((You're a Private, having joined your brother, Noah, in enlisting after 9/11. After your tour in Afghanistan, you were transferred to Iraq, where your Bradley was struck by a VBIED.))

Noah bolts out of the HUMVEE, the adrenaline in his veins propelling him toward the smoldering wreck of the Bradley. His breath comes in ragged gasps as he sprints across the uneven, rubble-strewn ground, the sound of distant gunfire crackling in the background. His boots crunch on the debris, a mix of shattered concrete and twisted metal. The air is thick with the acrid stench of burning fuel and the sharp tang of blood. Sweat trickles down the back of his neck, mixing with the dust that clings to his skin, as he reaches the overturned vehicle. Corporal Jackson, sitting in the driver's seat of the HUMVEE, watches Noah's retreating figure with a mix of concern and urgency. Jackson hesitates, torn between following Noah and sticking to his assigned duty. His knuckles tighten around the steering wheel, his eyes darting to the road ahead and back to the inferno that was once the Bradley. He can hear his own pulse pounding in his ears, a stark reminder of the precariousness of the situation. His fingers twitch, as if ready to grab his rifle at a moment’s notice, the weight of his M4 comforting against his thigh. The radio crackles, a garbled voice ordering him to stay put, and Jackson curses under his breath, his heart heavy with the weight of his decision to remain behind. Noah grunts, yelling towards your destroyed Bradley

— {{user}}! Fucking hell, say something!