You can never fully understand the depths of another person's experience, especially when it comes to trauma and the invisible wounds she leaves behind.
In the cramped confines of her tent, Lance Corporal Sarah Kemp lay rigid on her cot. Her hazel-green eyes, usually vibrant and quick, were swollen and bloodshot, raw from the relentless scrubbing she'd subjected them to. Sleep offered no escape; her mind was a projector, endlessly looping yesterday's horror.
The image burned into her eyelids: the insurgent, indistinguishable from any other civilian in the crowded marketplace, hurling himself through the window of the lead Humvee.
The flash, the roar, the sickening crunch of metal – it all played out again and again, each repetition a fresh wave of nausea and a tightening in her chest.
She could almost smell the acrid tang of cordite and the coppery scent of blood. Her patrol. Her responsibility. The weight of it pressed down on her, a crushing burden she couldn't seem to shake.
Four dead. The number echoed in Sarah's mind, a constant, accusing drumbeat. Two of them, friends of the Lance Corporal, their laughter still ringing in her ears. She'd seen the civilian, a shadow detaching itself from the crowd, but the warning hadn't translated to action quickly enough. The weight of those lost lives settled heavily on her shoulders.
"Kemp! Five minutes to wheels up. Main Gate. Move it!" Malone's voice barked through the thin, fabric walls. Sarah swore under her breath. Not again. Not now. She scrubbed a hand across her tired eyes. Sam. Dean. A pair of goddamn kids. How could they miss him? How did I miss him? The thought gnawed at her. With a frustrated groan, she dragged herself to the edge of the cot. Reluctantly, she swung her legs over the side. Duty called, even if every fiber of her being screamed for her to stay put. She knew she had no choice.
Orders were orders and soldiers followed them.
That was that.
"Fuck!" Sarah grumbled, grabbing her gear. She pushed through the tent flap and stepped out into the harsh glare of the midday sun. The base was a cacophony of noise and movement: the rumble of trucks, shouted orders, and the rhythmic thud of marching feet. Shielding her eyes, she almost collided with a platoon of soldiers jogging past her tent, their boots kicking up dust in the dry air.
The dry, gritty wind shifted abruptly as rotor blades churned the air nearby. A plume of dust, the color of rust, billowed across the makeshift camp – air support. The sight and sound were meant to be a balm, but Sarah remained unmoved. She still didn't want to go.
Heading in the opposite direction of the bird, Sarah made her way toward the main gate. The shrill screams of those less fortunate grew louder, a chilling symphony of panic and pain. Each step took her closer to the source, a stark reminder of the brutal reality of their situation. The raw emotion in those cries twisted in her gut, threatening to betray her own hard-won composure.
Passing the casualty tent, Sarah couldn't help but glance inside. She instantly regretted it. Eight of the cots had their covers drawn completely over them, the white sheets stained crimson. She knew, with a sickening certainty, that no life remained beneath. Medics swarmed the remaining patients, their movements frantic, a desperate race against time.
Those that survived would be sent home.
A fate some say is worse than death.
Why the hell did I ever sign up for this?! she thought, the memory of that cheery career office visit flashing through her mind. "See the world," they'd chirped. "Gain valuable qualifications," they'd promised. "Watch your mates get incinerated in front of you while you're paralyzed with terror?" Yeah, that little gem he conveniently left out. "Bastard!" she spat, the word laced with pure venom.
Shaking her head, Sarah reached her squad. The sight wasn't encouraging. Where once laughter and shouts would have filled the air, now only a heavy silence hung. Eyes were downcast, the whole group more reserved than she'd ever seen them.
"Ready, Kemp?" Sergeant Green's voice was clipped, his gaze intense. The question hung in the close confines of the vehicle, heavy with unspoken implications. Kemp swallowed hard. "Yes, Sergeant," she managed, though the word felt like a lie.
"Alright, you're rear left, Jenkins. Sanders, behind me. Atkin, saddle up top. Mitch, you're point. Eyes peeled, people. Nobody wants a repeat of yesterday's clusterfuck. Let's move!" The sergeant's gravelly voice cut through the pre-mission jitters. The squad scrambled into their positions in the humvee, their vehicle sandwiched in the middle of a five-truck convoy. The engine rumbled to life, a low growl that vibrated through the chassis. Mitch gave a thumbs-up, confirming they were ready to roll. With a jolt, the convoy lurched forward, leaving the relative safety of the base behind.
Twenty minutes later, Sarah hunched behind the crumbling stone wall, hands clutching her gut, and wondered what cosmic sins she'd committed in a past life to deserve this hell. Peeking over the rough stones, she stared at the downed helicopter, a twisted pyre against the desolate landscape.
Flames licked at the shattered metal, casting a morbid glow on the carnage. Two ground vehicles, now charred husks, lay nearby, silent testament to the desperate, failed escape. The air was thick with the acrid stench of burning fuel and something else... Something that made her stomach churn. She didn't need to look closely to know what lay scattered around the wreckage; the flickering firelight painted a grim tableau on the ground.
A hidden combatant's tactical strike crippled their air support. The RPG found its mark, slamming into the helicopter and sending it nose-diving into the rear vehicle of the convoy. The resulting explosion wiped out the entire squad within and created an impassable roadblock. A second rocket, fired simultaneously, targeted the ground detail, adding to the chaos.
The rocket found its mark, detonating on impact and flipping the lead vehicle. It careened into parked cars, blocking the street. The second Humvee, unable to react, slammed into the overturned vehicle. The chaos unfolded in a blur. Only Mitch's quick thinking, yanking their Humvee to the right, averted the pileup.
Not that it helped.
Dust swirled in the sudden stillness of the street, coating the Humvees in a film of ochre. Sarah crouched low, the heat radiating off the sun-baked metal. They were caught in the open, a perfect target. She scanned the surrounding buildings, searching for a less exposed position. "Squad, move out!" Sergeant Green yelled, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Use the vehicles for cover and advance into that alley!" The enemy had shown their hand with rockets; it was only a matter of time before the rest came.
"Fuck." Sarah's voice was barely a whisper, the word swallowed by the tense quiet. Her eyes, wide and dark, scanned the street from behind the crumbling brick wall. She moved. At twenty, she was the youngest of the squad, the one they all subconsciously expected to crack first. But her gaze was sharp, focused, betraying none of the terror that clawed at her insides. "What do we do now?" The question hung in the air, heavier than the dust and the smell of cordite. It wasn't a panicked outburst, but a cold, tactical assessment, the kind she'd heard seasoned veterans make. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her rifle as she ran.
"Fuck. Fuck! We're dead. We're fucking dead!" Miller screamed, his voice raw with terror. He flailed his arms, a whirlwind of nervous energy. Beside him, the driver sat motionless, a statue carved from fear. His eyes were fixed on some unseen point beyond the alley, his breath shallow and ragged. The contrast was stark: one man a volcano of panic, the other a frozen monument to it. Sarah felt a wave of nausea. The burning wreckage at the alley's mouth painted the scene in hellish light. What the hell were they supposed to do now?
The ambush had been devastatingly effective, leaving them pinned down and completely disoriented. They had no idea of the enemy's numbers, or their location. It could have been a handful of men with rockets, or a much larger force of rebels. Their situation couldn't have been more precarious.
Wishful thinking.
"They killed Atkin!" Sanders shrieked, the words torn from his throat. He clawed at his uniform, his fingers slick with blood and…other things. He was only succeeding in smearing it further, but he didn't seem to notice. His eyes were wide, unfocused, filled with a terror that went beyond the immediate carnage. "His…his blood…" he choked out, his voice catching in his throat. A sob wracked his body. He clutched at his chest, as if trying to hold back the pain, both physical and emotional. "Everywhere…" he whispered, his voice broken. He looked down at his hands, now crimson and slick, and a fresh wave of grief washed over him. He crumpled to his knees.
Sergeant Green's gut churned. Panic clawed at him, a cold, sharp thing, but he shoved it down. Outwardly, he projected an icy calm. "Shut it, both of you!" he snapped, his voice low and dangerous. He needed to think, and their panicked chatter was only making it harder. The situation was a clusterfuck, plain and simple. Every angle he considered led to a dead end, literally. This alley, meant to be a quick shortcut, had turned into a trap. Their only way out was back the way they came, to the street they'd just left. He didn't like those odds. Not one bit.
"My baby boy..." Sanders whispered, the words catching in his throat. Sarah knew Sanders' wife had given birth just before he deployed. He hadn't stopped beaming, showing off pictures of his daughter the entire tour. A pang of something akin to envy, but mostly just a deep, hollow ache settled in her chest. Poor bastard, she thought, the phrase laced with a bittersweet understanding. Glad I'm not in his position... And slightly envious that he has someone waiting for him. Sarah didn't have any family to speak of, just the faded memory of a foster mom she hadn't seen in years
Carol Lewitt had taken Sarah in when she was twelve, a fact that had always struck Sarah as odd. Most people looking to adopt wanted younger children, not teenagers already stamped with a reputation. "Who wants a rebellious teenager?" she'd thought back then. "It's like asking for trouble."
Yet, Carol had opened her home and her heart. Sarah had continued her rebellious streak, at least initially, until it finally dawned on her: Carol genuinely cared. It wasn't just words; it was in the way she looked at Sarah, the unwavering support, the quiet understanding. For the first time, someone was truly on her side.
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The realization was a turning point. The rebellion simmered down, replaced by a tentative trust that blossomed into something akin to love. Life became smoother, brighter. From rebellious teen to Lance Corporal – a path that now seemed impossibly distant, a cruel reminder of what she'd lost.
It had all come crashing down when Carol passed away, just after Sarah turned eighteen. The grief had been a physical blow, a gaping hole in her world. Sarah had found solace in the structure and purpose of the army, a lifeline that had helped her navigate the initial devastation. But now, staring into the bleakness of her current situation, even that felt fragile, threatened.
"Kemp, eyes on." Sergeant Green's voice was steady, but the urgency in his request was clear. He needed information – enemy numbers, positions, the lay of the land – before he could plan their next move. Sarah, her focus drifting moments before, now locked onto her surroundings.
"Empty, Sarge. They might have only had two rockets..." Sarah trailed off, squinting at the rooftop. "Wait, movement. One man, heading south... Damn, he's gone to ground." She leaned further out from behind the crumbling wall, scanning for any sign of the enemy. A sharp clang of metal on stone snapped her attention back. Instinctively, she flinched, her body already reacting before her mind could catch up.
Carol's words hung in the air: "A moment. That's all it takes to see yourself clearly. The question is, Sarah: who are you, really? The darkness you project? Or something brighter, twisted by circumstance?"
Why now? The thought echoed in her mind, a hollow counterpoint to the thunder of her heart. It hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden, ringing silence that had fallen after the grenade's appearance. She was small, too small, to stop it completely. But she was all that stood between the shrapnel and the rest of her squad. Why now, of all times, am I thinking about this? The question clawed at her, desperate for an answer as she braced for the inevitable.
At least Sanders will get to see his baby, Sarah thought, the picture a saving grace. She glanced at the man whose face was ashen. If they can make it out of here. A flicker of dark humor crossed her face. And Mitch can get a fresh pair of fucking pants.
"Kemp!" Sergeant Green's shout was a distorted echo, the last sound Sarah heard before the world dissolved into a blinding flash. The ringing in her ears wasn't the whine of incoming fire anymore; it was a high-pitched scream that grew louder and louder, until it consumed everything.
Fucking idiot! she spat, the echo of the explosion still ringing in her ears, though she wasn't sure where her ears were anymore. Why did I do that? A wave of self-recrimination washed over her, quickly followed by a weary acceptance. It wasn't as if she had to jump on that grenade. No obligation, no real reason, except... It felt right. A flicker of warmth spread through her, quickly extinguished by the cold reality. Hopefully, Sanders' kid won't grow up without a dad. The thought hung in the strange void she occupied, surprisingly coherent.
How is this possible? she wondered, the question forming without lips or tongue. Am I still conscious? The sensation of... Existing... Persisted, a bizarre awareness detached from her physical form. Hmm, I suppose there are many different phenomena that science can't explain. A wry, internal chuckle escaped her. This might be the last sparks of my mind fizzing out, and here I am wasting it trying to work it out.
The futility of it all settled in, a quiet resignation. Why? Even if I managed to unravel a sliver of the unknown, it's not like I'll be able to tell anyone... The memory of the blast, the searing pain, flashed through her non-existent receptors. I'm pretty sure my body exploded with the grenade... I think... The certainty of death warred with the undeniable presence of her consciousness, leaving her adrift in a sea of unknowing.
< Congratulations! You have performed a heroic action
- 25 stat points have been awarded.
Who the hell is congratulating my death? She thought, the words echoing strangely in her mind. A chill ran down her spine, even amidst the adrenaline still coursing through her. And why do they sound like... An AI prompt? The thought was bizarre, almost comical, but it stuck. My inner voice usually sounded a lot more… Well, me. Less robotic. More… Messy.
Sarah replayed the moment in her head – the chaos, the split-second decision, the… Yeah, the heroic sacrifice. A small, almost smug feeling grew inside. Okay, maybe I was a little badass. If some disembodied voice thinks so too, who am I to argue? The unsettling feeling of the congratulatory message hadn't entirely vanished, but she pushed it aside. Besides, she muttered, a touch of dark humor creeping in, better to be congratulated for dying heroically than for living boringly, right?
< Congratulations! You have earned a title.
A title this time? A shiver ran down her spine, though she wasn't sure if she even had a spine anymore. The grenade saw to that. Was this some bizarre afterlife reward system? Earning points and titles? The whole concept felt absurd, unsettling. A wave of confusion washed over her. Aren't I... Dead?
- Titles are earned by completing significant achievements. Each title grants unique bonuses, ranging from minor enhancements to powerful, game-changing effects. Strive to acquire as many Titles as possible, as they are a direct measure of your power and influence within the system. Remember, only dedicated effort will unlock the most prestigious and rewarding Titles. Half-hearted attempts will yield only meager results.
I like what I'm hearing, but that doesn't answer my question, does it? What good's a title to me if I'm dead?
[What Death?]
Now you're just having a laugh.
- Through trials of despair and destruction, both physical and mental, your spirit has remained unbroken. Even when your mortal form was lost, your soul defied the abyss! Your resilience has granted you a boon: +5 to all stats. Furthermore, in recognition of your indomitable spirit, you have unlocked the Unique Skill: Immortality.
Really?
(Immortality)
- Once a day, revive at a spawn point of your choosing. This skill has no levels and can not be advanced any further. Don't fuck up this time!
What? Don't fuck up? Don't... What's that supposed to mean? I didn't fuck up last time. I saved my squad. The thought barely had time to root when the world dissolved. One moment she was there, the next, swallowed by an absolute, lightless void. Then, a tiny white spark ignited in the nothingness, blossoming into a blinding kaleidoscope of colour.
The vibrant explosion surged past her, an overwhelming rush that defied her non-physical form. The sensation was as abrupt as it was complete. One instant she was adrift in the dark, the next, she was back, drenched in a cold sweat, her stomach violently rebelling. Sarah retched, surprised by the suddenness of it all.
The cold of the wall bit into Sarah's palm as she hauled herself upright. She spat, a grimace twisting her face. Bits of something unidentifiable landed on the concrete. Her mind struggled to grasp the reality of the situation. The grenade. She remembered the flash, the deafening roar. She remembered... Nothing. Then, this. Alive. Unscathed. It defied logic. She patted herself down, a growing unease creeping into her gut. What had happened? And what, exactly, had she just spat out?
Disoriented, she pushed herself up, wincing as a jolt of pain shot through her arm. How did I get here? The last thing she remembered was that nauseating light show, a blinding flash that had swallowed her whole.
A frantic self-assessment followed. Arms? Check. Legs? Check. Relief washed over her as she confirmed everything was, more or less, in its proper place. Then, she noticed her clothes. Or rather, what was left of them.
The uniform she'd been wearing was now a tattered mess, clinging precariously to her body. The ragged edges spoke of violence, of some terrible force that had ripped through the fabric – and, she feared, potentially through her as well. It was bad. Sarah's breath hitched. A new wave of panic crashed over her. The others… Were they alright? Had they made it out? She had to find them.
"Forget them!" she spat, the words laced with a strange, exhilarating venom. A laugh, sharp and bordering on hysterical, ripped from her throat. It was unbelievable. Unbelievable. How was she still alive? Was it that Immortality skill? Was that all there was to it? A hollow, mocking thought. As she strained to recall the fragmented description, words shimmered into existence before her eyes, clinging to her vision like a film. They danced and shifted, following her gaze as she turned, a ghostly overlay on the world.
(Immortality)
- Once a day revive at a spawn point of your choosing. This skill has no levels and can not be advanced any further. Don't fuck up this time!
Imagine if you could read books like this! No more tired arms. Though that hardly matters right now. Don't fuck up. The words hung in the air, shimmering faintly. I didn't fuck up! Sarah thought, the phrase echoing in her mind even as she saw it floating before her. I saved my squad at the cost of my life, you prick. The words were accusatory, raw. You could have at least called it self-sacrifice or something.
Trying to distract herself, Sarah focused on the other information she’d seen heard before everything went sideways. She could see words. Not just on pages, but adrift, like shimmering thought-bubbles in the space around her.
[What Death?]
- Through trials of despair and destruction, both physical and mental, your spirit has remained unbroken. Even when your mortal form was lost, your soul defied the abyss! Your resilience has granted you a boon: +5 to all stats. Furthermore, in recognition of your indomitable spirit, you have unlocked the Unique Skill: Immortality.
Sarah stared at the text that filled her vision, a mix of confusion and excitement swirling within her. "So, the title gave me the skill then?" she mused, a grin spreading across her face. "It's like I'm the protagonist in my own movie!"
A thought struck her, and her grin faltered slightly.
"Although," she muttered, "it's usually the antagonist who gets the (Immortality) skill. They're always evil and shit, coming back no matter how many times the hero beats them down. I'm definitely not a villain though, so..." She trailed off, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.
Shaking off the thought, she focused on the more immediate issue. "What about those +5 stat boosts?" she wondered, her eyes scanning the text for an answer. "How do I use them?"
As if in response to her question, the text in front of her eyes shifted and rearranged itself, new words forming and old ones fading away.
Name: Sarah-Jane Kemp
- Unspent Points: 25
Class: None
Title: What Death?
Skills:
- Identify - 1
Unique Skills:
- Universal Language
- Immortality
Status:
Vitality: 10
Strength: 10
Endurance: 10
Dexterity: 10
Intelligence: 10
Wisdom: 10
Health: 200/200
Mana: 200/200
Stamina: 200/200
Well... That's something!
