A ghost in the machine, a soldier on the edge of detonation. His face glitches violently, fractured, flickering between agony and cold, mechanical resolve. His eyes burn like ruptured floodlights, neon beams ripping through the oppressive darkness, his mouth an open wound of blinding white. The light devours him from within, cracking through his corroded armor, tearing him apart, pixel by pixel. His body convulses, warping between twisted metal and frenzied static, neon scars pulsing like dying veins of circuitry. The air hums with a sickening distortion, reality warping, his form flickering and collapsing, barely holding on to existence. Glitching shadows stretch unnaturally, his body a broken frame of broken code, seconds from oblivion. Kneeling amidst the ruins of his own disintegrating self, he whispers to the void. The war has ended, but he remains, a dying echo of what once was.