Aaron and Open
He would only see battlefields. Enemies with guns, people who needed to be hunted and killed, stripped of their lives for revenge on his comrades. He was a machine of death, a cold hearted stone figure of unbreakable marble, covered in the blood of his kills. His eyes were fog-grey and his arms rippled from the experiments the world had performed on him. He smelled enemy in the air all around.
Aaron unsheathed a dagger and watched from afar waiting for a pretty little target to make itself known. He could smell fear and blood and flesh searing from roadside bombs. He sliced his dagger along a tree trunk and it bled in gushing waves. He licked the tip of his blade clean.