[color=#C0C0C0] Covering fire, sprinting, shifting, and keeping within the range of the squad. The blood splattered against wood and metal with dives in and out of the trench. Drinking from the cup of blood their enemy turned around to pitch their walls. Round after round. Bolt after bolt. There was a scream then a silence. There was a stream of tears and then dried salt. Forward. Forward. Forward. Franz had always admired the empire. From his youth he found them to be the most intriguing and home feeling collective of states to have ever been created. The federation only found strength in cooperation and compromises all while feeding its people the promise of freedom. The Federation was no more than a puppet master riding out its promises. In the end governments had to control their people by any means necessary. The way of the world was to lead or follow. Some people took that as a horrid thing. However, Franz did not. Order was necessary. Checking of powers high and low mandatory. He accepted such an order when he joined the gang that Markus had set up. He accepted that when he saw the masses following their own orders. He accepted it when he took up arms and swore his oath. No man could take the truth from him. Life simply functioned well under structure and as much as his neighbors tried to sugar coat it there was no denying that even they were effectively powerless to government. He appreciated that the empire was blunt in how it structured itself. He appreciated that despite this singular emperor happiness could still be obtained. There was no need to use propaganda to obtain life’s true meaning. That was the poetry of collective obsession and sacrifice. It was not to be for the individual. It was to be for the collective and especially the state so that in the future, on the darkest of days, the empire could use its strength to keep that dream alive. That’s… why it hurt… That’s why… all of it just… hurt… Had he not lived a rougher life, perhaps it would have hurt far more. Maybe it could have crippled him, but here he only felt so much. He didn’t let it shake himself, but even blowing a hole into yet another imperial to prevent a squad mate from dying he had to wonder just how much his friends would understand his fight. He had to wonder just how awful things were. He had lost track of his own kill count... Well, that wasn't quite true. He knew the count but he didn't want to linger on it at the moment. All he knew was that the squad was safe and in the corner while they had a moment of rest he held the hand of an imperial who gasped with fingers gliding across the broken structure. Screams of pain were silenced by tightly constrained lungs trying to grab something- anything for fuel. Blood poured from the abdomen, chest, and leg. The wounds were bad and she appeared to be lost. The pink hair disheveled with blood crawling out of the corners of her lips as she asked Franz a simple question. [/color] [color=#ff69a4] “Am I going to die?” [/color] [color=#115DA8] “Yes.” [/color] [color=#b24972] “I-I don’t- want- to!” [/color] [color=#C0C0C0] Another gagged gasp. [/color] [color=#115DA8] “I know.” [/color] [color=#7f3452] “Did… I do… The empire… proud?” [/color] [color=#115DA8] “Yes… Your family too...” [/color] [color=#662a41] “Will they remember...” [/color] [color=#115DA8] “...I will remember you...” [/color] [color=#000000] “...” [/color] [color=#115DA8] “...” [/color] [color=#C0C0C0] Her arm went limp as he held her in his arms. The upward cress of her corners drooping to a neutral poise with mouth still and barren. Even in the chaos of the noise and the blood splattered trenches he still found sanity left in him. The heave loosened his grip from the previously pressing rib cage. Gentle strands of hair flowed into the dust as blood dried and eyes glazed. Among her own body, how many more who were simply doing their jobs would suffer the same fate? Middleton angered him when he had decapitated that poor imperial. Death was to come to all but by beheading? What a heartless fool! Still… He couldn’t… find his burning passion for the moment. Even if the moment was to be brief he needed to finish. He laid her on her back. There was a deep breath, the man standing after reading her tag and studying her expressionless face. He would remember. It was a curse he was to bare but there were just some things that ideologies didn’t cover. You could tell a man that the other was the enemy. Us versus them. However, he knew already that this was a kill he couldn’t forget. He doubted that those who lived in the trench could ever forget theirs. He knew lots of feds would just trample on corpses and laugh at the fallen, but he would give them more respect than that. He might have been on the other side but it didn’t mean he couldn’t give them some compassion even in their dead or dying state. He stepped to the woman’s side, picking her up as though she were a bride and held her close as he walked near the squad, throwing himself over into potential gunfire and leaving a trail of blood as he grunted and walked out of position. Out in the middle of danger he set the woman down so that she could face the changing of the light with her helmet latched on tight. He felt like he could breathe, if only for a moment. He fell to his side, coughing hard as the round she put in him began to make him feel dizzy. He groaned, staggering to his feet and walking back to the trench. He gave one last look to the Imperial who reminded him of so much and spoke of all that he had taken away from her. He would have to take so much more from so many others. But for now he said goodbye to the one who would stay in his mind at night. [/color] [color=#115DA8] “Goodbye, Melanie.” [/color] [color=#C0C0C0] He grunted, staggering to the trench and falling in with the wound in his chest bothering him immensely. His vision blurred. He felt something slide across his cheeks… Tears? He pressed against the wound, holding back against trench as he looked over to his team and just watched them gather. They had made it. That girl was here too… the one told to kill anyone on the run back. The pain was growing with time, audible groans oozing from his teeth as he pulled out what little medical supplies he had as well as what he took off Melanie to, at least, prevent bleeding to death. Once more he was hesitant to ask his squad for help. He knew none of them and they were all busy with each other. It seemed fitting to himself that he would simply watch over them even in his… less than optimal state. He wasn’t sure what to feel, honestly. On one hand he had just killed people who were doing their job as he was and on the other he would never know them. He would never get to get old and see them again. He would never know who they were or where they came from. He would never know if any of them had any regrets or if he could have eased their pain in some way as they leaked their blood onto the world. He simply stopped them in their tracks, making sure to either wound for capture or instant death. He had dumped three rounds into that girl just because she landed on in him. In his rage he hurt her more than he intended and for that, he realized, the tears kept coming. The reaper calls. He calls and he calls. The unfortunate man answers. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in…breathe… Eyelids closed as he exhaled, his tired state ripping at him with the sounds of their deaths echoing in his head over and over. Was it bad that he thought war, while an awful experience, was a good thing? It was like a greater good that he couldn’t explain to other people without sounding incredibly apathetic. It was an art where many could claim glory and others would find death. It was the balancing act for when things got out of wack. For as much as it was a loss of those who you loved it was the ultimate sacrifice and dedication to the powers for ‘whom thou bend thine knee.’ It was a dance where all things became real and all reality became fiction. A dance in the fall with leaves. Thousands and thousands of leaves floating to the ground with the dancer dancing their dance. Round and round they go until they dance no more. He blinked rapidly, waking up before he would become one of the thousands himself. He needed to keep awake. The peace could only last so long. He was hardly in the shape to talk to anyone and the butt of his rifle slammed into the side of a clown of a soldier who made teasing comments of his relation to the girl leaning against the rock. With that man now out of his hair, he pulled his helmet a little further down and thought. At least Jean was safe. At least the squad was safe. He blinked more rapidly, sliding a little more down as he felt his wound and grit his teeth. He pat his pockets, sighing as he misplaced his cigarettes. He groaned, an audible gargle from a bit of blood as he sat up straight and asked a question to anyone caring to offer. [/color] [color=#115DA8] “Anyone have a smoke?” [/color] [color=#C0C0C0] He laughed to himself, thinking about the old gang. [/color] [hr] [color=#808080] “You need more than a fucking smoke, Franz. The hell did Barri do to your arm?” “Nothing too serious.” “Fuck that. Where is that loud mouth anyway?” “Down the river, with his girl.” “We’ll see how much longer. You want the honors?” “Nah. I don’t kill people. That’s your job.” “Well yours isn’t to get ganged up on when I’m not looking. These doctor’s visits aren’t going to get any god damn cheaper.” “We can always rob another ‘class-a rude boy’ like Cassie talks about.” “Yeah and then Jack will spend another week in a cell because the dumbass doesn’t know what the hell ‘spring from the clap’ means.” There would be a groan from Franz as Markus picked him up, lighting a cigarette and putting it in his mouth before patting his back. “Alright, Franz. Don’t drop it.” “Thanks.” “Anything for my favorite boy.” [hr] [/color] [color=#C0C0C0] He pressed the end of the wound up against the wall a bit harder, palm of hand clamping against the entry point. What a day. [/color]