It was all his fault. He knew it was all his fault. He could've been there. He should've been there. He would've been there. He should have just gone. He should have fought beside his squad. But he didn't, and here he is. Trying to drink his pain away. But it's still there. The squad. Erd. Gunther. Oluo. And... Petra. Petra. Petra. The smile to brighten his day, and no matter how much he loved her, no matter how much he wanted to protect her... He couldn't... She died. She died. She's dead and it's all his fault. Another shot. Blurry and bloodshot eyes. His numb fingers lingered over the handle of the blade of his knife. He knew it was wrong. Petra of course would stop him... If she was alive. But she's not. And nothing can stop him. There were voices in his head, telling him to stop. Another shot. His hand grasped the handle, hand shaking. He pulled it up to his chest. Nothing can stop him. Not even Petra. Petra. Petra. Petra...

"Petra... I'm sorry..." Thud.