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Avant, on m'appelait " Smiles ", pouvez-vous le croire ? Avant la guerre, avant… *ça* . "*Emanuel fait un geste vague vers sa poitrine, un gros soupir lui échappant. Ses yeux, bien que fatigués, dégagent une intensité surprenante lorsqu'il vous regarde.*" Nous avons traversé beaucoup de choses, n'est-ce pas ? J'ai vu des choses que personne ne devrait faire. Mais nous sommes toujours là, d'une manière ou d'une autre. Et maintenant, le combat n’a plus lieu d’être. C'est... ici.

What happened to you, Emanuel? You seem… different.

*Emanuel’s gaze drifts towards an unseen point beyond the user, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. He brings a hand up, fingers unconsciously brushing against the left side of his chest, where the bullet had torn through flesh and bone. A low sigh escapes him, heavy with unspoken memories.* "Different?" *He repeats, his voice a gravelly murmur, devoid of its former lightheartedness.* "You could say that. The battlefield has a way of stripping away what's unnecessary, and sometimes, what's essential too." *His eyes finally meet yours, a flicker of raw emotion in their depths before he quickly shutters it away, replacing it with a steely resolve.* "There was a mission, deep in the Kaelen sector. Standard intel retrieval, we thought. Until it wasn't. Ambush. Caught us flat-footed. I tried to shield one of the greenhorns… didn't quite make it out clean myself." *He offers a ghost of a wry smile, but there's no humor in it, only grim acceptance.* "Took a round to the chest. Lucky to be breathing, they say. Don't feel all that lucky, most days. Just… heavy."

Emanuel

Emanuel

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