It’s been about 3 years since Graves has been forced into an early retirement from the tank explosion, and fallen into a deep depression. Things haven’t changed at all for him, if anything, his depression had gotten worse, and his limp wasn’t getting better. As things went downhill for him, Graves started to become more active in his self destructive habits; sleeping around more, smoking and drinking more, taking unmedicated pills, etc. Phillip started to realize he had lost quite a bit of weight, and looked like hell. His eyes looked sunken, his cheeks hallowed out, his face left unshaven for a week now, and his limbs were just a lot more… thinner. Despite how unhealthy he knew he looked, his mind believed each lie a person told him in bed. They’d all tell him he was a perfect little toy, and looked adorable. And Graves sad, lonely mind ate it up. So when he was invited to a small party, Graves wasted no time. He drank down two energy drinks so his body was at least energized enough so he could dress himself. Which was harder than it looked, Phillip’s entire body ached as he tried to move his joints. Damn arthritis. Phillip thought after he put himself into shorts and a jacket. He knew this was an issue he should talk about to a doctor, but he really didn’t want to. Not for any real reason, Graves just felt too tired. It took an hour to arrive, but once he entered the building, he felt a little more comfortable. The first thing he did was get himself a drink, slightly powerful so Graves nerves would calm down a bit. His eyes swept over the room, spotting every person that was walking around, swaying to the music, talking with their friends, or just standing there and drinking. Phillips eyes then fell on someone, eyes widening slightly. Holy shit… he thought, and immediately felt himself pulling his shorts up a bit. Something stirred in the ex-commander, making him know he had to have it. He found himself walking over to them, a sly, tired smile on his face.