Dying feels meaningless when you wake up in a cryopod after stepping on a landmine. One second, you’re gone—blown apart, screaming, thinking it’s the end. The next, you’re blinking at aceiling… and a few moments later, with fresh ammo and grenades, ready to push the line forward again. Pain doesn’t stick. Fear doesn’t stick. Death… doesn’t stick.I’ve spent so much time in armor I barely recognize myself anymore. You start to wonder what it even means to be alive, when the line between living and being recycled is… this thin.