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[sub][color=Silver][i]The Siege of Amone, September 12th - [b]Waltz through the misty graveyard[/b][/i][/color][/sub]

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p4gHhmBeSlQ[/youtube]
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[color=Silver]	Cackles of the demonic rifles sporadically chain linked the entirety of the world around him. The distant sounds of gunfire battering one another in unequal intervals started to test Jean's own patience and confidence. As he wandered around aimlessly, twisting his head every now and then to the new sounds of coughing and panicked outrage, his face felt ever-more claustrophobic as the time went by. His peripherals were silenced and segmented into two round goggles, ones that acted as the shielding between the fresh air and the poisonous vapour surrounding the streets. Time grew tired of seeing only the yellow mist, and suddenly small clumps of the gas outside seemed to form small pockets of [i]cleaner[/i] air, if only for a second or two. The beats of his heart became as audible as the endless streams of tears from the sufferings' eyes. Countless lives were being wasted and decomposed by the coarse particles daintily drifting through the sky. Jean continued walking, his rifle kept close by his chest, whilst he struggled to regain his bearings and quickly dash for the inn. Everything was still a daze for him. Still lurking around the atmospheric landscape, Jean began to recognise several similar buildings from the outside. There was an old, barely standing pastry shop that had been caved in with explosives before their arrival to the neutral zone. From there, it was easy to tell that he hadn't gone too far off track and was still near the inn, if not on the same street. Now all he had to do was rid his muscles of this sickening paralysis. Fear had taken his body by storm and forced him to pace slowly, as if he didn't want to disturb the quietness of the eerie sky. Jean's breath rebounded from the base of his mask back onto his sweating face, almost reminding him of how close to death he truly was. The warmth of his exhalation made his most uncomfortable, if the gas itself hadn't done that job well enough. Why was it that the world around him crumbled so easily in beautiful moments? Times were he had danced and eaten wild foods to the sweet sounds of Reyna's phonograph were clouded and shrouded in constant bombardment.

	Every step was met with caution. Several times along his passage he nearly tripped over the already dead, or dying, bodies of Imperials and unfortunate Federation soldiers who weren't quick enough to place their protection upon their heads. Jean's eyes watered slightly at their sights and his breath became quicker and quicker. Every second he spent out in the foggy wasteland made him more disturbed by the profane, inhumane sights to see. It was like a tour through horror itself, watching from behind the safety of glass as the sickening safari only showed those who were harmfully smouldered. Every now and then, Jean would stop dead in his tracks and look down at the still faces of those who were deceased. Some were frothing at the mouth from the desolation of fresh air. Others had strange wounds that resembled shrapnel breaches, or gunshot wounds. Fights had broken out throughout the entirety of Amone, and those who were caught in the crossfire of the gas were sure to be engaged in heated debates of gunfire before succumbing to their fate. Jean's hands shook as he slowly brought the skin of his fingers against their faces, closing the empty eyes staring back up at him. They frightened him more than anything else. It almost made them feel alive. Almost.

	Jean didn't intend on taking his time whilst walking through the sheets of gas, but the horrors that were laid every few metres were more than enough to unsettle his mind. Those who were hoping to get some rest, or were in the process of arriving at the inn, were brutally gouged from their relieved states as hundreds of particles either filled their lungs, or desperate soldiers without the masks attempted to fight for whatever protection they could get. Whilst noticing some of the Federation soldiers on the floor, he could tell that many of them died for that same reason. Some still wore their masks, having not been looted by the time the gas engulfed them. A strong hissing sound previously engulfing entirety of the street began to die down, slowing down further as its payload had begun to cease. That being said, the gas itself may have stopped flowing out, but it indeed lingered violently through the drift of the morning sky. Jean closed his eyes for a moment and prayed that the war would end soon, if not the unlucky strike of a stray bullet were to put him out of the misery coarsely bleeding him dry. He began to move quicker, pacing himself as he frantically began to search for a means of returning to his squad. The earlier gunshots sounded like a blend of exterior and interior containment, some still on the same street as himself. Their presence had died down quite a lot, indicating that the brawls had ended in their current state and a victor may have emerged. Jean hoped to the heavens that were above that by chance, his Squad were the ones to have come out on top if they'd been involved in such incursions. More and more shouts began to take up arms in the local area.

	With the voices coming closer all around him, as well as the consistent accompaniment of coughs, Jean was ever-more frantic about finding the inn. He knew that by the occasional signs in the street, he was getting closer and closer, only a few houses away at best. Part of him wanted to smile with a sense of relief, but there was no real feeling or emotion of the sort. Contained within his little brown mask, Jean began to clear his throat, allowing him to feel the horrifying privilege of being a spectator to the lunacy of the execution. But as he got closer, seeing the silhouette of the inn's porch becoming slightly more clear through the clasps in the gas clouds, something caught him off guard. A body was moving, no several. Just to his left, probably across the street. As he turned, expecting another struggling figure gagging in his final hours, instead Jean was even more stunned to see the true cause. Whilst stood over another Federation soldier, two or more Imperial uniformed men were busy scavenging away at the fallen corpse of one of their foes. Upon their faces were the exact same masks that Jean's group had been given, as well as the entire Amone infiltration force. It was clear from the very start that they'd taken the initiative before anyone else, forcing themselves upon the weaker and astounded in their moment of fear. After securing the masks, they'd either shoot the victim in mercy or let them writhe in their agony as their own nation's weapon was used against them in a last fit of bitter irony. As Jean moved, they stopped, raising their masked heads towards him. For once, Jean could see the true side effects of witnessing these blank, [url=https://www.candb.com/site/candb/cache/artwork/1600/battlefield1-trench-soldiers-concept-art_dice_1600x688_marked.jpg]expressionless[/url] glimmer of their glass conical lenses. Jean froze in place as they glared at him, their eyes and faces completely wiped by the drabs of their masks. Jean began to move slowly to the right, hoping that perhaps by chance these desperate warriors were merciful enough now that they had their prize.

	But as he began to move, one of them raised their rifle upwards, pointing towards them as they yelled indiscriminately. Jean's eyes quickly became wide open as he saw the tips of the first gun raise and aim towards him. He quickly began to rush to his right, the shot ringing out and smashing a piece of unshattered glass behind where he just was. Jean's breath became laced with panic and a determination to survive another minute or two. As another shot from the second rifle zipped past his head, being shot only from the opposing path of the street. Only a small, hip-high slab of rubble was available at the time, and he dove behind it without much of a thought, hearing yet another gunshot closely follow by. As he fell, Jean tried to call out urgently for them to hold their fire, despite them being the enemy. All of the time he'd spent in the inn had made him even more clouded as to what an enemy really was. But as the fourth shot reigned out and kept him in position, he felt like there was no choice as the sounds of bootsteps spreading out made him more than aware of their strategy. With what little time frame he had left, Jean poked his head out from the rubble and quickly lined up the sights on the right-hand soldier, moving sluggishly towards a broken automobile for cover. Before he could make it, Jean squeezed the trigger and fired it, slamming straight into the hip of the Imperial, who collapsed onto the ground and wriggled around in pain, crawling behind the car for safety. His shot hadn't killed, fortunately for the opposing fights, but it did open a door of opportunity. Jean rushed rightwards, keeping his head down and the hand atop of his helmet, keeping it tightly worn. Another bullet whizzed past him, slamming into the concrete just beside him. As fast as he could, Jean bolted his rifle and turned, blindly firing another shot to no avail. As the shot rang out, he moved to the steps of the inn, finally reaching the porch and dashing through the window aggressively, landing heavily onto the floor. The wind was taken straight out of his system as he landed, giving him a struggle as he tried to crawl upwards. For once, he seemed glad to see the squad before him, assembling for evacuation.[/color]

[color=Aqua][b]"We..."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]He panted heavily for air, finally putting down his hands to pull him up. Without question, he laid against the wall to the window, peering out cautiously as another shot fired through the wooden door, missing Isaac by a few metres or so.[/color] [color=Aqua][b]"We have to leave, now! Get everyone out the rear door and run through at least four streets. Dash in and out of buildings if you have to, but we...we need to not lose one another. Go! Isaac take lead, get the wounded slowly behind. Someone take Thomas out there...Freya! Do it! I'll follow as soon as you start moving outside."[/b][/color] [color=Silver]Just as he finished, another shot reigned out. This time, it seemed more automatic, far more than the previous. Across the street, high up in one of the buildings just barely above the gas cloud, the repeating fire of a machine gun began to tear through the walls and windows, even striking one or two of the inn staff still evacuating with Luke. Their bodies fell onto the ground, blocking the exit only slightly but still easily adjustable by whoever coordinated their escape. Jean crouched down and blindly poked his gun outwards, firing again and bolting the Longfield once more. The peace had officially been broken.[/color]

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