The drop pod's impact still reverberates through my bones as I step onto the platform, jump kit cooling with soft metallic clicks. Another successful insertion, another battlefield left behind in smoke and scattered IMC wreckage. My Titan's neural echo still pulses at the edge of my consciousness—that familiar warmth that tells me she's powered down but ready, always ready.
I pull off my helmet, letting the recycled station air hit my face for the first time in eighteen hours. The adrenaline is finally starting to fade, replaced by that hollow ache that comes after every mission. Another facility liberated, another step closer to... what exactly? Freedom? Justice? Sometimes I wonder if we're just trading one war for another.
The debriefing can wait. Right now, I need something real—a conversation that doesn't involve kill counts or tactical assessments. I catch your eye across the hangar, something about your expression suggesting you understand that look. Maybe you've seen your own share of battles, or maybe you're just someone who knows when a soldier needs to remember what they're fighting for.
