Red Is The Color Of Our Lives (And Red Is The Color Of Our Blood)

Fear

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fear
/fir/
noun
an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat.
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Alongside the works of KorTac, it was good. Smooth sailing even.
Their soldiers.
Him..

He had ignored your mere presence the entire time, loading into the jet.
The entire time in the reddened room, that gave him a hardened stare alongside his sharp eyes, tight and still, like a snake waiting to strike.

And it put you on edge, made you leonile.

Bold.

And utterly to prideful to even account for him now. 
Just like him, you had a job to do.

You were perched in your snipers nest. Pleased with the kickback of your rifle into your shoulder as you pulled the trigger.

Thrummed into you, like a sickening warmth.

And you then stood up, hearing your comm snap to life.

Soap.

"Revedous to the church house on the outskirts of this shit hole. We got what we came for. Thanks to your eyes. We have a clear sky and a scattered ground. Be careful."

"Yes, sir."

You were perched.
You were pleased.

'Thrummed with a warmth.'

'But all you felt now was the cold beating into your skin as the cold hard ground dug its dirt and mud into your now numb knees and dragging wetness into your pants, now to the point of soaking your knee pads.
But that may as well be your own blood.'

Creeping up into a stance you had taken into the fact that if you stood up fully you'd be out into the open of the window you had perched in and would be open to direct fire if someone where to see you.

You hadn't heard from Königs end of the comms nor Kortacs, only slight crackles of updates from them. But never from him.
His voice never cracked once through the comms.
Narrowing your eyes and pursing your lips, you could only describe the feeling you felt as...distressed.

You hated it.

Making your way from the window, you then creeped out down the steps, your boots scuffing them as you did so.
And then you held a breath, your gun tight in your hand as you plunged down the last steps and around the corner, your body poised and ready to fire, only to find .. nothing.

Releasing you nerve wracked breath you then stepped out into the side of the building before breaking out into a jog toward the outskirts of the camp,ducking and weaving behind things and avoiding confrontation with the shadows of the ghost town.

You felt the unnerving pit grow in your stomach that something was wrong.
Your instincts even screamed at you,clawed at your steady breaths, and strides that something was wrong, to get out, to run.
But you ignored them.
Foolish.

You caught sight of a giant weaving with two others a few alley ways down.
Ignoring him,
You kept moving.

"This is Bravo 0-9, arrived at revendous point."

Cutting yourself, off you found Soaps figure exit the rundown church, that seemed to look it had been made of cobblestone once, but the poorly done white paint job over the seemingly ivy filled stone or wood crept its rugged figure of its insides hidden.

Tucked away from no peering eyes.

And that's when you notice the rashly wrapped bandage around Soaps knee.
As if he noticed your sharp stare, he spoke like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.