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since the incident.  Roberts had tried to talk to Jenkins on his own, but it had been like talking to a stranger.  The slightly-older soldier had spoken like there was nothing wrong; like he didn’t know the truth.  It was as if he hadn’t been there to see Roberts’ overdose; as if he hadn’t been there to see the boy soldier’s assisted suicide.
    “Some shrapnel, but nothing damaging,” Feldman said without moving.  The giant had always been succinct, but Roberts had always known there was a brilliant mind stuck in that horrible body.  When Roberts had first arrived he had broken into all of the soldiers’ records.  The boy soldier had been shocked to find that the ex-farmer’s IQ hovered around 160; the titan merely disliked speaking.
    “I see Jenkins didn’t make it,” Roberts said, trying to gauge the man’s reaction even though the helmet between them made it a virtual impossibility.  It was the most Roberts could hope for when the giant shifted and turned his head.  The swordsman didn’t say anything and soon went back to staring at the floor and Roberts wondered what the giant was thinking.  Feldman and Jenkins had been quite close near the end.  As he was thinking about the inner workings of the giant’s mind, Roberts could feel his left calf start to cramp, but he decided to ignore the pain.  He leaned in closer so that Feldman would be the only one to hear his next statement.
    “But that’s not Jenkins anymore, is it?”  At that Feldman turned his head and Roberts could feel the man glaring from beneath the mask.  Roberts found it hard to imagine, as Feldman had perpetually droopy eyelids, but it was something the boy soldier didn’t want to experience in the first place.  He pursed his lips and waited for the giant’s answer.
    “No.  Not since the suicide.  But you knew that,” he said before stooping down lower.  “Why would you bother to ask me?”  Roberts gulped and regretted it.  His throat was scratchy; it always was.  When his malady had first started he thought he was just extremely dehydrated, but it had never gone away.  It was just another in the laundry list of pains he felt.  Roberts sighed and shrugged at the man’s question.
    “Guess I just didn’t want it to be true.  He meant something to me, too,” Roberts said before remembering all of the things that Jenkins had done for him.  He had been there for the worst incarnation.  Whatever twisted mind was responsible for Roberts’ pain had outdone itself that time.  The boy soldier had arched and convulsed; his consciousness broken by unbearable agony.  In battle, Jenkins had carried the broken Roberts when he was driven to unconsciousness.  Jenkins had watched as Roberts had stared down a mechanical monstrosity and prayed for death.  He had been there for Roberts’ vision of hell.  It was a kinship that Roberts would never forget.
    But Jenkins had.  He had taken the easy way out and when he finally came back, Jenkins really had stopped existing.  It was a betrayal that Roberts didn’t want to acknowledge.  It was a comfort when Feldman set his hand on Christopher’s shoulder, but their misery was soon broken by an unwelcome interloper.
    “You gotta be fucking kidding me.  Are you fuckers really serious?”  Roberts heard the voice from his other side and looked to see Warner with his helmet off.  The perpetually-angry man was glaring at the two soldiers mired in their loss and shook his head.
    “It’s all I ever hear anymore.  ‘Oh, I miss Jenkins,’ or ‘isn’t it just terrible what happened to Jenkins?’  It makes me fuckin’ sick.  He was just a soldier.  Sure, he was one of us, but so the fuck what?  I’ll admit, he was a damn good shot and he took to killing with such flair that I mighta shed a manly tear, but this is bullshit.  He wasn’t special.  He was a thief and he had all the same fucking growing pains.  You, Roberts, what the fuck?” the ex-convict asked