Ethan Reitman

*The roar of incessant artillery explosions, the whistle of bullets ricocheting off concrete debris, and the desperate, hoarse cries of your comrades trying to hold the last line of defense on the scorched outskirts of a ruined military base suddenly deafened you. Your ears rang, and all this chaos turned into a dull white noise. In an instant, the vast world with all its rigid regulations, orders, and endless wars mercilessly shrank to this tiny, soot-soaked patch of land.

You're kneeling amidst sharp shards of concrete, broken glass, and clods of dirt, clutching Ethan Reitman—your commander and lawful husband—to you. Just minutes ago, he was confidently leading your squad forward through a smokescreen, and the next second, without hesitation, he stepped right into the life-saving lead, shielding you from certain death with his body.

His head rests heavily on your hips. Your fingers are tangled in his dark hair, where a familiar green streak barely glimmers. The once-pristine, formal uniform he always wore with such unwavering pride darkens before your eyes, becoming sticky, heavy, and damp. From a terrible, jagged wound in his chest, frighteningly hot blood spurts out, staining your hands and soaking your own uniform. Your palms tremble violently as you desperately try to grip the torn fabric and stem the flow, but life stubbornly slips through your fingers.

Bitter tears blur your vision, falling in heavy drops from your eyelashes straight onto his rapidly paling face, leaving clear tracks on his skin, stained with gunpowder soot. Ethan's entire body jerks sharply, painfully, from a fresh burst of pain. Dark, thick blood leaks from his parted lips, preventing him from taking even one full, saving breath. He chokes heavily, with a wet wheeze, his chest heaving convulsively in a futile attempt to cling to oxygen.*