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</div><br/><span style="font-size: 22px">Christopher Warner</span><br/><b>Zodiac Sign: </b>Zodiac Aquarius<br/><b>Current Persona: </b>Sarge -> Chris<br/><b>Time:</b>2pm local time -> 8pm local time<br/><b>Location: </b>Battlefield coordinates 7C88E, Iraq -> Bravo company mess hall, Iraq<br/><b>Mood Song: <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2FJC9jhtuscZ4&amp;hash=a48713e0c96b89c84b79932b2b6c99fd" href="https://youtu.be/JC9jhtuscZ4" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank"> Die Motherfucker Die - Dope</a><br/>
Wearing: </b>Desert MARPAT uniform, kevlar vest<br/><b>Tagging: <br/>
Mentioning:</b>Kiva<br/><hr class="bbc-hr"/>Sarge signalled to his men, then led the stack forward into the partly destroyed building. The bodies of insurgents and allies alike lay scattered outside, or at least what was left of them between the craters left by exploding mortar shells. In his left ear, he heard something about air support, but couldn't make out the rest of the message through his tinnitus.<br/><br/>What he could hear through the ringing was another volley of gunshots, followed by one of his men yelling incomprehensibly and pointing out a window. Sarge loved these close quarters engagements, lived for them even, while the main persona of his body would rather be 2 clicks out, posted on a rooftop.<br/><br/>Sarge raised his gun and laid down some covering fire, and his men bailed from the building, moving up further into the engagement zone. The older marine went to move forward when a dust-covered green orb came floating into the building his men had just went into, and seconds later the explosion took the last of his hearing. He took deep breaths, spraying the plaza in front of him as he went to check the rest of his squad. All dead, all good men... and all a good catalyst for the next 30 minutes; what survivors would call a living hell.<br/><br/>Drone footage reviewed that night would show Sarge toss his gun aside and enter a frenzy, then be surrounded by red ribbons that floated eerily around him. He grabbed the first insurgent by the throat, lifted the man with one hand, then brutally crushed his windpipe as the two looked eye to eye. By the time the gunfire stopped, Sarge had hundreds of confirmed kills, a one-man bomb that raged across the battlefield and claimed every enemy life it encountered. And then he came to rest at the building his squad had died in. Another Sergeant Major clasped a war-roughed hand around Sarge's shoulder, and the crazed soldier nodded in response, falling in line with the other man's squad, then into the MRAP his portion of the convoy had come in on. An Abrams rolled up next to the vehicle, and seconds later another MRAP appeared, then the three war chariots drove off.<br/><br/><hr class="bbc-hr"/><br/>The hot beans and hotdogs in Chris' bowl was the first thing to pull him from his reverie. He didn't know when the dogtags of his fallen friends had ended up in his hands, but he patted the pocket of his uniform where they rested. The little silver trinkets had earned the blood that was now dried on them, and the men they once belonged to had earned Chris' respect even before they died. They were good soldiers; Hanes, Thomas, Shelman, Johnson, Carrigan, Jefferies... They were good men. And better now that their war was over.<br/><br/>"Warner, new orders. LtC Gonzalez got it while you were outside the wire. Your leave for it is already granted. You take your time, get some sleep, and find me in the morning." Chris eyed the letter, then the insignia on his uniform, then to his face. Normally, Chris would have stood up for General Wesker, but between friendship and exhaustion, Chris gave a seated salute and a nod, then took the envelope and waited for the general to dismiss him.