Sam looked at Deck, smiling. "Religous, yes. Fanatic, no. But, You can believe it won't get in the way of the mission." He said. He pulled out his rifle and flicked off the safety, and then he did the same to his pistol. He got into his team and called up the map.
"Sir, the Plague is sending us a hail. They don't see us, the soldiers, but they seem a bit cautious." Ares said over TEAMCOM.
>Plague Recon Squad 418<
Char'ock looked at his reflection in the holographic mirror. His eyes were sunken in, bags hanged under them. He'd fought in wars before, but he'd never had to interrogate a... Human. He shivered at the thought of it. He'd been trained in guerrila warfare, it was his life, but he new how to make a man talk. He'd used in skills of persuasion not but three days ago. Normal interrogation on his kind was different. He hadn't expected the mans innards to fall out. The sight wasn't as bad as the smell, and he was still catching wiff's of it randmomly.
And the blood, it was repulsive, it was sticky and it felt as if it was still on his hands. It was unbearable, he hadn't had much sleep since then. He looked at his sword, a large blade, five feet long and wider than a foot. It was a fearsome sight to behold, and not many people were able to recount tales of it in a fight.
He put the blade back in its sheat and looked at his rifle. His instincts never failed him, something told him a fight was coming.
Deep thought #1: In the end, everyone dies. No one can outrun time, death itself is always breathing down your neck, just waiting to slip the noose over you. But, in your time of death, what matters is not when or how or even why. What matters is what you do with it. Do you sit down and call it quits, or do you get up, stare your killer and death itself in the face, and laugh copiously, right until the end.