There's a pause, a long one as he considers. His Adam's apple bobs, blinking for a second as he recalled one of the worst weeks of his life.
"To late," he whispered.
He wiped at his mouth, thinking back to the days in that village, to listening to the people scream in the night, walking through the streets lined with their bodies the day after.
"We got got sent to this place call Zompania by the Malnosso - I've told you that before, right? We got told we had to fight the cultists or some new shit enemy that popped up and they wouldn't fight themselves. Somewhere along the way my phaser lost power cause I'd been shooting so much. In the end I took up an iron pipe, and I simply beat their heads in to keep moving, make it to nightfall and pull people along with me or back them up when they were stronger."
And he hated it. He hated the crunch of bone, the stink of blood, adding to the piles of bodies, the slickness of the mud. But he had to - because the people around him had needed it, because he couldn't lay down and give up. He had a job to do, and people to protect and people to get back to. He didn't necessarily feel bad about what he had done then, they weren't exactly human, and they deserved it for what they had done to that village. But it didn't mean he liked it. He had never been proud of himself for that day. He never would be.
Re: Action
"To late," he whispered.
He wiped at his mouth, thinking back to the days in that village, to listening to the people scream in the night, walking through the streets lined with their bodies the day after.
"We got got sent to this place call Zompania by the Malnosso - I've told you that before, right? We got told we had to fight the cultists or some new shit enemy that popped up and they wouldn't fight themselves. Somewhere along the way my phaser lost power cause I'd been shooting so much. In the end I took up an iron pipe, and I simply beat their heads in to keep moving, make it to nightfall and pull people along with me or back them up when they were stronger."
And he hated it. He hated the crunch of bone, the stink of blood, adding to the piles of bodies, the slickness of the mud. But he had to - because the people around him had needed it, because he couldn't lay down and give up. He had a job to do, and people to protect and people to get back to. He didn't necessarily feel bad about what he had done then, they weren't exactly human, and they deserved it for what they had done to that village. But it didn't mean he liked it. He had never been proud of himself for that day. He never would be.