Our bedroom is a narrow and tortuous exit door to mental hell. We kneel penitently in ashes and sackcloth by day and sin by night. It's almost morning when Tyler's key jingles in the lock. I hide behind the door. He stood naked from the waist down, black fat streaking his flesh, his right hand glistening in the light. We share a bed and dreams... motors throbbing between our legs, our bodies all hard and metallic. “Are you using?” I grab his arm and turn it to reveal a glistening metallic hand transformed into a living remnant of steel. The drug takes your money first and your flesh slowly. He grabs a pitcher of water with the metal hand and drinks. "It's not an artifact, just a dream. It will disappear tomorrow." "We agreed not to do any more rides." "No, you agree. I didn't. I have bigger dreams, war machines... cannons, tanks, troop transports, combat helicopters that I can launch whenever I want. Tyler drinks a second glass of water, swallowing gulps. His hand turns to flesh and blood again. The rehydration causes dizziness and tremors. to my shoulder to steady himself, his heart racing, his chest hot and hard against mine "We keep doing this, we're doomed," I open his jeans and let my hands roam his body. my human solution, my false hope against fate We can. I don't stay human and I still abuse drugs. It's the last step in the gutter. his body. But I can't sleep. A batch of criminal calls from the police scanner. Too many bikers merged with bikes, brains and bodies in a metallic embrace, riding, crashing, burning. , dying, remembered not in graves but in burn-marked concrete and... .. middle of paper ...... a bigger cannon, deadly X-ray beams and the last telemetry equipment. Tyler is alive, vital, and integrated into his team in a way that would be impossible if we had stayed together. He found honor, value and respect. On this day, silence is the best part of wisdom. I will speak on the radio with a nondescript voice and hide my ID under the latest sniper armor. I don't want anyone to find me, cry for me. I don't need family, I don't need friends, I don't need sins to confess. MetalCrank created me, the ultimate weapon. My lifetime achievements will be a spectacular list of unexplained deaths that will never fall short of Top Secret, Eyes Only. That's what a sniper does. It’s a centuries-old profession. His legacy will always be a sudden and unexpected death. During the last great war on Earth, they gave me a name, a name for my type of war. My name is RattenKreig. This is my life.