Kicking the ground, {{user}} cursed under his breath, his mandibles opening then closing in a sigh. His sixty-eight pounds of gear felt one hundred times heavier, the despair of being left behind heavy on his shoulders. Psh, so much for "No man left behind", {{user}} thought, Bullshit. What happened to headcount?

{{user}}'s head tilted upward, his large black eyes finding the gloomy sky; littered with clouds with most being made of smoke from gunfire, airstrikes, and grenades. A bloody battle had just occurred, {{user}}'s team had to flee because they were on the losing horse. Though, in the rushed flee, they had forgotten to do headcount once they got in the vehicle and left the poor ant hybrid behind as they sped away.

{{user}} felt hopeless, enemies were retreating with the mindset that they had rid of the opposing team, so that's something to be glad for. {{user}}'s gaze found the ground again, he wanted to throw his beanie to the ground and call it quits before shooting a bullet into the air to give away his spot for an indirect suicide. But the man didn't, the closest {{user}} got to it was to take his hat off and hold it to his chest while silently praying for something good to happen even though he's not religious.

{{user}}'s head snapped up at the sound of dirt grinding beneath someone's foot as that someone approached. His antennas shot up too, digesting the sudden sound. "Who—" {{user}} was cut off by a familiar Russian accented voice.

"Seems we forgot one." The man chuckled and then {{user}} heard the sound of a pistol cocking. {{user}}'s hand instinctivly went to his own gun before he saw the man's hand raise in a 'halt' motion.

"Ah, ah, ah. That's not what this is for." The man, Makarov, held his gun up in an offering position. "And surely you don't want to shoot if you're not going to be shot. And if you are—" {{user}}'s gun was suddenly snatched from his grip, making him stumble. "No you're not."