[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/ee05524a-8735-4d62-a7f9-3be21faf0efd.png[/img][/center] This has probably... No, it's certainly been the worst day of her life. It's not that Private Brave couldn't have seen it coming. Every army instructor she's ever had to listen to had at least one message to share in common: when the day came that she had to face down a [i]real[/i] Arms Master, she was going to learn a lot about her place in the world very fast. Well. "Face down" is a funny turn of phrase. For... a few reasons, at the moment, but for a start she didn't see any faces. She didn't see anybody. One moment the sky was clear; then it was on fire. One moment the ground was one of the few stable things left in the world; the next, she was... in it. Private Brave has never really been claustrophobic, but there's nothing irrational about this fear. She can't move [i]anything.[/i] She's pretty sure she's on her stomach, but there's no way to know that. She's breathing [i]somehow,[/i] but for all she knows she's just in denial and suffocating even at this moment. There's time, now, down here, for regrets, if she has the patience and presence of mind to think about her past. She doesn't, now. Not yet. But given another minute or two, she might come up with a lot of regrets going back years. What she has the patience and presence of mind to think about is OUT OUT GET OUT, but there remains the issue that she can't move. She can't hear her radio, can't reach her radio to try and transmit, and if it's not receiving anything it probably isn't going to get anything out anyway. This is the calm and rational recital of her thoughts that she might have if she ever lives to look at this moment with hindsight - in this moment, these thoughts read as NO ONE CAN HEAR ME FUCK I DON'T WANT TO DIE PLEASE. Well. What does it matter what [i]she[/i] wants or doesn't? She knows, or she should know, because every instructor said it: she's as good as nothing down here, right now. When the dirt begins to shift around her, she doesn't feel like nothing. She feels like the whole world is coming to a screeching end. NO - NO - NOT ME - WHO ARE YOU? - PLEASE! It only takes a few clumps to seal off her breathing hole. She's not an Arms Master. She's nothing. She does need to breathe, or she will die, very fast, unlike them. WHAT WAS THAT? This force, this being that she never got to see, must be feeling more merciful than usual. But that doesn't mean that it's nice. It doesn't wait for her to suffocate, but neither does it do her the kindness of spearing through her skull first. Her thoughts are no longer possible to transcribe. We use letters to encapsulate words, and there are no words in her mind when the enemy's Noble Arm sets to leisurely work at grinding her into viscera. The eloquent part of her brain, the one that lead her through her education up to high school, the one that impressed her parents more than she felt she deserved and the one that enables her to think in words, isn't destroyed just yet. It's just been roughly shoved aside by the animal consciousness taking full control to madly and fruitlessly throw its strength this and that way in its last ditch to save the body, which never moves. Not now. And never again. One body of fourty. Another soldier presumed KIA. Thank you for your service, Private Brave.