Everyone who lived for decades had experiences that left a deep mark on them:
The fear of being cornered, a mistake that could never be undone, the powerful strength that had once burst forth in a desperate situation.
As mercenaries, most people secretly swore after such experiences that they would never go through that kind of desperate situation again.
The man, his head filled with static, suddenly began to hallucinate: he saw his grandmother.
Back then, they had still been farming in a small village in Eastern Europe, until Soviet Petrochem's tank division announced that the land had become state property and would be managed and farmed by Soviet Petrochem.
The interests of the state were sacred and inviolable, so the land his family relied on to survive had to serve the interests of the Soviet Federation.
At the time, he had been only seven or eight years old. The emptiness and confusion of losing his home had been ground into that experience of a peasant lost in a vast industrial city, until many years later, until he learned to shoot and kill thugs like himself, until he was betrayed, until every day he thought of nothing but drinking, getting high, and sleeping with women.
Only then would he occasionally remember that, although farming honestly had been exhausting and miserable, it had seemed more peaceful than this.
He saw his grandmother holding him and covering his eyes, while through the gaps between her fingers he saw his grandfather shout, "You can't take my land, it belongs to-" before charging at the tank and being crushed into a pulp before he could finish.
Memories that had left a deep impression, along with the equally intense emotions attached to them, were instantly stirred up and blended into mental drive.
V sped faster