The armor was hot, thick, clumsy, and heavy. It was also totally useless; the twisted piles of bloodied metal all around him made that painfully clear.

He tried not to think about his odds of making it out of this battlefield alive, all he knew was every sudden blast and dying scream around him meant they kept getting lower.

The cacophony of desperate conflicting orders pouring out of his com-link only made the shaking of his hands worse.

The shells kept missing him by smaller distances as he desperately searched in vain for cover. He cursed his luck, his stupid superiors, the enemy, even his dying friends. His whole mind was filled with the pure and primal fear of his imminent death.

And then, as a heat-seeking missile barely missed his head, it suddenly dawned on him, he had nothing left to lose… he was already dead.

He stood up among the blasting rounds, shut down all systems, and casually climbed down the clumsy metal giant.

The bullets whistling around him suddenly meant nothing. For the first time in his life he felt completely free.

The hot air filled his lungs, fully charged with the smell of cordite and hot metal, as he calmly lit his last remaining cigarette. It felt so good feel the scorched earth under his feet.

He casually flicked the spent butt over his shoulder, cocked his rifle… and let out a battle scream before charging towards the enemy, running into the swirling smoke with complete and wild abandon.