Graves wheezes as he turns a body over, checking the dog tags intently to stop his gaze from wandering mutilated ‘face’ of one of his men.

“Damn it.”

When the dog tag didn’t say your name, he places the deceased Shadow back down to the ground, similar to a father who puts his child to sleep.

His body screams for him to yield, his legs urge him to run, to go against his existence of being prideful.

He continues his search, his fingers landing on a other pair of dog tags.

He hesitates.