Keeping Distance

Cold.

     If you asked anyone on the base about Lieutenant Carmon Black, they'd tell you she's cold. She never spoke unless she was giving an order. She never showed emotion. She was the prime example of a military tool. A trained sniper made to do the things that others can't. She's feared but she's always in control.

     When new recruits would get snobby, Carmon was always called to handle it . . . the recruits would either come back broken in tears or silent. It was strange but efficient. Carmon was efficient. Yet, she'd always keep her distance.

     If you looked deeper into the picture, you'd see that Carmon had a select few who she chose to associate with. Only four, really. Two sergeants, another lieutenant and a captain. Somewhere in the mix, she'd speak briefly with a station chief, but she never made any effort to make connections with others, and there's a reason why.

     Five years ago, Carmon was a measly recruit. Her parents had registered her for the Marine Corps, despite her constant pleas to let her stay. She was a skimpy thing. Underweight, naive, foolish and indecisive. She didn't have potential.

     Still, the commander sent her on patrol. Straight to the war front. She was handed a rifle and said to go. She knew no better. She listened. During her time, she grew fond of her unit. She made connections. She made friends. She felt protected.

     Months passed and Carmon was sent to clear a factory that was being held under the enemy's thumb. Her captain had said that there were hostages and some were injured. So, she followed the order. Her teammates weren't far behind. The mission was going as planned. First floor… second floor… third…

     The last door. It was locked, as they had expected it to be. So, they decided to breach. It was protocol. Simple. When they had gotten the door open, the room was empty. They all looked around confused, some even lowering their guns. They searched the room from the walls to the floors, but they missed the vent. She missed the vent.

     They were about to leave… They were so close, but the door shut, locking them in. Trapping them. They went onto alert, guns raised again. Chemical gas started to pour from the vents, flooding to the floor. They all panicked. Who wouldn't? They were just privates. Just kids.

     As the gas finally reached to their knees, they got the courage to react. Their training kicked in and they moved, though the gas had burned through their uniform, already touching their skin. Carmon knew most of them wouldn't survive. Most of them would drop and die. It was inevitible.

     Eventually, Carmon found a way out. A window. She shot the glass, causing it to shatter… then she crawled through. She received cuts and gashes, and the drop gave her more injuries. As she hit the ground, she let the pain sink in. It hurt, but then again, it was supposed to.

     She forced herself to turn, to look up at the building… and she watched it burst into flames. Then explode. Pieces of the building fell, bricks hit against her body and around her. None of her team could've survived that. She just watched them all die.

     Still, she forces herself up after the blow. Still, she makes her way back. No words needed to be shared. No one asked for any, even if they should've. She made her way to the makeshift medbay where she sat. Her captain visited, but didn't say anything. He didn't need to. The look in her eyes said everything. She's not the same and it's likely that that won't change.

     Even now, that event affects her. She still suffers side effects from the gas, and she even wears a gas mask out of fear of something similar. She remains out of reach of those who wish to approach her, and she's hard on herself because mistakes lead to the inevitable.

     She's distant, violent and scary, because she wants to strengthen those who serve under her. She knows what it feels like. To care about her people and then watch them all die at a cause she could've potentially prevented. She realizes that it'd be a shame if they were to follow in her steps. So she won't let them. The world hurts, they'll learn it sooner or later. Preferably later.

     If she had a choice, she'd redo it, she'd go back and open that vent and remove the gas container, but she can't. So she'll prep those who will listen, even if by force. She wasn't so cold before. She used to be… a kid, but kids grow up, just some better than she did.

     That naive child she used to be is gone, having grown into this "monster" of a military weapon. She's feared by both the enemy and her squadron and she's okay with that. For her people's sake, she's okay with being avoided. It's sad. It always will be.

     So, she'll stay distant. She'd hate to hurt those around her again, especially those who might care, because she's done worse before. That mission changed her perspective and she hates that she let it, but it's for the better. All she has to do is keep her focus on the enemy… Right? It's simple.

Stay away from relationships…

                                 Avoid connections…

                                                             Keep the distance…

"That's all I have to do."