« - 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐊

|| Maaan I wanna come back to this account but I genuinely don’t know what verses are even active these days— Helldivers seems quiet, Halo looks to be 80% dead, got no idea if 40k is still kicking. I’ve got characters for all of ‘em, but they ain’t no use if nobody’s around. 😭

𝖢𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗉𝗈𝖽 𝖠𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾! 𝖶𝖾𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄, 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛 𝗖𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗔𝗜𝗡; 𝗔𝗟𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗖. 𝖨𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝟲𝟴𝟬; 𝗗𝗔𝗬𝗦 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖻𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌. 𝖯𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖥𝖳𝖫 𝗃𝗎𝗆𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗙𝗨𝗥𝗬; 𝗫𝗭𝗔𝗥 𝗦𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗢𝗥.

|| Ok so is the Halo verse back or is the Helldivers verse back cause I’m ready to flip at a moments fucking notice if one is more alive than the other— 👀

|| It has been way, WAY too long since I was on here— Who’s still standing? 👀

Huh— seems this one doesn’t speak. His helmet tilts downwards for a second when she goes to plant those hands on her hips, only for his eyes to repeat their initial handiwork. Up, down, up, down again. Clearly he’s not the most talkative type, courtesy of that heavy breathing.

Minutes blurred into hours, days into weeks— he doesn’t know how long he was left in his cryo-pod for. Forgotten? Perhaps. Abandoned? Maybe. 𝗜𝘁 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀 𝗴𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵. . .

Oh, sweet liberty. How he missed the feeling of a real fight. 𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗼𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗻 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗼𝗻 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱𝘀.

The automaton front. . . It's over; yet he cannot make peace with himself. His brain feel's like static. Mixed emotions of every kind. 𝗪𝗵𝘆 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀?

Even as his body plummets to the mud below to continue to bleed out, her words strike a chord. A real deep one. Enough to at least pull him up to sit on his knees for now whilst bleeding out; his cracked helmet peering up. “ I breathe. I think. I bleed. Can you say the same? “

" Talk is for those with a conscience. You're just lines of code trapped in a whore's body. " Even whilst otherwise defeated with blood pouring from every crevice beneath his armor, a thousand yard stare is offered up directly to her. " Finish this— release me from this duty. "