Tears.

[The Annoying Rooster]

The tears of the sky drop from it's face like hurling droplets of water, impacting the green draped uniform that clothes me from head to toe. Gazing at another individuals wolf tag, I drop my head off to the weilded firearm close in hand. It's orange stock resembling into the misty air of that September night, the sky illuminating in a purple haze of clouds, and water. Perking my head up from my shoulders, I take a glance off into the shielded horizon ahead, which was preferbly stated to be 'Rostok', it was as of nothing resembled into the road ahead. Almost of an old tale which the otherside of earth was a large cliff.

When a finger was rose by a man, draped into the same greenish woodland clothing as I, only how, a sphere shaped, egg-headed man aroses. Becoming as a successor, my feet clap the decomposed road below, like a water churning rythym that seemed to have never end. My stomach turned from the sight of the large fortress, seemingly vacated for the night. My fingers slide against the water of my rifle, my fingers squeecking lightly as they wrinkle in the absrobing of the droplets of rain above. Seeing in sight of victory, of an easy battle, we were overwhelmed with the victor of success, and truimphant before studdered out of the train of thought, orange tracer markers from above impacting an individual who attempted to escape the line, un-scathed, failed miserably as he emits a blood curled scream, dropping to his side in a deceased manner.

The horrific sight made my stomach lurched, as I began to charge for a nearby tree, shielding myself from the fragmentations of nearby tracer markers, inflicting heat as explosives ring out ever so close, that I begun to hear christmas bells sounding off, everything in a muffled tone. Drowning in awe, I began to look out to the fallen individuals. Some, who's intestines lay out in the street, bleeding heavily as the only thing that escaped there throats, were the cries of pain, and for there mothers, before being impacted by the following markers. Others resemble behind the trees, curled up into a fetal position as the cry for the acts to 'Stop'. Us 'Military' grunts, the Stalkers called us, laugh in disgust, and hatred at the sight, continueing in there criminal act, before advancing to me.

My chest heaved up and down, as of all hope was lost, before the sight of my firearm, grasped tightly in my hands. I forgotten about the weaponry that relied on myself, due to the fact that I was dumbfounded. As of a spark arosed in the pit of my chest, it was of a reflex that the rifle stock budded against my shoulder, delivering the same tracer markers to my hungry enemies. As they are lost into there acts of truimphant, they began to drop to there kness, there cloaks flying off there necks as orange heat markers impact there chests, and legs, etc. Returning out shrieking cries, they delivered the same punishment. My head dropping aside, in attempt to avoid the acts, I felt a burning sensation arose in my thigh, and shoulder blade.

I emit a cry of pain, dropping my firearm, instantly clutching dearly. As they began advance, I took the knowledge to reach for a small little pineapple shaped object, removing it's pin as the spoon hurls into another direction, before curving my arm as I hurled the object off to the group. As I arose to my feet in a limping manner, I was disoriented in the act, that I forgotten that more of them reside on the otherside, as I felt the sting of a large caliber rifle entered my chest, exiting my back. Looking at the fact, as my arms flail, I drop to my knees, rolling at my side as the remainder of the individuals seek shelter of the action above under leaves, and such.

Making direct eye contact to the advancing brutes, I kick my feet against the decaying road, pushing myself into a seating position, planting my back against a tree, glancing off to my tiny pea-shooting handgun. Dirt, and soil, flying into my face as the impacting of the bullets from my enemies firearm emit, illuminating the sky with a bright flash. The handgun clutched into my grasp tightly, as I raised it off without any attempts to aim. Tired, and disoriented, I felt like I was already dead. Although, I wish to show the survivors, that I must give my country a symbolic meaning. Squeezing the curved manufactured trigger, sending a small caliber round as the recoil was magnificent, due to the weakness in my arm. Without even aiming, I returned fire with the handgun in small firing rates. Blood escaping my open wounds, I frown angrily as I continued firing the remainder ammunition rounds, wishfully I could stand by my wife, and children once again, where we could all gaze into the burning embers of my bricked fireplace, telling stories in the cold moonlight.

The thought escaping my mind as it felt of an eternity, my arm growing weak from each shot of the handgun, before my arm sensing another burning mark of a tracer. Then my chest, and my right thigh, as of I was being bathed in a chemical bath. Catching the sight of white haze, I felt heavily exhausted. So, without further of due, I brought my head back, and took a long nap.

[ThY]

Your roleplay ingame is at a high standard, and so is this writing. Very impressive indeed.