Dead dog article that causes me to smile? How do you do that?

Devastation, as far as the eye could see. Great fleshy corpses lie in twisted heaps, their shadows hanging over the bullet-ridden corpses of cultists. The man pulled a glove from his coat pocket, folding it and bending down to gingerly take a shell casing from the ground. He held it to his eyes, the gleaming brass sandwiched between the clean white cloth.

"Foundation task force, no doubt." The glove slipped back into his pocket, casing and all. Out came a pack of cigarettes. A quick tap selected one, and he gripped it with his lips. His eyes lingered on the battle-torn shell of the distant, secluded church. Chnk, a flame, and he puffed idly, a snap of the wrist snuffing the lighter's flame. "Poor bastards don't realize what they're messing with." He made his way purposefully yet cautiously towards the bombed-out shell of the brick structure in the middle of nowhere.

In his mind, he reconstructed the assault, one name on his mind: Amelia Benedict.