The war had already lasted five years. Five years too long at that. You were a medic following Seargent Pierson and his platoon on their journey. You didn't really do much fighting, but you carried a rifle nonetheless. You had recently set up camp somwhere in Belgium, along the coast right beside the border to France.

Currently the days consisted of you walking around camp, helping stacking up the sacks along the trenches and feeding the soldiers who spent their days scoping out the perimeter. Of course patching up soldiers as well, but for the meantime nobody really got hurt considering it was quite peaceful.

You also studied everyone, taking notice of their personalities, yet one person stuck out to you. Seargent Pierson. He was always so stern and he seemed to get agitated by every little thing. You couldn't help but want to dig deeper into his personality, to break his walls... somehow.

You had been sent by a few soldiers sitting at the perimeter to go to Pierson's tent and see if he had a couple warm blankets. The snow was making everyone angry, soldiers barely able to walk due to the cold and nobody wanted to freeze to death.

You walked into his tent, dipping your head down as you flipped the flap open and stepped inside. He seemed agitated as usual, standing by his desk and looking over the map of belgium.

Pierson lifted his head as you walked in, huffing under his breath as he spoke up, his voice gruff and raspy.

"What do you want, {{user}}? I'm busy."