>>5228803https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9WZ2I28Chk0You’re driven back into the land of the living by the distinct sound of wheels screeching against hot tarmac.
When the plane rattles to a shuddering halt, you grab your duffle and start to disembark. After stepping off the ramp onto some shitty little Quraci airfield, you pause a moment to get your bearings and stretch a little.
Your shoulder still aches like a motherfucker from that AT round that you caught back in Venezuela. Doesn’t help that your pack is digging right into it, but you’ll just have to grin and bear it. Griping and moaning won’t change a thing, especially not here.
Even so, you miss Jack, Pandion, Darius, Isaac, even Set. Hopefully the rest of your boys are smart enough to see through Delrio’s bullshit and handle whatever he pulls. But for now, you’re stuck here.
You take a deep, uncertain breath and suck in the dry desert air. The heat, while certainly not a friendly face, is definitely a familiar one. When you close your eyes, you almost manage to fool yourself that you’re back in the Marines again, just another jarhead on a patrol.
You sweep a few sectors, pop a couple insurgents, head back to base, make a brief report, grab some chow, kill time for a while, then do the whole thing again the next day.
But when your eyes open, you’re reminded of the reality in which you find yourself. On a probable suicide mission to kill or kidnap some scientist from a fucking embassy of all places. Doing the kind of shit that leaves a mark on a man. Part of you wants to acknowledge the irony of it all; that you’re back in the saddle again, but on the wrong side.
Under the scorching sun and endless sands, an odd feeling begins to well up deep in your gut. And it’s not the surplus rations Shade split with you.
This whole situation, coupled with the heap of trouble you’re about to get into puts a pit in your stomach. And the fact that the scenery and geography resembles your last official deployment doesn’t help much either. Not quite full-circle, but the signs are there, and it’s starting to get in your head.
You don’t see the ghosts of the past lurking in your peripheral vision or anything, but you’re still unsettled. There’s a fair chance that you’ll be shooting at professional soldiers, just like you used to be. Hell, they’ll probably assume that you’re the kind of militia shithead you used to deal with back in the service.
And that parallel stings most of all.
Guess the sandbox still has some bite to it.
Ravan snaps you out of it when he tosses you an earpiece.
“Keep radio silent unless I specifically request an update. The more we chatter, the higher the chances that somebody gets a trace on your location.”
