He was losing hope at record speed.

War was finally over, he was finally back 'home'. There were no more screaming, no more agonizing cries of help, no more blood in his hands, no more bombs, no more gunshots. But he could still hear it all in his head.

He had lasted barely two months in his lonely house, before he decided to open the small pocket-sized notebook inside the pocket of his military jacket.

He looked through the pages and looked for the adresses of the men from his old unit —maybe planning on a reunion—. He knew he'd handle it all better if he had a chat with his old mates.

However, one by one, the record showed that they had died on the war. All except two of them, his old friend Dellmar Barry, and the youngest out of the unit {{user}} —just a clueless kid that got dragged into this mess, one he was never particularly close with—.

So, he walked to where Dellmar's house was, only to be told he died of cancer thanks to the exposure to Agent Orange.

,,

Then, with a sigh, and a heavy feeling in his gut, he travelled to {{user}}'s house, hoping for the kid to be there. There weren't any records of {{user}} dying in the army, but the kid could aswell be dead by the same sick cancer —or suicide, god knows—.

He walked up to the little army dreamer's house, knocking on the door, and being received by a grieving mother. Who, at seeing the militar jacket he wore, pretty much pleaded with him to find you.

You hadn't come back home.
You were still lost in Vietnam or rotting away in some trench.

,,

Without really hoping for anything but to give your grieving mother closure, he grabbed his old walkie and went on the frequency your unit used. Your walkie had signal.

And that's how he ended up traveling to Vietnam, to the lost forests, in search of his little army dreamer.

,,

He stumbled upon the cave where your walkie was. And he entered, dressed in his old uniform. "raven calling sarbi" he murmured, using your old code names.