Surviving on Your Own

So-Called Heroism

Standing in conference room B, on the 14th floor of Preventer Head Quarters in Brussels, I am about to be awarded my third plaque for "heroism". I am to receive this for something I did on my last mission. This is bullshit. I did my damn job. Nothing heroic about that.

Commander Une is congratulating me. Yes, thank you, you insane cunt. She hands me the plaque. It's just another item to take up space on my office walls. I shake hands with all my superiors that are present in the room, feign gratitude, and make my way out the door.

I don't need this crap. Medals, badges, and plaques telling me what a great warrior I am on the front of the battle lines. I'll never achieve greatness. I have too many mistakes and fuck ups in my past to ever be great. I am a treasonous traitor really.

Stomping my way towards my office, I spy Private Biggs. "Great job, Lieutenant Change!" He commends.

"Get the fuck out of my way," I snarl back. Little shit needs to try harder to not put our other men in the line of danger.

Entering my office, I hang the plaque besides the others. All stating my so-called heroism. Fucking joke.