*Beep

My sight was blurry. Bullets were passing over my head with a high-pitched whistle.

The rifle in my hand, a tool that became a part of my body, was slipping from my grip.

"Captain...!" One of my squadmates shout. I turned to him.

*Beep

He was wounded, bleeding from his leg, but still holding on. His mouth was moving, but I couldn't understand the words.

It was getting harder to breathe as if the world was collapsing.

"Keep yourselves in cover!" I shouted. "Call in air support, and someone shut this beeping sound!"

As I was giving orders, a grenade fell close to me. "Bomb! Jump away!" I shout as I close my eyes and dash away from my cover.

The moment I left it, I felt three painful stings on my back, and before I hit the ground, a bright color.

"Ah!" I shouted as I hit something solid.

"Cold, hard, and dry." I opened my eyes. "A dream. It was a dream."

I gather my strength and take support from the ground to get up.

"You again." I closed the alarm clock and sat on my bed.

"I've still got an hour," I said while looking at my daily routine hanging on the wall.

"Wake up in seven, eat in eight... Everything planned."

I reached my headboard shelf and grabbed a medal with my name engraved on its back.

"5th Special Forces Unit, Erwin Blade." I read it out loud.

"Fight behind the enemy lines, accomplish missions seen impossible without any loss. Now thinking, these memories feel like a distant dream, almost like a tale."

I placed my medal back in its place, right next to the handgun I used during my service and the photograph I took with my squad right before our first mission.

And as I caressed the medal, more and more memories surfaced.

But a knock on the door snapped me back to reality.

"Mister Erwin, are you alright?"

It was the butler of the house.

"I am," I answered. "Is breakfast ready?" I added.

"No sir, not yet."

"Good; tell the kitchen staff not to prepare anything for me." I got out of bed and began preparing for the day.

I took a quick shower and dressed in casual clothes for the day.

And in front of my mirror. I looked at myself.

"War made me older than I am." I touched my face. Slightly wrinkled. There were bags under my eyes and a long, curved scar going through my right cheek.

"And these gray hairs." I touched my hair. "I am in my thirties, but it looks like I am in my forties."

I didn't spend more time in the bathroom and moved to the kitchen.

On my way, I stopped in front of a corridor with no windows and walls decorated with pictures and portraits of my ancestors.

All in military attire of their time, posing with medals or jewelry gifted for their service.

"A family of generals and arms makers." I sighed. "Well, let's begin today's walk of shame."

As I passed, each portrait felt as if they were judging me. I left the frontlines before the war ended.

I neither had injury nor reason to stop.

Back then, I felt I was the sole reason for our inability to win the war, despite knowing the truth behind the endless cycle of war.

"Don't look at me like that," I said to a portrait of my great-grandfather. "You, and I mean all of you, including me, are one of the key reasons everything turns like this."

Exiting the corridor, I hastened the pace and changed my path from the kitchen to the garage.

There, an old but well-maintained sedan was sitting alone. It was once my father's.

I grabbed some belongings and a heavy coat from the rack and entered the car.

The last war started with several attacks on our civilian and military infrastructures.

One of these locations was a building where old veterans gathered to celebrate the anniversary of the end of the war before the last one.

"You were never there in my life. Still, I somehow miss you," I said as I searched for the keys.

I entered the car and began driving to the city center. There, I had a friend to talk to.

The road was empty and quiet. It was a bit icy, but I wasn't speeding anyways.

When I reached the city, there was a long line for inspections. "They now don't even trust their people."

So, while I waited, I reached into my inner pocket and pulled out a leather wallet. There wasn't money or credit cards inside, just folded papers and pictures.

Letters from the men I commanded, pictures we took: their signatures, words, and smiles. "Their remnants."

I stared at a large picture I folded multiple times to fit inside.

I and fifteen other soldiers were posing in front of our main barrack.

"Wolf and his hunting pack. Ready to crush the enemy. 1998." was written on the back, with many different signatures surrounding it.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

"The wolf, they used to call me that." I chuckled. "Only five of you are alive today." I touched the picture with a bitter smile. "Pechman, Ronald, Bernard, and others. Hope you rest well wherever you are."

During my command, only three soldiers died. It was because of unreliable information from HQ.

But as I heard, when I left, they were assigned to a different group and sent on a basically suicide mission.

My pack, as I called them, lost seven personnel but succeeded.

As I was deep in thought, an officer knocked on my window with his baton.

"You, what the hell are you looking at?" He said, his voice half muffled because of the car window.

I lowered the window. "Good morning, and nothing."

He leaned to my window. "So you are distributing an officer's work for nothing. There is a hefty fine for that, you must know." He said, caressing his fingertips.

"Alright." I reached into my main wallet and pulled out my military identification.

The officer grabbed the ID. His eyes grew at that moment, and out of shock, he moved several steps away from the car.

"Sorry, sir, I wasn't aware." He said.

Sweat beads were forming all over his face.

"Fix yourselves, or I will call some higher-ups I know to send your entire checkpoint to a heated border zone." I threatened and drove away.

At least, past the border, the city looked somewhat pretty. Life was coming back as the economy reverted to a civil one.

Streets bustled with people. Shops were full. But soon enough, I passed the high-income streets and entered the part of the city much more worn and still with scars from the last war.

"Homeless, beggars, and unfortunate, all packed in this barely standing mess," I said as I looked at the people walking on the streets.

I parked my car in front of a brick job center decorated with neon lights. This absurd place was where the office of my therapist was.

In the lobby, the receptionist was eating her meal. "Good day, mister Erwin." She greeted me.

"Good morning to you. Is the doctor available?"

She reached for a notebook on her table and searched through it. "Doctor is free." She nodded. "Should I let him know you arrived?" Asked, looking at me.

"It will be nice, thank you." I nod before moving past her desk to an old elevator with iron bars as a safety door and press the third-floor button.

The elevator climbed slowly. A melody was playing, an elevator music of sorts, but the sound of the machinery suppressed most of it.

When it stopped, there was only a short corridor and a single door in front of me.

"Prof.doc Martin." I read the sign on the door and knocked it three times.

"Yes?" A voice came from inside.

"It is me, Martin," I said out loud.

"Oh! Come in!"

With permission, I opened the door and entered his office.

Inside was empty, only a desk, with a library behind, and a therapist couch placed above an old carpet in the middle.

I moved in and laid on the couch.

Martin pulled himself a chair and sat next to me. "Let me guess, nightmares of events that didn't happen, hypnic jerk, lots of sweat. Did I miss anything?"

"No, but you can go easy on me," I said with a half smile. "But, yeah, symptoms are coming again since I stopped taking the pills."

He noted something, "And your crises, had they begun again?"

"No, your exercises help with that. Ones in the house are happy since there is less damaged furniture around now."

"Good."

***

Therapy didn't take long.

"We failed in fixing your addiction, so I am prescribing you new ones, but these are weaker," Martin said.

"Thank you." I left the clinic.

"Streets are emptier than usual." I thought aloud.

As I was about to enter my car, a man stopped me.

"Hey, you!" He shouted. He was moving in zig-zags, and his words were barely understandable. "You are that soldier guy! Wolf or whatever." The stench of alcohol in his mouth came all the way here.

"Sorry, I get this a lot, but I am not him." I immediately spit the lie I told countless times before.

The man raised his hand. "Sorry, sorry-" He stumbled forward and fell towards me.

I felt something was wrong, but I still grabbed the guy and stopped him from falling.

At that moment, he grinned and grasped my arms. "I didn't want to do this either, but my dead brother's avenge can wait only so long!"

It was too late. For only a split second, I saw a very bright light, and then, there was nothing, only the abbys.

***

"What a shame." Said a voice.

"It is." Another added, "It was fun watching him."

"Then let's give him a second chance!" Yet another voice raised.

"Add him to the game!" Someone shouted from the distance.

"Add him to the game!" Others said in one unanimous voice.