A soldier runs through the wreckage, blood trailing from his leg.He sees his friend kneeling… then collapsing, a faint smile still frozen on his face.His back is torn open by laser wounds.
He knows exactly who did it.
He raises his gun—his hands trembling.He wants to shoot her.The woman he once loved.But he cannot.His fingers refuse to obey.
Two shots hit him—one in the left hand, one in the right leg.He falls.
His vision glitches—blurring, clearing, blurring again.Sounds reach him slowly, as if they are underwater.The sky has already turned dark.The moon, once pink, now burns a deep red—watching silently like a monster.The stars are faint; none are twinkling… just like his heart, which refuses to believe that the woman he loved is pointing a gun at his head.
Everything is burning.Smoke chokes the sky.Fire has turned every beautiful thing into ash.
War… why do you only take the things people love the most?He screams this inside, but no sound escapes his mouth.
Fifty metres away, figures clash with laser swords.And then—he sees her.
Sophia.Standing over him, pinning him down.
She points her gun at his head.
"Goodbye, darling," she says coldly."It was fun watching you rats crawl."
But her face tells a different story.It says, Please, my love… end me. I cannot hurt you. I cannot even scratch your skin.
He closes his eyes and whispers within his heart:War, I hate you.Love, I hate you.World, I hate you.Money… power… all of you took everything from me—and from everyone here.
And inside her heart, she whispers:Love… I am sorry. I promise you—just like all those days you saved me—I will give even my life to protect you.
She was pretending.To save him.
And then—
Bang.
But the pain never comes.
A warm splash lands on his face.
He opens his eyes—The blood on his skin… is not his.
Sophia collapses onto him.
He feels it instantly.Her heartbeat is gone.
He almost breaks.His body shakes uncontrollably.A single tear escapes, even though he tries to lock everything inside.Her scent… her warmth… her presence…Her voice… her promises…All gone.
He feels parts of his heart shutting down, one emotion at a time.
Somehow, he lifts her and places her gently on the least-destroyed patch of ground.He rests his head on her torso and whispers:
"Why… God… why her?Please… please… bring her back.Take me instead.Our children… they cannot live without her…Please, God… take me… me… me… and give her back…"
He takes a few steps. His legs give way, and he collapses to his knees.He punches the ground in grief.Another tear forms—he forces it back, locking it inside like a secret thrown into the ocean.
He stands again.
His sister appears a few metres away, smoke rising from her weapon.
"We are still alive," she says."We are winning… I think."
But he does not respond.He has already turned into something else—empty, numb, mechanical.
They walk through fire, past broken bodies and burning homes.People sit in the dirt—food untouched.Some are dead.Some stare blankly.
[Distant screams. They run.]
Their mother lies crushed under the rubble.Still.Silent.Like a flower stepped on and forgotten.
Their father crawls towards them, reaching—Wanting to see his children one last time before crossing into the world of no return.
"Protect… her…" he whispers."Protect… the world…"
He dies in their arms.
The sister screams.The brother stands still.Then—they run again.
They find their unit.Their friends.
Most have already crossed the line between life and death.Some lie side by side, hands still linked.
One survivor whispers,"I… I could not… save them…"
Then they see the children.
A four-year-old girl crawling through the ash, one leg missing.A five-year-old boy clutching his injured arm, searching for his mother.
The sister collapses.The brother does not cry.
"This… is what we became?"
[Scene: Headquarters – later that night]
Under medical supervision, the soldier rests.
"Why did you not tell me she was the enemy?" he asks his sister.
"I hacked her phone," she says quietly."I am sorry. I knew. I saw the messages.You protected her since high school… but she never had a heart.She chose power."
"It is okay," he says."For one moment… when she aimed at me… I froze."
"It is over, Big Monkey. Rest. I am here."
[A few weeks later]
He sits with a comrade who is crying.
"I… I wiped out three generations… two families…The last was a child. Maybe eight years old.I could not even lift the gun near the end…"
On the rooftop, a sniper whispers,"Bro… look. That building. 1.3 kilometres away.It is a school.They are hiding behind the gate."
And then—A tank shell hits it.
He screams,"NO! NO! They were children!"
Then silence.
He lowers the rifle and just sits there… staring.
A month later, the war ends.
They win.
They celebrate—But they also cry.
"We lost brothers, sisters, friends, parents… children," he says."Today's children make jokes about war.But… is this what we fought for?"
He looks down.
"My grandaunt lost her leg in that war.We had to amputate it while wild dogs circled us.She fought off four enemies before she collapsed."
"I was three hundred metres away…and I could not save her."
He closes his eyes.
"And we call ourselves humans—The same creatures who write laws…and still choose war."