War wasn't new to him. He had faced the treacherous trials of a planetside war before, and the months he had spent travelling on foot with the strangers who went on to become close friends weren't something that he was going to forget. The clash of steel and the stench of blood were old news to him.
It was dying that was new-- and that pissed him off.
But this was war, and this was no time to get lost in an existential crisis. Instead of riding the wave of the white-hot fury that surged through him, like he wanted to, Cliff let rationality win that round.
Instead, he channeled that same furious energy into something that he could do. A bodyguard to the core, Cliff made it a point to protect his friends and any non-combatants that he found along the way back to Zompania. Should he get separated from his friends, he would focus on other things. Providing cover for any combatants who needed it, getting people out of sticky situations, or dragging anyone who seemed to be a liability from the heat of battle were easy enough for him.
In the face of the bodies in the city, and the tortured screams that howled through the entire night, this was all that he could do.
Day 3
The anger that fueled his actions took a turn for desperation at this point. Time was of the essence, and Cliff would be damned if he let that bomb go off again. He would be helping out anyone in any way that he could-- being the big, strapping guy that he was left him with limited options, but there was always an opening for someone who looked tough and knew how to play a solid game of hardball.
After successful disarmament, Cliff would focus on building a defensable base with anyone who was willing to help. They were all tired, and it was looking like they were going to be in this for the long haul.]
Days 1-3
War wasn't new to him. He had faced the treacherous trials of a planetside war before, and the months he had spent travelling on foot with the strangers who went on to become close friends weren't something that he was going to forget. The clash of steel and the stench of blood were old news to him.
It was dying that was new-- and that pissed him off.
But this was war, and this was no time to get lost in an existential crisis. Instead of riding the wave of the white-hot fury that surged through him, like he wanted to, Cliff let rationality win that round.
Instead, he channeled that same furious energy into something that he could do. A bodyguard to the core, Cliff made it a point to protect his friends and any non-combatants that he found along the way back to Zompania. Should he get separated from his friends, he would focus on other things. Providing cover for any combatants who needed it, getting people out of sticky situations, or dragging anyone who seemed to be a liability from the heat of battle were easy enough for him.
In the face of the bodies in the city, and the tortured screams that howled through the entire night, this was all that he could do.
Day 3
The anger that fueled his actions took a turn for desperation at this point. Time was of the essence, and Cliff would be damned if he let that bomb go off again. He would be helping out anyone in any way that he could-- being the big, strapping guy that he was left him with limited options, but there was always an opening for someone who looked tough and knew how to play a solid game of hardball.
After successful disarmament, Cliff would focus on building a defensable base with anyone who was willing to help. They were all tired, and it was looking like they were going to be in this for the long haul.]