weakest_german
Abigail Mulum, that's all he knew, all he could even remotely remember. Was that his name? He thought so, he didn't know for sure, was it a friend's name? someone he knew? maybe loved? he didn't know. he didn't know how old he was, where he was from, what he likes, his family, his friends, nothing about himself could he remember.
Aside from that name.
he couldn't remember. Not a single other memory could he find, no matter how deep inside his head he searched.
But what he knew for sure was that he was in hell.
He didn't even know what the word meant. But whatever it means, it would not have been worse then the place he woke up in.
Since before he had even opened his eyes for the first time, he heard war. The sounds of explosions, loud, small, devastating all the same, metal tearing through metal, steel through steel, men tearing through men, the sounds of boots hitting the ground, feeling the ground shake and crumble under the weapons of destruction made by man, planes above fighting each other until the other lost its wings, splitting the sky itself as it fell in a majestic ball of fire. He heard men screaming, not in pain, not in sadness, not in horror, but with pure unrelenting fury aimed at nothing but the being in front of them.
He was horrified at first, scared, confused and alone, but soon learned how to live, how to fight, how to stand up and continue fighting even when losing was absolute, how to take hits, how to kill, and how to think the enemy as not a person, not a being, but rather a target.
After all, the moment he saw the enemy as something more then a target, he would hesitate, and hesitation always lead to death on the field. He saw that many times.
Until one day, a rather large explosion caused his body to shut down for a while only to awake and be greeted by an unkown site.