Hey everyone! It's been about two years since I last submitted a story or chapter! I doubt anyone would really read this one, but it ended up being written out of boredom and sleep deprivation. Definitely not my best--I personally think this was poorly written. (Oh, how I make fun of myself...) However, to anyone who DOES read this for whatever reason... enjoy? I guess. Haha.

This takes place... right before you start the first campaign in the game.

Warnings: Minor language.
Disclaimer: I do not own Haze or the characters.

On board the massive land carrier, Teare could see his squad's helicopter rise off the deck and head toward their mission's starting point. His squad leader, Duvall, had quickly reprimanded and dismissed him prior to takeoff after realizing the Lance Corporal hadn't taken his Nectar.

Teare trudged through the metal hallways before reaching his bunk, discarding the black and yellow armor as quickly as possible. Eyeing the round-yet-hexagonal protrusion on the back of the 'suit', he remembered the damage he inflicted on fellow soldier Shane Carpenter's Nectar administrator. He couldn't let the young soldier get by without knowing the truth behind Nectar's side effects.

The less of that drug, the better.

It's what Teare had thought soon after he had his first minor withdrawal. It's what Mantel wanted to keep their soldiers from, thus the "mandatory" doses.

Keep the boys drugged up and brainwashed and they won't turn on you. Fucking Mantel. You fill our minds with talk of this so-called dictator and expect us to behave like your mindless slave-dogs, killing innocent people just to get that goddamn plant.

Seating himself, Teare rubbed at his face with his hands before quickly stopping. His vision suddenly became unfocused and it seemed as though he had gone selectively color blind. His head was pounding as his odd, black and white vision had fuzzy transitions between clear and blurry. Agonizing screams that didn't belong to anyone on board echoed throughout the room.

Another withdrawal.

Teare could make out the faint chatter and laughter of other soldiers walking past his cabin. Normally, that would have been calming, considering the occasional screams. However, he caught the faintest bit of red on their gloves. Eyes wide, he looked down at the armored uniform he had discarded. More of that red stained his own gloves.


He barely managed to keep himself from screaming, clutching his head then looking at his hands. The withdrawal-induced hallucination made him believe the blood that saturated his uniform's gloves had ended up getting on his hands.

Through his eyes, the world was black and white, save for the red that seemed to be everywhere now. Through their eyes, the world was free of that awful color.

Through his eyes, that same red engulfed the otherwise grey surroundings and darkened until he collapsed onto his bunk. Through their eyes, he was merely asleep.