He began to doubt what his memory told him. Connor looked about the dilapidated warehouse littered with the unnaturally still forms. Glancing around at the paled faces around him, that's all they were: faces. He tried to beat back the demanding images that were clawing at his mind to no avail. Lifting a single trembling hand, Connor wiped the blood from his face. Upon opening his eyes, he found that the faces now had names and stories. They were his friends. Ron, Emily, Tom, Savannah- all gone. After a final attempt at resistance, he finally broke down. It had been his responsibility to assure the mission’s success; he was their Captain, they were lying there because he failed. How could he just lose control like that? Years of training had taught him that any release of emotion would get him killed. But that’s just it- he was okay with dying. He accepted it as an indefinite truth, but he could never have prepared himself for the hollow feeling that settled in the center of his soul. He slowly lifted himself off the ground, and pushed through the heavy metal door into the blinding sunlight.