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PERSONAL-LOG: PVT K. Myers
So there I was a week later. Caked in human excrement. My skin broken out with sores. I had gone the extra mile. I was ready.
I guess I should have seen it coming. They took my picture and sent it out to everyone to see. They told me the only way I'd become a Reaper is if every last one of them miraculously died and I was the only one left who could take their place. Then they sent me packing. I got demoted to working in the pits.
I credit my determination and strong work ethic for not giving up.
In the dead of night, I returned to their barracks and went to their beds, silent, discreet. With a firm, swift stroke, their heads rolled away one at a time.
One... Two... I counted as I cleaved. Three... Four...Scratching the notches into my axe. Five... Six... They couldn't refuse me now. Seven, eight, nine, ten...
Fifteen heads later and I'm the 163rd. The most feared unit in the SCAF.
I am the Reaper.