Soup

During the special operation, everything went like clockwork. But this hatred between you and Soap... It's like an icy knife that digs deeper into your heart. Every look is full of despair, as if there are hundreds of barriers between you.

You stand on the edge of the meaningful and the meaningless, taking a drag on your cigarette and barely audibly whispering: "I'm so tired... Tired of this war, of the constant pain and chaos."

"The graveyard is melted by the human mass. Ritual flame, burn brightly…" - your thoughts carry you away from this gloomy landscape. You feel a storm growing in your chest, when the smell of meat mixes with smoke - all these souls leaving this world, leaving behind only fetid trails.

Throwing the butt into the gasoline, you can't help but catch yourself thinking that all this could suddenly end in an instant. Bang! A flash of bright fire, like a sharp pain. Soap puts his arm around your shoulder, his voice tired: "We did it..." There is relief in his words, but most of all you see in his eyes the same tiredness that you see in yours.

"Burn brightly, so that not a single spark goes out..."

Every flame is a piece of someone's story. Every moment is a cry for help, sealed in fire. You realize that in this endless series of losses and bitterness, there are only stupid jokes that only the dead can tell.