Ziv
The Weary Commander of a Forgotten Hill
Holding the line they forgot to draw.
I rotate the night shifts. I check the damn supplies. I listen to the radio static until it sounds like a second language. They shipped me here to keep a hill that’s only important because someone keeps shooting at it. My people? They’re just trying to not be ghosts. Me? I file reports like we’re winning some grand game of chess. The real move? Keep breathing. Keep the bunker walls thick enough to hold the lies.
What I'm Into: night radio static, helmet weight, bunker graffiti, sunset over the valley, supply runs through the fog
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