I was pretty damn tired. I hadn't gotten any damn sleep in the past, say, 38 hours, and I wasn't planning on getting any for another six. They said that if you went AWOL, fled, turned tail, retreated, betrayed everyone else, whatever they want to call the job, you were . . . well . . . a traitor. And a goddamn cowardly one, too. But how the fuck can they say that without laughing out loud? Cracking up? Giggling? Sniggering? Spontaneous diaphragm spasms? It doesn't look like I'm the one who's betraying anyone, it's them.

I didn't begin to see until after a few months. At first, it didn't seem that odd. We couldn't correspond, because someone back home might leak it, and then the enemy could figure out our tactical positions. Then, we weren't told where our other positions were, because we might have a spy. Perfectly natural. But there were always the small things. Really small. Maybe it wasn't so necessary to kill everyone there. Maybe we don't need a tank for one person. Maybe we can let some civilians go. It can't be that necessary to keep the enemies in the darkness about our positions. Maybe the commander shouldn't have smirked, smiled, grinned, turned his frown upside down, turned the edges of his lips towards the sky. Been generally amused. While we killed.

My friend, my best friend, he began to cry, after we razed a village to the ground. I was pretty goddamn close to crying too, truth be told. The commander scorned him. Called him weak. Pathetic. Cowardly. Yellow. Betrayer of our country. He 'committed suicide in shame' a few days later. That was the first obvious, really big thing that happened. He was the first of us to consider running. The night before he died. We were never told how he killed himself. I went to the scene, and saw some red stuff on the dusty ground. Maybe blood. Maybe not. I knew he hadn't killed himself. You weren't suicidal if you consider running. You were suicidal if you didn't consider it.

A few days later, we stopped being able to get the news anymore. We were never sure why, although some guy claimed it was because they had confirmed that the enemy was using it to get news to its spies. Utter bullshit. We could tell none of us were spies. The only guy I hadn't already met before we were sent here was the commander. He was pretty goddamn freaky. He didn't look it, but he was a goddamn tea-toter. Dark glasses, jungle camo, awesome water purifier. One time we were at this muddy swampish area, and he stuck his jug in it, and all of the dirt just started streaming out. Didn't let us have any though, fucking bastard. It used some kind of new technology. They called it BC tech. We only figured out what BC stood for recently. Which is why I'm running.

Except I'm not really running away. I'm more running towards. I've never been so fucking scared in my worthless life. I'm terrified. Pants-pissing afraid. Horror Virtuous Realitus scared. Because I'm running towards the enemy. And if they have mines, they'll get me. And if I stop running, my country will get me. And if either of those happen, I won't be able to face whatever happens next. God, or Anubis, or the scales won't give a shit if "I tried" to save everyone. It won't matter. Because those bastards are evil. Satan-like. Noxious. Bloodthirsty. Malicious. Dark. Anti-good. Horrific. Hellish.

After Jack died, I did a little bit of snooping around. I knew he had been killed. I hadn't told anyone, since they wouldn't believe me, but I saw the grass where the murderer lay. The way his elbows were thrown back by the laser he used. We weren't told anyone had any goddamn lasers. I knew it was the commander. Kind of in the back of my head. I'd cycle through the gang, all my friends, and think, 'None of us did this.' I always kind of passed over him. I don't know why. Fell asleep passing over him.

I didn't find the laser until he fell into the water. He cursed a blue streak, flung his long-sleeved shirt and camo pants off, and put them on a collapsible heater, more of that weird new technology. He was so pissed off, I almost missed it, since I was looking at his face. But eventually I figured it out. The lasers were implanted in his body. I had no idea how he did it, but it was there. I could see the silver through his skin- freakiest thing I've ever seen, doubt I'll live long enough to see anything weirder. Implanted in his fucking body. I could've kicked myself. Mutilated myself. Cut myself. Committed seppuku. Gone and lived as a hermit. I was pretty goddamn pissed at myself. I knew I should've known, and that pissed me off.

I stopped looking through my friends' bags, and started to go through the commander's tent. It had a big SGT. ARNOLD on the outside. The O and L were kind of faded, messed up. Don't know why. On the inside, it looked like a regular tent. Except fanatically neat, and it had a communications system. It was on, and I crept near it. I don't know why. I knew for a fact that he was out, and I had chameleon armor on, so I couldn't be seen. But it was pretty weird to see that good old hologrammer back up. It seemed almost like he was a real person, although I knew that I'd feel an odd liquid if I tried to touch him. He mentioned some defectors, and now that I've pieced together all of the pieces of the puzzle, I bet that was us. Seems so obvious now. But I didn't hear anything else, because something chose this moment to visit. No idea what the fuck it was. Maybe just some guy going to take a piss. It doesn't matter. I ran out of there as fast as I could. I sped. I tripped over my feet in my haste. I sprinted. I shot. I rocketed. I was gone.

The next day, we fought people in the same uniforms as us. We were told that the enemy was putting on these uniforms, so that we'd be afraid to shoot them. We were afraid to shoot him, but after he killed one of us, we got him. After all, we're the bullet brigade. The best of the best. Sharp-fucking-shooters. Camouflage masters. The elite. A few days later, more people in similar uniforms attacked us. After they were defeated, I went through one of the guy's pockets, looking for some adrenal shots or something. I found something that created a real adrenal rush though. It read, Traitors continue research in BC. Blood Cell. Kill them. I instantly knew that there was something fucked up about his equipment, although not what it was. I needed more info before I could defect.

Several days later, a windfall. Literally. A scrap of paper I found on the ground, reading 'souls. . . Ka. . . . real. . . Power immense, when harnessed does literally mag-. . . steal. Unlimited strength. Maybe world dom- . . . Egyptians right. Search for book of the dead.' I asked my implant about 'Book of the Dead', and all it mentioned was an old magic grimoire. Egyptian nonsense. Contained information about guiding spirits to the afterlife. Where their spirit would be weighed with the feather of truth. Pretty odd stuff. A few days later, I looked over the scrap again, and on the back, in minuscule letters, I saw, '-ject Soul-stealer'. And it all came together. How he had all of that weird tech stuff. Why the hell he enjoyed watching them die. I got together a backpack of dried foods, turned on my chameleon and mimic armors, and crept out. I was going to literally save the souls of thousands of people. I started running towards Cairo.

It has been a pretty damn long run.