Homecoming

A group of men wander through the hills, with packs slung on their backs and guns in their holsters. Despite the world burning down around them, they're cheery, chatting and whistling and making idle small talk as they wander to wherever they're going. Of course, that ends up not mattering in the end, doesn't it?

The long road stretches out ahead of you. Stretching all the way back to Din Talin. You've spent hours and hours preparing, poring over maps and gathering whatever supplies you could get. You thought it was so that everything could go as smoothly as possible. But, looking at it now, you know exactly why. You were procrastinating. You're… going out again, with another squad. Another group of soldiers. Another responsibility.

Your hand twitches and balls itself into a fist.

You pin it on a sugar withdrawal. Maybe there's some good candy out there that can help quench that hunger.

A group of men lie pinned down in the forest, firing blindly into the trees. Dark shapes flit in and out of the branches, always there yet always out of sight. Shots ring out as another falls, red seeping into the various green tones of their uniform as crimson roses of blood blossom from their chest. The one to the right of you cries out in anguish before they, too, are silenced.

Your hand twitches again as you come up to the encampment. You've already hit three of them, but even if you hadn't, you'd know the type. Ramshackle fortifications in a chokepoint, barbed wire fences and a couple of tents used as command buildings and rooms in the absence of anything stronger. Of course, it's been completely emptied out, with holes in the fence gouged out by wire cutters and the like. You step in with the rest of your party, examining the damage. This place has already been picked clean for the most part by raiders. But you're a military man, and you know the sort of places that soldiers tend to hide their stuff when they're abandoning a place in a hurry.

At least, you thought you did. The other two places had borne no fruit besides a few basic supplies and rations, and the squadron was starting to get testy. You're pretty sure you saw I's hand on his weapon, fingers a bit too close to the trigger for your liking. But alas, no shots would be fired today. Out of a sneaky little alcove, you dig out an old semi-automatic pistol. By your old standards, this thing is an antique, but it's a venerable design that still saw a lot of use past its heyday. The years of exposure to the elements had not exactly been kind to it, but a good clean could fix most of the damage.

You almost feel a sense of relief before you realise something: Annette, the disciple that Marlowe sent to journey with you, is gone. You glance at I, your stomach turning as you duck out of sight to try and see where she went. Wherever it was, she’d gone sneakily. There’s nary a track on the ground, nor a sigh on the wind that could guide you. Your hand trembles. You go back to I, doing your best to put on a professional commander face as you say how Annette went off ahead to scout and that she’ll regroup with you on the way. You can only hope that what you’re saying is true. Nevertheless, you pick clean what you can from this place too, and make your way forward. Probably need to start heading back by now, you think. At least you got yourself a gun, and I got himself what looks like a snazzy sword.

No candy, though. Tough luck. At least your shaky hands seem to calm as you put some distance between you and the encampment.

A man runs away, as fast as he can through the trees. Voices clamour behind him, mixing with the sounds of screams and gunshots into a vast and disturbing cacophony. His leg hurts, the muscles split by blade and bullet, leaving vivid red spots on every tree he leans against for support. The voices seem to quiet down. He's alone.

…

He's alone.

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