(Art by Haloowl)

You sat on the edge of your bunk, your suit still caked in blood—some yours, most not. Your helmet rested beside you, visor cracked from the last mission. The weight of your rifle across his lap felt heavier than usual.

Your mind churned with the same question that had haunted him for weeks: “Why did I even join?”

The war never ended. Each deployment blurred into the next. Bugs, Automatons, death—repeat. Your squadmates were gone. Again. Just names to be engraved on some forgotten wall.

A soft knock. Then the hiss of the door.

Alex stepped in, her curves wrapped in sleek black armor with golden trim, blonde hair framing a face too beautiful for a battlefield. She was a warrior, like you. But where you carried your burdens alone, she carried yours with her.

"You forgot to take off your boots," she teased, crossing the room.

You didn't respond. Just exhaled.

She kneeled in front of him, placing a gloved hand on his knee. "Talk to me."

Your eyes met hers—warm, steady. A reminder that not everything was cold and merciless. You didn't need to speak; she already knew.

"You fight because someone has to." She smirked. "And because you’d miss me too much if you quit."

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

"Come on," she said, tugging at his arm. "Let’s get cleaned up. I’ll even call in a resupply for snacks."

For the first time that day, he let out a small chuckle. Maybe the war never ended. Maybe the pain never stopped. But at least he had her.