My entire body feels like lead. I fight exhaustion, but I'm losing badly. Everything is so sore and it all aches. I fight the urge to simply lie down and wait for death to take me. I can't. I won't. She's counting on me. My sister. I have to find her, get her to safety. I would say "get her home," but there is no home to return to. We've been on the run. I've lost track of time, but it has to be at least a month now. I got sick a couple of weeks ago, I don't know exactly when, but all I know is that in the time I've been fighting this illness, my sister has been taken from me. By soldiers of the Federation. I f***in' hate those guys. Monsters, more like. They've taken everything from me, except for my will to fight. I suppose that's all I can really ask for nowadays. But I'm getting ahead of myself. It's not exactly the soldiers I should be mad at, although I hate that they follow orders so readily. But so would any soldier. Nonetheless, it's not by their choice that they took my sister. It was the order of their leader. General Alamagro. Just thinking the name fills me will such malice that words cannot do it justice. I can't describe how badly I want to end that psycho. And I will. Even if I die. Speaking of dying…

I groan lightly as I trip over a root and fall to my knees, catching myself with my hands. I crawl forward a few feet and collapse. A thin film of sticky sweat coats my body, but I shiver. Not ten minutes ago, I was battling the heat from the sun and the dryness of my parched throat and mouth.

Mustering up what little strength I have left, I push myself upright into a sitting position, my legs thrown out to my left side. Just as I am about to raise myself to my feet, I hear voices. I strain to hear what language they're speaking in; great, Spanish. Federation soldiers. I lie down slowly, pressing my stomach flat against the ground as I determine where they're coming from and how close they are. I close my eyes, giving my sharp sense of hearing an even greater advantage. They're definitely coming closer. I listen in on their conversation.

"¿Pero estás seguro que era una de ellas? ¿No pudo haber sido un animal?" One soldier questions the other on whether or not he saw me or my sister.

The second soldier answers, "Estoy cien por ciento seguro. No pudo haber sido un animal. Fue una de las mujeres. Verás que vamos a encontrar una de ellas aquí, así que estáte atento ."

"Bueno. Pero si no la encontramos, me debes una cerveza."

"Está bien. Ahora, pon atención."

I hear them make their way closer to my position. Great. Without a conversation to gauge their distance and position, I have to strain to hear exactly where their footsteps are. The dry leaves crunch underfoot, helping me.

I slide out my tactical knife, readying myself for a fight; however, I will only fight them if they spot me. Otherwise, I know better than to try to take them on in my current state by choice.

I struggle to keep my labored breathing quiet. I feel so stuffy, but waves of icy coldness shock my body. One of them is right beside me. I don't move a muscle. I hold my breath. One move, and I could be dead in the next five seconds. No sound from the soldier.

Suddenly, he steps up to my left side, kicking me solidly in the ribs. I grunt and roll onto my back, swiping violently at his legs as I move. I catch him and bullets spray past my head, whizzing and thumping into the soil. I scramble to my hands and knees, just as he starts to move. I practically throw myself on top of him to keep him from pointing his rifle at me. One quick jab, and I've stabbed him in the throat. He gurgles as his blood drains out of the wound and from his mouth. His eyes are wide in shock, but they lose the life within and close slowly. I regain my breath, trying to determine where his partner is. This soldier had a silencer equipped, so there's a chance that his partner didn't hear the commotion.

No such luck. I hear running footsteps, and I decide not to lie prone here anymore. I take off at a run, my shorter than average height and the tall grass working to my advantage. I push myself, my legs burning in protest and my ribs aching, both from the illness and from the kick I just received. My breathing is no longer even remotely quiet. I cough and try to clear my air passages. I start to wheeze and trip over a cluster of roots, sliding and falling on my side on the concrete of a street. The buildings all around are abandoned, not an unusual sight. Quite the opposite, in fact.

I can't try to escape anymore. The enemy soldier catches up to me quickly, pointing his gun at me. I hold my hands to the sides of my head, shivering. Believing I'm no threat, the soldier walks up too close, and I kick out at his legs roughly. He falls heavily to the ground, cursing in Spanish and struggling to regain his footing. Too late for him.

I wrench his pistol out of its holster on his right thigh, aiming and firing once. It's not silenced. I know how grave this mistake is when I hear several more voices yelling out in Spanish. They're coming straight towards me. I look behind me. There's no way I'm gonna make it away from them in time. My heart pounds in my sore chest, hurting me even more. So, this is how it's gonna end? I have to stand down. If not, they'll kill me on the spot. An image of my sister flashes before my vision. I failed to save her. I couldn't even save myself.

I rise shakily to my feet, my knife sheathed and the fallen soldier's rifle in my arms, aimed and loaded. One more shudder courses through me.

"Let's do this," I whisper to myself.

Five Federation soldiers rush out from the tall grass and foliage. Two head straight for me, while the others provide cover. I shoot one down, but the other manages to barrel into me, knocking me down. I cry out as I realize he rammed his knife into my side in the process. My sore throat feels like it's been torn to shreds. The air whooshes out of my lungs as we land, his heavy body pressed against mine. I grow angry and give him a hard time as I try to wriggle out from under him. He raises his knife for the killing blow, but a large shape slams into him from above my head, knocking him back and away from me.

Before I can completely register this close save, I scramble to my feet once more and stagger towards the grass. I have to hide somewhere in there again. I realize I haven't been shot yet. As I make my way towards my target, I notice silenced shots being fired. I hear them hit solid marks, and the Federation soldiers grunt and gasp as they fall to the ground, dead.

I don't give myself the chance to look back, my body at the brink. I can go no further. Whoever saved me, I can't wait to find out if they mean me harm or not. I am spent.

I fall to the floor, not even having the strength to catch myself with my hand. Tears leak out of my eyes, not from emotion, but from illness. Now this is it.

I swim in and out of consciousness, not really remembering how I got here, but knowing the reason why. I hear a faint jingling, as of a dog tag. I remember my own childhood canines, and I am comforted somewhat. I can almost swear I feel the cold, wet nose of a dog press against my hand, my injured ribs, and then my forehead. What the hell is happening in my messed up head? I struggle to open my eyes. When I do, I see the faint, blurred image of what appears to be a German Shepherd dog. It whines and lays its warm, furry body perpendicular to my torso before giving a series of short, loud barks. What's going on? What does this mean?

Darkness closes in on me once more, and I stay out this time.