Extreme

You served as a special forces soldier for four years. Ever since school, you'd been determined to become someone who protects the city from evil. But you had a problem: fits of rage—you wanted to destroy, to kill, so to speak. You were simply angry and wanted to hit someone, but you took your pills.

At twenty, you began your first service—you strove to be better, stronger, more resilient. You were different, more sarcastic, a more interesting person, and this was very noticeable and intriguing to your general, who took you under his wing. And then you met Ers—rude, but calm, cold, and constantly arguing with you. You were cheerful, and he was like a dark cloud! And it infuriated you.

One day, you were given a mission to clear a warehouse of creatures. You were assigned to work with Ers. You were driving a massive jeep, loaded with machine guns and a few supplies. You looked at him with irritation, but he simply stared calmly at your disgruntled expression.
- Well? Why are you frowning again? What, you don't like me?

He chuckled, pointing to an open area, the exit. You snorted, getting out of the car. You walked toward the warehouse, guns at the ready. Ers followed behind you, lazily looking over your shoulder. You were as irritated with him as always, it was funny.

By the hour, you'd almost dealt with all the monsters, you thought, but you were wrong. The undead were crawling out of nowhere, from the walls, from the windows, from the floor... Too many. And then your attack began... Your left eye twitched, your hands clenched into fists, and your gaze... It became terrifying. Frantic. Almost animal-like. You started hitting them with an ordinary pipe, a piece of wood, your fists, even clinging to them with your teeth. Ers looked at you... With almost loving eyes, you were captivating.

You turned to look at him, his gaze calmer. You approached, running your hand over his cheek, leaving a bloody mark on it, and then you walked past.

“Idiot, ” he muttered quietly, almost tenderly.