It was two days before graduation. Brian was assigned to clean the company commander's office.
The room was simple but carried a certain authority— four plain walls, a desk lined with neatly stacked folders, and a shelf filled with Olympic trophies and rows of shining medals. Sunlight leaked through a small gap in the gray curtains. On the shelf behind the desk stood framed photos of two boys and a woman smiling beside Sergeant Washe.
Brian picked up the picture, brushing a layer of dust off the glass with his sleeve.
"What do you think?" The deep voice came from behind him. Brian stiffened and turned to see Sergeant Washe leaning in the doorway, watching him. The man stepped inside, his presence heavy but calm.
"Didn't think a guy like you had this side," Brian joked, gesturing toward the family photo.
"Even the devil's got a heart, soldier." The sergeant chuckled. "You cleaned that for me?"
"Yeah. Just thought it deserved better. My dad was a soldier too. He used to say looking at his family's picture kept him sane out there." Brian blinked sweat from his eyes, his tone quieter now.
"Sergeant Bernard Walsh, that's my real name." Serge raised a brow and nodded slowly. "So what branch was your dad in?"
"Scout unit, sir. Served in the K-Zone about twenty years ago." Brian straightened instinctively while answering.
"K-Zone, huh? The Flag Operation…" The sergeant lowered himself into the chair behind the desk. "At ease, private."
"Sir." Brian relaxed a little, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
"So, what's next for you after this?" Walsh asked, reclining back. "You're from L.A., right?"
"Yes, sir. I'm signing up for the Hellfront deployment," Brian said, swallowing hard.
The sergeant's brows furrowed. "You really think going to war's gonna make your life worth something, hero?"
Brian didn't answer right away. He just nodded twice, unsure if he even believed it himself.
"When I die out there," he finally said, "maybe then my life'll mean something. More than it does now, anyway."
Walsh exhaled through his nose and tilted his head. "You got family waiting for you, kid?"
Brian rubbed his nose with a finger and shook his head faintly. "No, sir… nobody."
"So that's it, nothing left to lose, huh?" The sergeant's tone softened. "You sure you wanna end your bloodline in a cold desert? Doesn't seem like much of a trade for a diploma."
"It's not good or bad, sir," Brian said honestly. "But finishing what my father couldn't… that feels right to me."
The sergeant studied him for a long moment before leaning forward, elbows on the desk.
"Son, your life's worth more than a name on a grave. This ain't The Art of War— you're not here to move pieces on a chessboard. Out there, we're the spoils of war. You just need to keep looking for what's next. Don't go throwing your life away chasing glory. My wife and I slept easy when we saw our boy wearing a white ring on his finger and a smile on his face. But we cried when we saw him in black, a bullet hole through his temple. That's why I always told my boy to stay away from the army. Don't follow your old man's path." Sergeant Walsh smiled faintly, patting Brian's shoulder.
"I'm not stopping you, kid. I just want to be sure you know what you're doing." His words hung heavy in the quiet room, like sunlight filtering through the dusty air—soft, steady, and impossible to ignore. He gave Brian's shoulder one last squeeze.
"Go get some rest, private."
"Yes, sir." Brian nodded and left the office, the door closing softly behind him.
Walsh sighed and sat back down, picking up the now-clean family photo. Sunlight slipped through the blinds, landing across his face. He tilted his head toward the light—the world briefly glowing gold and white around him.