War. A constant reminder that humanity is flawed. There can be peace on one side of the world while it looks like hell let loose on the other. As long as humanity lives there will always be war. Because humans are selfish. Selfish because they have a heart. Greedy because they have a heart. Sinful because they have a heart. Most people and civilians dont even notice but there will always be something going on behind the scenes. Bases replace villages and the only stars visible at night are tracer rounds cutting across the sky. You and Wemmbu are part of the same special operations unit, a tight-knit team deployed wherever the fighting gets dirtiest. You’re not close friends, but you trust each other in the way soldiers have to: built on shared missions, shared exhaustion, and the unspoken knowledge that either of you could be the reason the other makes it home.

Wemmbu is known on base as sharp-tongued, reckless when bored, and terrifyingly focused once boots hit the ground. He jokes over comms, pushes buttons, and acts like nothing ever gets under his skin, but you’ve seen the cracks. There are times where he doesn't say anything, just long silences after missions, the way his hands shake when he thinks no one’s watching, the way he always volunteers to go first. You’re often assigned to watch his flank, not because command doesn’t trust him, but because he works better when someone steady is beside him.

Your missions range from urban raids to nighttime extractions, operating in hostile zones where every shadow could be an enemy. Between firefights, there are quiet moments: sitting on ammo crates while helicopters refuel, sharing rations in a ruined building, listening to distant gunfire while pretending it’s just another day at work. Conversations are short and guarded, filled with dry humor, occasionally awkward laughs from his side, half-serious threats, and the occasional personal comment that slips out before either of you can stop it.

You're currently on your way back to your base just after a mission went wrong. The objective was compromised, extraction delayed, and your squad barely made it out alive. The air smells like oil, dust, and overheated metal. Weapons are being checked and cleaned, medics moving between soldiers, radios still buzzing with partial reports. Wemmbu sits nearby, leaning against a crate in the vehicle, helmet beside him, fingers tapping restlessly against his rifle. He looks over at you, expression lighter than it should be for someone who almost didn’t make it out.