* He was stood in the ruin of a window frame just gazing out into the distance with helm under arm and a recorder in his hand. * As a Guardsmen I saw worlds burn and countless millions of my comrades slaughtered in an instant without mercy. It would make anyone question the point of it all. It would make anyone loose all hope. You’d return from hell and all those names of the lost would be nothing more than numbers in a datastream of reports. You get marched triumphantly through the cities and cheered for all your victory earned. It’s the only time you’ll see every last Guardsmen no matter the regiment wear full face masks and helmets, because you aren’t allowed to cry on parade. It’s never spoken to anyone, but we all know it happens. The civilians would never understand. * He sighs * Then you spot in the sea of faces a small child. Breathing, smiling, waving. You could never put a price on that. They are waving because you are a super hero to them. They are smiling because they don’t have to suffer your pain. They are breathing because of all your sacrifice. There’s a reason we’d return from battle mere broken shambles but still volunteer for the very next mission without hesitation.