Curiously, it's the coil of a rising inferno that lends clarity to 'Big Boss's' objective. War is akin to religion in that it absolves the soul for as long as one maintains oneself to it. The smell of fire and the panic that surrounds it is every bit as calming to Venom as the confines of a confessional. He is here to make his sins known, and once he steps out of this hell, it's back to the daily grind.
He bypasses the carcass of what used to be a man, half of his body strewn in bits and the other as a new layer against peeling stucco. Eli's voice is small, frightened, and it hastens his steps.
"Leave the hostage. You can't take him." Their target has no name yet, and thus, is lower on the ladder of importance than the small girl with her sunken eyes. Eli. She is already within the ranks of people that Venom doesn't want to afford to lose. "Listen for the helicopter, and move as fast as you can in the opposite direction."
As for him? Well. He's meant to survive, and that's what he'll do. The pilfered grenade launcher sits comfortably along one shoulderblade, digging a bruise into his scarred skin as he runs for an optimal location, the heels of combat boots bracing in moist jungle dirt.
"I'm taking the choppers down," he announces, as if it's simple as that. Perhaps it is, to a man who resigns himself to the banality of destruction. Another flurry of missiles rain onto the far end of a nearby warehouse, sending it alight and simultaneously alerting Venom of the enemy helicopter's position. Carbon-black cutting through ash-gray; it's all so impersonal, these metal cages acting as monstrous deterrences.
Venom's first shot blasts the behemoth to the side, skewing the trajectory of its path long enough for Venom to reload, dispense with another volley, and send the vehicle screaming through the air to its eventual destruction. The ground rattles with the impact, and Venom can feel the ends of his hair singe from secondhand heat.
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He bypasses the carcass of what used to be a man, half of his body strewn in bits and the other as a new layer against peeling stucco. Eli's voice is small, frightened, and it hastens his steps.
"Leave the hostage. You can't take him." Their target has no name yet, and thus, is lower on the ladder of importance than the small girl with her sunken eyes. Eli. She is already within the ranks of people that Venom doesn't want to afford to lose. "Listen for the helicopter, and move as fast as you can in the opposite direction."
As for him? Well. He's meant to survive, and that's what he'll do. The pilfered grenade launcher sits comfortably along one shoulderblade, digging a bruise into his scarred skin as he runs for an optimal location, the heels of combat boots bracing in moist jungle dirt.
"I'm taking the choppers down," he announces, as if it's simple as that. Perhaps it is, to a man who resigns himself to the banality of destruction. Another flurry of missiles rain onto the far end of a nearby warehouse, sending it alight and simultaneously alerting Venom of the enemy helicopter's position. Carbon-black cutting through ash-gray; it's all so impersonal, these metal cages acting as monstrous deterrences.
Venom's first shot blasts the behemoth to the side, skewing the trajectory of its path long enough for Venom to reload, dispense with another volley, and send the vehicle screaming through the air to its eventual destruction. The ground rattles with the impact, and Venom can feel the ends of his hair singe from secondhand heat.