A/N: Re: Zero has been stuck in my head for like the past week and a half and well, I just thought "screw it" and went for it. I've got a base outline on how I want the story to develop so yes, my hopefully future readers, you're in for a long ride. Definitely gonna pass the 100k mark that much i can pretty much guarantee unless something happens. Also this chapter is only a prologue so it's only around 3k, most of my chapters will be around 10k.

So without further ado, enjoy.

His senses were going wild.

Death!

Being brave doesn't mean jack when you were being swarmed with 7.62 caliber rounds.

Death!

It also doesn't mean jack when you were outnumbered, too much to count to 1.

Survive….

'That's right! All I've gotta do is survive. The dead are dead and the wounded are 'bout to be dead. I've just gotta survive until reinforcements come ' The young soldier frantically thought to himself, nearly on the verge of panicking.

This wasn't who he was, or so he liked to think so but so far it didn't look like he was going to get any medals soon.

Coward!

Well if being a coward behind a wall inside a building means living then he'd happily be a coward for as long he liked. However his precious cover was steadily dwindling as more incoming fire punched holes through the normally sturdy walls.

His heart beat rapidly inside his chest, almost threatening to burst out of his chest. His senses were heightened from adrenaline. His uniform was caked with sweat and dirt and splotches of blood, none of it his own. Around him his comrades were dead or dying. The wounded able to move still holding their rifles and blazing away in desperation.

They said reinforcements would arrive in 10 minutes. That was an hour ago.

His platoon commander and squad leaders were dead leaving his unit scrambled in the chain of command. Communication was cut from the other platoons, leaving them in the dark despite their close proximity.

He was only a PFC. A boot as they like to label him. Leading whatever was left of his platoon? In this mess? Hell no, way above his pay grade and ability.

"RPG! Get down!"

Snapping out of his senses he ducked and braced for the impact. Immediately he felt the RPG slam viciously into the building causing the bullet ridden building to shake and groan from the explosion and shock wave that threatened to topple it.

'My first deployment is gonna be the death of me!' He thought as he looked around precariously, almost feeling the impending collapse.

"We've gotta get out of here! Buildings gonna collapse!" That was the corporal. Surprising he was still alive.

"And the wounded!?" He yelled back in response,his hoarse voice barely carrying over the sounds of battle.

The corporal looked offended at the question. "Bitch! We drag 'em out of here!" Before he could retort the corporal began issuing orders to everyone else within earshot.

"Everyone able to walk, grab a wounded and get out of here! Get to the building across from us! 3-1 is still combat capable, reinforce them and dig in!" The corporal turned to him, unfazed at the battering they were taking. "You're my runner! Tell 3-1 we're coming over and make sure the route is clear! Cover us as we cross the street!"

Alright he could do that but something lingered in his mind. "What about the dead?!" He could feel the burning gazes of the still functional bearing into him as he asked the question.

The corporal didn't answer, only shaking his head. And that was all the answer he needed, he was probably going to die. This city was lost, they were stretched too thin to begin with and when the fuckers attacked? The whole damn city attacked with them. A company of Marines could only do so much against a damn city.

He didn't want to die! He had family back home! He didn't even get the chance to do anything! For fucks sakes he was only 19! And the best part was that he couldn't make a damn difference, he was only one man and he wasn't some Chesty Puller or Dan Daly figure.

You're going to Die

His head snapped up and for a moment the corporal locked eyes with him. He knew it too, so did everyone else here. He was merely slow on the uptake, believing he was actually going to make it out.

Taking a slow exhale he nodded at the Marine before turning around and began running towards his new objective.

He began running to his death.

Coward?

He wanted to live.

Live.

Live.

Live!

But that was impossible, he was going to die. No doubt about it.

'Cover fire you say? You make it seem like I can poke my head up long enough to give you cover fire.' He morbidly thought to himself as he practically leaped down the steps.

His platoon commander received at bullet to the chest from a sniper. A sniper they had yet to root out. If he exposed himself to give them cover fire….

Well the picture painted itself.

As he reached the bottom floor he darted to the doorway, only pausing to check the area. He braced himself against the wall and with a large exhale waited for a lull in the rain of bullets to cross the street.

Looking around he found some semblance of cover still remaining on the barren street. Those being the burned out cars that littered the area. It wasn't ideal but at least he wasn't completely exposed.

Feeling the lull in the fire he swallowed his fear and sprinted across the street. As if a switch had been turned on a hail of lead began splashing around him. The whizzing and snaps of incoming bullets only highlighting his fears as they passed inches away from his body.

Only pausing for a quick breather as he reached the building he quickly bounded up the stairs, shouting all the while.

"Friendly coming up! Hold your fire!" Repeating the call several times to ensure the trigger happy Marines didn't blow him away thinking he was a "towel head" or a "sand nigger."

Sprinting up the stairs he passed a number of Marines running in the opposite direction, presumably to reinforce the others in the lower floors. He stopped a passing marine.

"Where's your platoon commander?!"

With a grunt the Marine shrugged his grip and proceeded to run down the stairs but not before hollering out an answer.

"Floor above us!"

Mentally groaning at the prospect of going up another floor the young PFC quickly bounded up the steps.

After reaching the designated floor he burst through the stairway doors and made his past the injured Marines that were strewn about along the hallways. Blood caked the walls, the cries of the wounded pierced the roar of gunfire. The dead were merely laid on the ground, almost seemingly as if they were merely asleep.

Gritting his teeth he looked straight ahead forcing himself to look away from the pained and hopeless expressions on some of the marines.

He quickly came across a man frantically running around, giving orders and coordinating the defense.

'He must be the platoon commander.' With that thought he jogged over to the man, giving him a tap on the shoulder to announce his presence.

"What is it?" The man sharply asked turning to face the young PFC.

The young marine saw the marks of a Staff Sergeant on the commander's uniform.

He left the tone of the Staff Sergeant brush off of him, the man must be stressed to the max. "The building 3-2 is in is about to collapse so they're moving their wounded here. We'll reinforce yall and hold here."

The Staff Sergeants eyes glanced over at his own wounded. An expression of worry crossed his face before it was replaced by grim determination. "Alright." He grunted. "We'll hold here and wait for backup."

"...how many are combat capable?" He finally asked after a moment of silence.

The PFC bit his lips. "Not many, we're down to maybe 30% combat effectiveness." If even that.

He merely received a simple nod in return. It was all he needed before he made his own to the stairs.

Time to face the music and the composers were a bunch of clowns with towels over their heads and wielding the old but reliable AK-47s and RPGs.

'Then again these fuckers are kicking our asses right now.' Though he held the idea that it took a whole fucking city to give them trouble on a somewhat high regard.

As he passed the lower floors, the fear that he had swallowed began to slowly grip him once more. His limbs felt heavy. His M16A4 service rifle felt like a long metal brick in the cramped quarters. His vest was full with ammunition after having pilfered a bunch of magazines from the dead. That was an experience he would remember for a very long time and not for the right reasons.

His body moved on autopilot. His mind was a chaos of thoughts. Chances were he wouldn't survive the next few minutes. However in the midst of chaos, death and destruction his train of thought went back to his drill instructor during his final days of recruit training at Parris Island.

"You'll never be alone in a fight. The man next to you is a Marine. You are a Marine. He won't let you down nor will you let him down for you are a Marine. A killer by day, lover by night and a Marine by the grace God. You have earned your right to fight with the Eagle, Globe and Anchor on your body. Represent the Corps by killing the fuckers trying to kill you."

That's right he was a Marine. America's elite fighting force, America's devil dogs. The hell he went through in recruit training and SOI had to be for something.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the ever rising crescendo of bullets hitting pavement. Stopping he looked across the street to find the building his platoon was in beginning to crumble away as a storm of lead and rockets pounded against its already weak structure.

Staring at the doorway across from him he saw the first few battered Marines run through the doorway and out into the streets. A complete disregard to their safety and the buddies on their shoulders as they braved the sea of bullets.

It was now or never.

Taking deep breath he charged out and met the storm head on. Sliding into a burned out wreckage of a car he set up his rifle and aimed down the ACOG sight.

The enemy was roughly 400 meters out, scattered throughout windows, rooftops, alleyways and in whatever nooks and crannies they could find.

400 meters out...Marines got qualified out to 500 meters during recruit training. This was quite like target practice except this time, the targets shot back.

Whatever the case may be, he didn't need to be pinpoint accurate nor did he have the time to be. His job was one thing, suppress the enemy as best as he can along with the other Marines. That was it, simple.

He aimed at a small cluster of enemies and his finger depressed on the trigger, his service rifle barking out in approval.

Again.

Again.

And again he pulled the trigger, as fast as he could before switching over to burst fire. The recoil pushed the weapon against his shoulder and threw off his aim but despite it he kept the weapon under control.

"Every Marine is a first and foremost a rifleman. Be it a desktop paperwork lieutenant or a ground-side aviation technician, all of you amphibian shits WILL be a rifleman before anything else!"

Click!

Cursing inwardly he ducked down and frantically began reloading his empty rifle. Barely a heartbeat later his rifle was propped up against the car and was spewing out death and destruction at whatever it was pointed at.

Out of his peripherals he saw marines carrying the wounded sprint across the open road but it wasn't enough. The enemy was too many and too spread out to be effectively suppressed with their numbers.

He reached down to his kevlar vest. He had 2 fragmentation grenades and a single smoke grenade. Without hesitation he prepped the smoke grenade and tossed it into the streets giving the crossing marines a better chance at making it across.

Popping back up be blazed away across the terrorists, whoever they may be. He didn't care who they were, not at this point. He was also aware of the steady increase in accuracy of the rounds pelting his cover. He was sure the sniper was out there, taking aim and ranging in his shots.

It was strange really, he was sure time had slowed down or something because it seemed like it was forever ago when he first took aim kneeling in the bullet ridden streets. The train of wounded never seemed to end.

"Last one coming out!"

'Finally!' With that he slapped in a new magazine before repeating the process he had repeated for however long he had been out here.

Before he could re-engage however the last Marine let out a piercing cry as a bullet ripped through his thigh, causing him to drop the wounded Marine he was carrying. Both wounded Marines tumbled to the ground kicking up dust and rocks.

Looking on the young PFC looked on at his veteran seniors on the ground, one critically wounded and the other bleeding out as precious crimson life fluids poured out of his mangled leg.

Hesitation gripped the young marine. He was confused, should he stop firing and help them or what? His job was to suppress the enemy. He was sure someone would realize that the two were wounded.

Someone.

Anyone?

He looked around, all the marines were in the building now. He was the only one that knew the situation here, he had to act.

Move.

Save them.

Stop being a coward.

Their fate is in your hands.

SAVE THEM!

Vaguely he heard a roar of anguish, terror and anger as he ran to the downed men. Vaguely he realized he was the one making that ugly sound.

"RPG! GET DOWN!"

Vaguely he realized that someone had just yelled and not so vaguely his body jolt in shock causing him to tumble down into the sandy dirt roads.

He had been shot.

Underneath him blood started to rapidly pool, staining his uniform in dark crimson. Looking up he found the stray RPG speeding towards towards them, almost in slow motion. And as the RPG neared them, his vision faded into white, his last sight, the two bloody and dying Marines just beyond the reach of his fingers. Their desperate pleas for help and hopeless expression in their eyes being burned into his mind.

He had failed…..

After Action Report:

20190705:

June 25, 2019. A company of Marines faced a large unknown number of hostiles in the city of Fallujah, Iraq. Estimates state anywhere between seven to nine thousand militiamen and civilians engaged in hostilities against the company of Marines.

After contacting FOB Viper for a QRF, miscommunication and delays prevented reinforcements from arriving until approximately eighty one minutes after the initial call. The company was forced to down roughly twenty five percent combat effectiveness by the time the QRF had arrived on the scene.

Casualties: 142

KIA: 64

MIA:3

Addendum: It is to be noted that the bodies of Sgt Bruce Howard, Lance Corporal Kaiden Luis and Private First Class Jayce Allster were unable to be found at or near the impact of a rocket propelled grenade. As Staff Sergeant Ham noted in his report the three Marines "disappeared without a trace" after the impact of the rocket propelled grenade. There are no signs of any belongings from the three Marines surviving the impact. No articles of their clothing, equipment or even DNA were found on scene with the exception of the spots of blood from Sgt Howard, Lance Corporal and Private First Class Allster who were wounded prior to the impact. As of today, July 5th 2019 the three Marines will be labeled as Missing in Action.

Sgt Howard shall posthumously be awarded the Purple Heart and Bronze Star for his actions on June 25th 2019.

Lance Corporal Luis shall posthumously be awarded the Purple Heart for his actions on June 25th 2019.

Private First Class Allster shall posthumously be awarded the Purple Heart and the Silver Star for his actions on June 25th 2019.

So tell me what you think, well to be honest there really wasn't too much going on here aside from setting everything up for the next chapter. Also you may have taken notice that throughout the chapter the Marines remained nameless, only addressed and characterized by rank or simply Marine. This to give the Marines as just people with nothing out of the ordinary, well to be honest there's nothing ordinary about Marines but you get the idea. I wanted to paint the picture as no one being the lone "hero" and showing the humanity in each Marine. They feel fear, hate, and every emotion a regular civilian does. They just have the courage to push forward despite that.

It's only in the after action report does a small handful of names are mentioned, one of which is our main protagonist. Hopefully yall caught that. It shows that to the higher ups, these Marines while human are merely a statistic to them. It may not represent the Pentagon or the Department of Defense and whatnot but that's what I wanted to show.

Also Rem is best girl...that is all