{Prolouge}
~*~
It wasn't much, if he was being truly quite honest.
He deploys to... wherever the ad had indicated, and nothing else.
Easy.
Even an imbecile was quite capable.
There was nothing special about him.
Spots of freckles around his nose, unruly bed hair to the side, uneven frown lines that mar the corners of his left eye, they wouldn't even bat an eyelash, had it been the last time that they will ever see him.
Mum would probably mourn.
The twins weep, Lottie sob, and if he was lucky enough, Phoebe could even shed a tear that doesn't splash at the phone that's perfectly stuck under her nose.
But then again, that was wishful thinking – a common trait for the worthy, someone who was not him.
Child's play.
That doesn't explain the fact that he hadn't died on the spot though.
He could envision it, the flashing lights, his face stapled in the telly: 2 minutes of fame (four and a half, if it had been a slow day), he thought ruefully.
He gets things, he does.
Even got an award to prove it (but considering its torn edges, it might as well just be like any other piece of paper with his name on it).
But what he hadn't anticipated was that he didn't...die, that is.
Some say it was luck.
Others say he had told a macabre tale.
But he knew what had happened – he was there, quite literally.
Doesn't change the fact that he survived it all.
~*~