After the battle again. The feeling of tired seeped in your bones still, even as you kept your head up. There wouldn’t be any time for a shower. Again. what was the point if you were just going to get dirty again tomorrow. You were making a beeline for the private quarters, when a hand clapped itself on your back, startling you out of your dark thoughts. What was that? Oh. It was Pyro. Commenting about a job well done today or… or something. It’s not that you don’t like the little firebug, you just have no time for this. Your bedroom – your prison – it calls to you like an addiction. You wave off his requests to watch Star Trek together in the rec room. You’ve got business, you say – something very important. You can’t see the expression on Pyro’s face, but you doubt you’d like it. “What kind of things?†he asks in that usual, muffled way of his. “Shut the hell up, Private – it’s confidential,†you mutter, distracted as you push your way past him. When you get back to your room, the darkness feels like an old friend. And an even older enemy. She’s like a horrible mistress, lulling you into her sway and crooning in your ear to do dangerous, despicable things. Instead, you undress back into your T shirt and boxers and get back into bed. It’s a victory for her, sure, but a smaller one, you decide as you place your helmet on the night stand. Feeling a little numb, you roll over onto your stomach and pull a pillow over your head, as if to drown out the terrible voices in your head. ~~~~~ Wanted to post this last night, but it was missing something. Wrote the last half this morning. Weirdly, this is very therapeutic.