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[sub][color=Silver][i]The Siege of Amone, September 9th - [b]Close Proximity[/b][/i][/color][/sub]
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[color=Silver]	The day began to grow rough as each soldier began to spread across the building. Franz had head one way, and soon after the sounds of gunfire were heard. Shit, they were already in the building. Jean figured that with this the whole Squad were in immense danger from the moment they set foot within Amone. Now they were paying the price, with Michael having taken a hit or three in the shoulder. The war was heating up, melting away the winter chill with every passing second. Outside, the sounds of automatic fire were once again kicking up, though Jean hoped this time it was Isaac's group committing to the firefight. Within that moment, the Darcsen turned to the remainder of his team who'd been situated with him. For a moment, he began to watch as everyone spread out. Diana left with Michael and Lucia to the back room, ideally the safest out of the many available. As much as Diana annoyed him recently, there was a feeling inside that made him worry sickly about whether or not her fate was to be sealed today. With that coming across his mind, the definite fear was something happening to Reyna. At this point, how would Jean cope with the death of someone he was beginning to-

	A large bang came from outside in the streets. A ragnite bomb, no doubt. The following pitter-patter of shrapnel scraping across the brick walls of Amone's homesteads began to shudder him on the inside, even causing his body to instinctively spring in place for a moment. Beneath his helmet, all Jean could hear was his heavy breath intoxicating the air with all the anxiety he had weighed down upon him. Quickly, his head rotated in all directions, looking around the larger hallway the group had first taken refuge within. Jean wanted to use the time to distance himself enough that the rest of the team, however he physically couldn't bring himself to move. Whilst everyone was still making their decisions on where to hide, stay or prepare an ambush from within the labyrinth of rooms going off to the side. There were sounds of nearing footsteps just outside of the building, and the rising expression of gunfire began to enrage on continuously, proving to everyone that the battle was far from over. With that in mind, Jean quickly made his way towards a room, alone. He didn't request for anyone to join him and didn't intend on sharing the combat experience with them in that moment. Even alongside that thought, he didn't want to see the loss of humanity in his comrades and friends whilst they were forced to cave out the skulls of the Imperial invaders. Or were they the invaders now? Jean's head bustled with random questions like this for a while longer, before he secured his now lonesome and solitary checkpoint.

	Upon entering, he quickly closed the door behind him and rummaged around for a small piece of cover. Once he'd made his way into the room, its purpose began to spring a wild stream of assumptions and mysteries within his mind. A wooden, creaked bed frame sat itself in the corner, its mattress having been long gone. Dirt and grime had stained the walls as the fleshy textures of bloody remained from an execution months before his arrival. Upon the torn flooring were boards of splintered wood, ones that looked barely intact to walk on, yet Jean knew that there was no time to pick and choose another room as if he were a guest on some random gameshow. This was the reality of the war, and the city had its own separate war to deal with that seemed almost completely different from the rest of Europa's inglorious flame. With a sturdy hand, Jean flipped the bed-frame over and began to push it into the door, trying to block it off only slightly. It wasn't in a such a way that would completely barricade the entry point, meaning he could quickly flip it back over if he needed to get out. Besides, it was a crappy wooden frame that looked older than the war itself, rotting away with small wigs and insects gnawing at it. His breath ran short as he shoved it against the door, unfortunately hearing something on the other side. It wasn't a familiar vocal chord either, one that struck him with fourteen tonnes of absolute fear.[/color]

[color=EEE8AA][b]"Flush them out, Sturmtruppen! You were lucky to avoid the Gunners outside, now let's use the string of luck to rid this complex of the Federation scum hiding amongst the shadows!"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Down the hallway, it sounded like, a small detachment of Imperial shocktroopers had entered the building. Deadly even without numbers, this was their turf to play around with. Those who'd managed to break through the windows to avoid Isaac's gunnery skills had clearly a knack for avenging their fallen comrades. Jean felt exceptionally guilty, knowing that in silence and without hesitation he'd shot a man helping his wounded, fallen brother-in-arms. A small conjoined war chant of male and female Imperial voices rang out outside the room, as heavy boots began to step and pace in different directions. They'd all split up, but Jean could only predict that there were just a few less than the entirety of the Squad he had under his command. Even with a numeracy advantage, Jean knew they were truly on the backfoot. Three were out of action due to attendance of the wounded, whilst some of the others were holding their position across the street with even more waves of bullets spraying around them from all angles. Here, the Imperial Sturmtruppen were in their ideal grounds for tactical superiority. However, Jean had an instinct within him that the members of Squad 1, those who'd been through the hellish close encounters of Hill 58, may be able to impersonate some sort of improvisation and claw their own broken bodies from their hiding spots alive.

	Even in the distance, the uneasy sound of doors being kicked open, with Imperial soldiers reporting the status of every room they'd been in so far, began to throw Jean's heart into an unending stress of beats. [i]Kathump-kathump[/i], it would begin to doubt its healthy pace and began to rape the confidence he once held before the fight. Jean was in no position to feel safe anymore. Just for that moment, the sounds of gunfire within the building were limited, so perhaps they hadn't yet found the soldiers of his Squad. Jean hoped for that positive outcome, however there was also the possibility that the melee encounters had sprung out in all directions. Even though their positions were almost easy to triangulate, their shouts and announcements of room after room being clear made Jean's fear rise higher than ever before. They were being hunted, stalked by their predators into the corners of their own urban jungle.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"Fuck...Fuck, no...I..."[/b][/color] [color=silver]Jean backed himself into the other end of the room, his spine slanting against the cobwebbed walls with its faded paper texture. With a shuddering hand, he began to slowly raise his rifle up towards the door, knowing that it was inevitable for it to spring open at any given moment. He didn't want to die, not now. Back in Garnia, he wasn't as cautious for his own life, knowing that he'd lost everything to do with a home and family, but now he felt a real connection to certain people. There was the chance to grow, find peace and perhaps even love in the blossoming fields of Europa. Perhaps not in this god-forsaken city of delusional justice, but later, once the guns fell silent. He began to count his blessings and promise himself that once this was all over, the world could have something in store for him.[/color] [color=Aqua][b]"I'll...I'll visit her resting spot, every day and every month. N-Nothing will bring me from your memory. I'll...I'll bring someone special with me...I'll bring-"[/b][/color]

[color=EEE8AA][b]"Shit's jammed, gimme a bomb."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]A huge thud and shudder almost broke the door as before the words came out, one had clearly tried to kick his way into the room Jean hid within. The request for a bomb would only prove to be much worse, especially for his crude barricade that made little to no physical difference. Once their brief announcement was made, Jean began to raise his rifle once more towards the door, his breath trembling for every second that drew out. His ears fell onto deafness as the anticipation and the waiting, the damned waiting, started to terrify him more than the feeling of death's approaching minions. Sounds of the metallic shell of the bomb clanking against the door made Jean breathe what he thought would be his last breath, before a sudden outburst of smoke and sound burst the door open.

	Wooden chips from the door and bed frame shot out in every direction. Some scraped by Jean's cheeks and clothing, tearing away and spilling the smallest amount of blood imaginable. The force of its close proximity explosion caused him to topple onto his back, landing on more splinters in the poorly constructing floorboards. Somehow, the weight of him falling atop of them wasn't enough to snap them and send him hurling down, at least just yet. He shielded his eyes from the smoke that had been left over from its secondary effect. His lungs filled with stress and pain as the heavy influx of hot air ingested itself into his respiratory system. At least it wasn't poisonous, which was a form of air that couldn't possibly have made its way onto the battlefield. A dense cough left his lips, giving away his silence as the first of two Imperial shocktroopers began to walk into the room. Jean, still blinded temporarily by the aftermath of the door's smokescreen, he lifted his rifle and aimed it in the general direction of the dusty figure, listening beneath his fateful coughs.[/color]

[color=EEE8AA][b]"Got one in here!"[/b][/color] [color=Silver]The countdown was finally over, and Jean had to react. He squeezed the trigger harshly and pulled it with enough force to exasperate the first shot. However, there was no cry of pain nor was there a strain of fear following his aggression. It only took a millisecond for Jean to realise that it was a mistake. He'd missed in his panicked shot. The soldier, realising he hadn't been hit, began to move forward towards Jean, through the now clearing smoke left behind by the breaching ragnite grenade. Without hesitation, Jean was forced to reach for his hip, drawing the revolver from its holster. He didn't have the time to wrap around the wrist strap in order to prevent losing it, so instead he simply raised it as quick as he could, holding down the trigger only a second before the blade of the Imperial reached his throat. The catastrophic bellow of the small revolver's barrel left even Jean surprised. Following up from the explosive handheld cannon's outcry, the charging body fell forward, slightly at an angle. The arms and shoulders of the deceased slumped into Jean's right shoulder, causing him to stagger for a second at the realisation that he'd landed a shot directly through his skull, the exit wound behind visible on the rear end of his lower cranium. However, due to the stagger, Jean wasn't prepared for the second and last Imperial to enter the room.

	She shouted the name of her fallen comrade in despair, before lunging forward with her own bare hands at Jean. Without the time to cock the hammer back again, her clenched fist struck against Jean's face with great force, throwing him backwards into the wall again. A crack could be heard from where he landed, the wooden framing of their surroundings bending by the force of Jean's plummet rearwards. Pain sharply shot through Jean's jaw when the fist collided with his face, enough so that in shock he let go of the revolver with indecent mannerism. Unlike a usual street brawl between gangs, the female attacking him didn't wait for him to stagger back into a ready position before fairly striking again, instead she followed up a second thrust into his stomach, throwing Jean down onto his left knee. Gagging in pain, the wind was torn from his sails as he took a boot to the side of the head. An powerful, stinging ring began to plant itself into his ear where the boot had landed next to. He was down, but not out. However, in this dazed state of submission, the woman didn't relent on his poor soul and grabbed him by the shirt collar, having him on his back against the cold and moist floor. Whilst preparing another thump to his jaw, she lifted him up, just his neck and chest, from the floor with a tightened grip around his collar again. Jean, in quick reaction, drew the knife from his webbing and lunged it forward, landing a direct hit into her left shoulder. As she yelped out in great pain, Jean used what little strength he had in the moment to kick her off, pushing her to the opposite side of the room.

	In her fit of rage, with adrenaline surging through her muscles, she quickly tore the knife out of her shoulder, brandishing it as her own new blade. Her blood trickled from it in thick patches, soaking into her uniform as she lunged forward, shoulder-barging Jean backwards into the only window the room had to offer. As his military pack slammed against it, it cracked and shattered, sending small shards of glass both inside and outside. The crack could be heard echoing down the hallways, where the sounds of every single Imperial now struggling in combat could be heard. Perhaps not all of them were locked in a battle of life and death, however at least the thought brought a split-second concern for the rest of his squad. Those like Franz were likely capable of facing off against an Imperial one-to-one, but the others...he wasn't so sure. Even Jean himself was about to face his own demise in this pressuring standoff.

	Jean let out a loud groan as glass peppered his back, a few small specks beginning to inject themselves into his spin from behind. Yet despite this, his groan was soon drowned out by the war-cry of the assaulting Imperial girl, who lunged forward again with the bloody knife still in her hands. With instinct yet again on his side, he threw his arm out to grab that of which held the blade, pushing it in another direction to misdirect her aim. Instead, the sharpness of Jean's previous tool barrelled into the wallpaper, sticking in with such force as to become slightly lodged between a small crack on the other side. The woman's eyes were still furious, but a small glimmer of worry as her chance to cut deep into his skull had been carved out by chance and Jean's reaction. In fury, her hands instead tried to go for his throat once more, proving to be an excellent restraining tactic, but Jean's upper hand was still in action. It was either flight or fight now, and there wasn't even an option for the former. Jean's instincts to survive were at its peak as he jabbed her face with a vicious hand to the nose, toppling her backwards in her own fatigue. Once she landed on her back, Jean pinned her down by the neck with a free hand. It was here that his humanity was officially lost, to which he looked to his left and looked towards the large shard of glass still on the floor. Without thinking, he threw his free hand towards it, wrapping his fingers and palm around its cold and sharp structure.

	Unlike a knife, which holds a hilt, the glass had no safe point to hold. As soon as he tightly clasped his grasp around the shard, it cut his skin and spilt his own blood from his left hand. Jean gritted his teeth in pain, but the adrenaline once more acted as his morphine. Once more, his mind went blank as he lifted the glass shard. Fear was suddenly glistening in the girl's eye as she tried to wave a hand in desperation for mercy. Her eyes begged for Jean to stop, but his arms were already in motion. The glass shard shot down, planting is piercing sharpness into her neck. And a second time...and a third. Jean lifted and plunged it time and time again, digging the glass deeper into her throat than the last. Pools of blood squeamishly began to pour onto the floorboards and stained both of their clothing. The blue tints to Jean's undercoat was beginning to turn a crimson, sticky red. Her throat became increasingly less distinct with every stab. Her breath was growing short as the floods of maroon liquid began to fill up her airways, blocking all air from ever reaching her lungs once more. Suffocating on the torturous injections Jean had forced upon her, he continued, having now stabbed her at least fifteen bloody times with the shard of glass, each time cutting into his own hand. Jean let out a large shout of his own, planting it permanently into her neck, letting her lie still.

	For a moment, he sat there, in silence himself. What...what had he done? Looking down upon the girl, dressed in Imperial clothing, he noticed a small necklace wrapped around her neck, now covered in the small flickers of blood. Even more worrisome was the exact same necklace also wrapped around the neck of the man he'd shot in the head first. On the metallic gold braille, Jean could see the words that shocked him, making him feel the humanity and justification for her violent uproar:[/color] [color=EEE8AA][i]'Til death do us part, we are bound by love.[/i][/color]

[color=Silver]	Jean's face dropped. Tears began to welt up in his eyes once more as he scrambled off of her body, kicking the corpses away as he pushed his feet forwards, sliding his backside into the corner of the room. Distant sounds of gunfire became more and more quiet on the outside. Perhaps the battle was done, or perhaps he was ignoring the entire thing. Jean's eyes began to flow desperately of tears, blood trickling from his own hands and the throat of his victim still. What...what had he become? And with the searing pain his grasped cut now kicking in, the emotional torture of reliving the images of the girl's final expression before death began to haunt him. And with that, Jean began to cry silently again. He was no soldier. He was no warrior. And now, could he even call himself human?[/color]