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This one is for my Redintegration (what does that mean, anyway?) character, and my sudden sorrow upon hearing that all characters in the RP must die at some point.
This one's for you, Bullock.
It’s been a rough couple hours. I’ve een a rough couple hours. I' seen men, women, and children alike, mutilated and bleeding, their eyes showing terror, sadness, and, for some admittedly fucked-up people, happiness.
But, that’s no different than the old days. I can’t believe I wanted to relive some of those days.
It’s all this time I've spent here, I guess. Back, way, way back, I could have taken something like this in stride. Just another obstacle, soldier, now get moving! Hah. If only things were like that now.
I guess it’s good that the smell of rotting flesh and the sound of children screaming still scare me. That’s what the best guys in my unit were like. They sat in the corner, never talking unless spoken to, wearing mirrored ‘shades and muttering to themselves. We always said that those guys would be dancing on our graves after the next ‘op, if they knew how to dance. Most didn’t.
And now I’m the only one left.
This is why I’m not going to die with a blade jabbed down my throat. Not in a million years.
Sure, I’m almost sixty. Sure, it’s been a long time since I was firing at a living target. And, yes, I don’t have any armour. But I didn’t on Scorpio 6, and I bet that scrap they’re giving EarthGov boys these days will get cleaved through just as easily as my bomber jacket.
Looking on the back of it now, I can see that the insignia hasn’t faded any. The Four Triangles, that’s what we called it. Sure, it sounded like a crappy band the likes of which has never been seen, but back in the day, the humming of gunship motors above a base didn’t entail death, it WAS death.
Man, I can remember it. Dropping down the rope in my RIG, blasting some Union guy in the face with my Divet as I did so. I felt good, strong, powerful.
At least, that was until the gunship dropped on top of my best buddy, and his best buddy.
Then, I felt angry. I killed fifteen people getting away from there, and by God, if it was an extra one, I wouldn’t have gotten out at all.
But I did, and, for better or for worse, I’m sitting here with my Divet, and I can hear them coming.
I guess it’s their one disadvantage that they haven’t had Special Ops training, unlike me.
Just imagining their scythes fills me with terror. But that’s all the more reason for me to bust those scythes off with God’s most precious gift to mankind – a high-velocity round.
So, I’m going to get up now, and you know what I’m going to yell when they burst through that door and try to rip my guts out?
“C’mon, ya pansies!”
This is Alan Bullock. Signing off.