[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/180910/3caaefc6c5537f6851395aba6a809f4f.png[/img][/center][hr][right][color=gray][b]Al'Kashir[/b]
Troop Dropship[/color][hr][/right][indent]Contrary to the loud explosions outside the dropship, the interior had been eerily quiet as the metal bird shook in the air to avoid flak.

Braealyn clutched the rifle in her hands, holding it tightly against her chest as she waited for their squad commander to give the order for the fireteam to release their safety latches and bindings once the troopship landed. She had been nervous, as most fresh-faced recuits were during their first battle, even though the military life had been kinder to Braealyn than life on her home planet. It wasn't unusual for someone to be volunteer rather than be conscripted into the military, though most that joined on their own terms did so for a regular hot meal and a better life among the stars.

They were just like Braealyn, who had no wish to die on some unknown battlefield, but had chosen to join the military in an attempt to escape a boring life of synthesized algae converted into meal blocks on a backwater colony. Still, despite the betterment of her life, Braealyn was unable to shake away the thoughts that nipped away at her mentality.

Thoughts of an endless nightmare that refused to dissipate.

Upon Braealyn's military training, her commanders enrolled her into a specialized military course. Braealyn was destined to be the squad's medic, which had placed her life's value higher than most of the squad. It wasn't something that sat easily with Braealyn, who often felt her stomach churn at the thought. She was in charge of keeping these men and women alive, though it had been obvious to everyone that it was easier to replace a regular soldier than someone who could patch up a legless individual and keep them alive long enough to deliver them to an actual doctor.

It bothered Braealyn; her heart racing with anxiety as it thumped against the heat-resistant jumpsuit she wore under the cheaply mass-produced armor protecting her vital organs. If Braealyn had failed her job, her face would be the last face that her patients would likely see. Braealyn hadn't wanted people bravely sacrificing their lives to keep her alive either, even if a medic was always more valuable.

No, Braealyn could only hope that they would all make it through alive and in one piece, who kept a tight grip on to such hopes like the rifle held within her hands.[/indent]