Another breath.
Another heartbeat.
Another second alive.
Private Johnasen Caraway was curled up in a fetal position in a dank, dusty corner waiting for death. He could barely think, but was shifting through his memories, looking for the face. There. He stared at it in his mind's eye, and he wept. He sobbed cunvulsively and curled up even tighter. His subconsious was dimly aware of another presence in the room, and then the brush of cold steel against his forehead. Then the was pain, noise, and finally, darkness.