the soldier's lived in peace, the scream's of war were replaced with a incessant pretentious smalltalk.

Everytime he closed his eyes, he saw that scene again, that bloodbath. But it didn't shock or scare him, it felt familiar and natural to him. [color=lightcoral][i]45 years.[/i][/color] Roger remarked in his mind, [color=lightcoral][i]45 year's of that bullshit.[/i][/color] Roger hated war, yet war loved him. from the time of Roger's birth to this exact moment, Roger was locked in endless war. But now life was different, now Terrans and a Martians intermingled. it was a ugly sight, the Terran's were enemies, yet now he had to treat them like common friends. It was confusing and strange to Roger, he hated peace. in war he had a purpose, but now he felt like a candle in the wind. War was his friend, war was his occupation, war was Roger's life.

Roger took another gulp of whisky. He needed it. The flask was Roger's friend, though it was a silver grey, the middle of it was sprayed in a ashy black, caused by a laser fire. He used to drink water from it, it saved his life in the war, during a firefight it stopped a laser from incinerating his leg. one inch to the right and Roger would not be standing here. though the flask used to hold water, now since war was gone and peace was here, it held whisky. in this time of peace, Roger spent hours upon hours doing nothing, what else could he do but drink?.