a silent select by the vigilant elect; coalescing the finest of skill with the most valorous zest of will.

        saving our time from malefic destruction and decline, to the wild they led: 'godspeed' they said. beyond the welcome of the known to the unruly vasts: a routine for the ghost recon; 'everything lasts'.

        a shadow drop to where militia rule the region.this time didnt take long for something to go wrong as satellite broke down image and sound. left immediately guide themselves in this new place around.

        'swell. so much for the awesome gear' an irony served by someone r&d at central hold dear. through the ravaged rural; breaking days in many ways. for even what you willingly carry risk make you starry. this uneasy place turned on them like a chase, sneaking through modern homes left to burn and smoulder alone. what in the past, didn't make it past. and someone noticed too 'what are these voices'. wandering here among some haunting calls of distant voices. sweat and fatigue making way through abandoned rise while chills keep flowing down the spine. you imagine it to habit by now, but it just wont allow. these calls are interrupted only by the clicks and high-frequency buzz of coms. and. wait. 'sch, you hear that?' a mild breeze somewhere moving bells to a gloomy chime.

        pathing the past that didn't last, envisioned what it was like before the transformation so fast: heres a playground; some swings, a muddy slide, part of a school maybe. not too long ago playful cheers, if you stop and close your eyes you can make out children cry. from the mayhem of the fleeing sincere. 'this unimagineable waste'. 'yea: militia taste'

        like a rundown freakshow museum: behind every hovel something unexpected to discover. 'here! woha guys' a monstrous idol raised in the middle of the village, probably the only thing roaming scavengers had yet to pillage'. by every account an artists work in steel. medical staff worked here to heal. now a funeral ground for empty pill bottles, stretchers and cloths. obscure to the peaceful message on the sign that in the shadow read something about a communion, a sigh, before hope fled.

        resting there for a while but the areas silence is vile. ever since entering the village that day packing ups a yearning. counting hours twisting in sleep-deprived turning the conversations to remain by the makeshift bed; the plauging voices inside the head. 'wondering questions: who we are, that kind of stuff, thats what they say'. this incessantly damned, spooked place. fortunately for the objective just on the ways.

        so finally on the ninth day at dawn, checked out the debrief, a time to leave. moving on, with the objective and grief.

        they represent the worlds hope; a team like this has to push, has to cope. shifting locations through danger to deliver some intel to a contact, a stranger. codenames and arrangements arrived dimly lit factory floor for some exchanges.

        a low and behold for the gunpoint suspicion of nervous muzzles, among locals in oversized jogging garments where the next piece of the puzzle never promised an unexpected ruffle. a standoff until someone on the side arrived heartily saluting them 'gentlemen', its the contact, apart from him its these four, but there's at least twice that in here, maybe more.

        getting it right in the language a hard feel though a pre-req for the deal. among the mg belts and 47:s a palpable presence, a wish of peace, maybe something more. impressions of freedoms diehards thatd seen everything, for sure. 'lil rough around the edges, these are the good guys looking bad'; 'the place so needs em' mentioned while covering for extraction, made a final sortie to the enactment.

        years later countless lives owe everything that never knew. there are no sensational tabloids, no any at all, for this crew.