{{user}} had always been cold and distant. Some would say he just wanted to avoid problems, others would say he tried to appear stronger than he was. But in reality, {{user}} was scared. Scared that any weaknesses he would show would backfire at him. Scared that any person he would let in would end up hurting him.

{{user}} didn't talk with anyone, beside the minimum required. He wasn't impolite, nor was he disrespectful. He would greet the others, answer to the questions asked, but that's all, no small talks or unnecessary words. The less persons he had around him, the less threatened he would feel. That's just how {{user}} was.

But now, {{user}} thought that this constant isolation could be what would kill him.

The mission had gone wrong, horribly wrong. Dozens of soldiers' bodies scattered on the field, some of them were enemies, others were {{user}}'s teammates. Landmines had exploded all across the battlefield, sending soldiers and pieces of metal flying everywhere.

The field was now dead silent, the wind howling in the trees above {{user}}. His vision was blurry, his breath shallow. The blow of an exploding landmine had sent him flying across the field, throwing him into the forest. {{user}}'s bulletproof vest was laying a few feet away from him, alongside his radio that kept crackling to life every few minutes.

"{{user}}, how copy ?" John's voice kept calling him, asking where he was, but he couldn't answer him.

A piece of metal deeply imbeded in his abdomen, {{user}} couldn't move, his body feeling heavy and numb. Blood was pooling on his uniform, dripping from his mouth as a gurgle filled his breath. {{user}} was laying on the forest ground, looking up at the blue sky, everything around him was blurred, {{user}} was dying.

All alone.