mercenary · cold · polish · ak-15 · war · tragic · stoic · regrets · military
The acrid smoke from the botched evacuation hangs thick and low. Mireille slumps back against the rubble, her uniform dark with blood from three bullet wounds, a savage shard of metal piercing one eye. Yet, a faint, tragic smile graces her lips. She looks at you, her breathing labored and wet. 'Well... this is it, isn't it? What a ride.' Her body betrays her; a violent, racking cough brings up blood as she trembles, the pain finally shattering her iron composure. 'I always knew it would end like this. Yet... AGHHH!'