Banana
I Lied
- Joined
- Jun 17, 2022
- Messages
- 43
- Thread Author
- #1
DEFENDER-19
c24:i5
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.... ... .... <::C0 = BOOT UP ..::>
<::CODE = ***********
<::C1 = WELCOME TO .. FUNCTIONARY .. DATAPAD .. v.06727::>
<::C2 = Bull_Shit.EXE ...... [core_uid] in proc/file/trash/personal/logs/::>
<::ACCESSING::> _____ GRANTED::>
....
It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. Why would it, right, when I sat on a woman as the life was squeezed out of her. I thought I had to force myself to not empathize but I didn't have to. While they killed her I kept her legs still and watched. I wanted to make it fast but they made her suffer longer - Asphyxiation. Not long we had a choice because, again, why not - the three of us thought it was the best choice in the entire world. Anything to get out of the every day struggle that was Industrial Seventeen's cycle where a citizen either died, went missing, or got shot in the streets. I slipped in and pretended to rave, watched as they got drunk, high and wasted on jungle juice and drugs. I hate the taste. The smell. The people there were ungrateful scum that had more then they needed. An author, an idealist, and a psycho.
What a joke.
It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. Why would it, right, when I sat on a woman as the life was squeezed out of her. I thought I had to force myself to not empathize but I didn't have to. While they killed her I kept her legs still and watched. I wanted to make it fast but they made her suffer longer - Asphyxiation. Not long we had a choice because, again, why not - the three of us thought it was the best choice in the entire world. Anything to get out of the every day struggle that was Industrial Seventeen's cycle where a citizen either died, went missing, or got shot in the streets. I slipped in and pretended to rave, watched as they got drunk, high and wasted on jungle juice and drugs. I hate the taste. The smell. The people there were ungrateful scum that had more then they needed. An author, an idealist, and a psycho.
What a joke.
....
I'm a part of the Union now. Lowest rung of the ladder but above the trash. I have a bed, sheets, pillows, and a ration that doesn't taste like spoiled kimchi. If I die, when I die, I'm going to find a way to make sure this datapad gets blown to smithereens. When I was a normal citizen I smiled, waved, and used my pretty face to watch. The bullshit I have to avoid because of a mistake my family made and I was content knowing they were all dead. They told me. He told me they were alive and he thought I was lying through my teeth when I said I didn't care. That I thought it was good what the Union did, what the Civil Protection had to do. I guess not everyone up top is as loyal to this new world order as I thought. Compared to the piece of filth I dirtied my hands for I guess it's not so different.
Maybe one day I'll have to amputate him.
I'm a part of the Union now. Lowest rung of the ladder but above the trash. I have a bed, sheets, pillows, and a ration that doesn't taste like spoiled kimchi. If I die, when I die, I'm going to find a way to make sure this datapad gets blown to smithereens. When I was a normal citizen I smiled, waved, and used my pretty face to watch. The bullshit I have to avoid because of a mistake my family made and I was content knowing they were all dead. They told me. He told me they were alive and he thought I was lying through my teeth when I said I didn't care. That I thought it was good what the Union did, what the Civil Protection had to do. I guess not everyone up top is as loyal to this new world order as I thought. Compared to the piece of filth I dirtied my hands for I guess it's not so different.
Maybe one day I'll have to amputate him.
...
Say what you want about the Union but I know what I can expect from this organization. Everyone interprets it in their own way but at the end of the day I know the reality of it all. Some of these guys are either too nice for their own good, goofy clowns, or idealistic zealots. I don't care about any of them. Still, Twenty-Four's not as wonderful as it used to be - I can tell by the quality of citizens being processed and sent through. On the streets, in the slums. It used to look like a gem to me compared to the brown I came from. Everything was clean, bright, colored and vibrant. The people seemed happy and that was all I needed to keep the fantasy going. Ever since Seventeen I've seen a reduction in it's quality, it's paint is chipped and the walls are starting to crumble.
But when the fuck did I care what other people thought. These assholes calling themselves revolutionaries, socialist jingoistic terrorists. They hide behind these fancy names they take from the books their educated brains once read. Magical Thinking. They blow up a couple of places, throw burning bottles at windows and shops, break and enter. They don't hurt anyone but themselves and the poor sops that get caught in the middle.
So I put the uniform on and I belong. Faceless. Just another functionary.
Say what you want about the Union but I know what I can expect from this organization. Everyone interprets it in their own way but at the end of the day I know the reality of it all. Some of these guys are either too nice for their own good, goofy clowns, or idealistic zealots. I don't care about any of them. Still, Twenty-Four's not as wonderful as it used to be - I can tell by the quality of citizens being processed and sent through. On the streets, in the slums. It used to look like a gem to me compared to the brown I came from. Everything was clean, bright, colored and vibrant. The people seemed happy and that was all I needed to keep the fantasy going. Ever since Seventeen I've seen a reduction in it's quality, it's paint is chipped and the walls are starting to crumble.
But when the fuck did I care what other people thought. These assholes calling themselves revolutionaries, socialist jingoistic terrorists. They hide behind these fancy names they take from the books their educated brains once read. Magical Thinking. They blow up a couple of places, throw burning bottles at windows and shops, break and enter. They don't hurt anyone but themselves and the poor sops that get caught in the middle.
So I put the uniform on and I belong. Faceless. Just another functionary.
...
First it was a week in mud, shit, and piss. You can't keep yourself clean out there when there's just a bucket and, at risk of getting your head shot off, taking a shower is the last thing on the forefront of your mind. The others were competent enough and I learned how to move, shoot, and take cover from it. My hands shook when the shells came; a twitch that turned into a waterfall of nerves as adrenaline came rushing in. The first few days ironed that out. Most of it was just waiting. I had a pistol for a trench-line on the other side of three hundred meters. They were crap shots but a line of dumb asses with submachine guns will eventually hit the broadside of a barn given enough bullets. That was the first time I got shot and it felt like having a hot knife against my chest.
I kept fighting because it was the only thing I knew I could do. Shoot back. The explosions and shelling were just afterthoughts. I didn't want to die but I was okay with dying. What sense did that make? When what's his face got blasted into smithereens I dragged him behind the rock and left him with the other faceless unit to deal with. Then I kept going because I didn't want to get stuck in the middle of no-man's land. That's what they called it in the Battle of the Somme, didn't they? No-Man's Land. I made it back with broken ribs and a new appreciation for bandages and painkillers.
...
Next it was an expedition south of the city, far far from the safety of Dispatch and the Nexus. No Airwatch patrols. No delegates to come and save our asses. Just the six of us. Six of us against who knew how many. I expected a village of maybe a dozen or so not the small army - but let's rewind.
VICE-7 was an annoying voice of humanity, constantly reminding me that there was more to life then just what I thought. I warned him it wouldn't be butterflies and honey dew. That his mindset wouldn't last long when time came - and I was right. I look at him now and I see the ghosts that haunt him. Stupid idiot.
JUDGE-3 was good for her amazing ability to counter-act the bad with some warped, crazy form of humor. Too much chuckling and I figured at the end of it all she would eventually crack under it all. It's the jokesters that have the most to lose. I'll find a way to thank you for what you did but I wished you hadn't needed to pay for it at all - but you dumb bitch we all shared the same foxhole together and the last thing you should do is blame me for something you chose to do yourself. I don't think a 'Thank you' would suffice you losing all your hard work. Maybe a terrorist can attack and I can save you from the shitstorm to make up for it instead.
TAP-9 you were the Rank Leader and I learned long ago in Thirty-Four that if you made it that far you were either competent, an ass kisser or just really lucky. I followed you into that hell hole with just a pistol. If I didn't have that repair kit, extra ammo, extra food, and didn't loot from that stash of medical supplies I would probably be dead. If we didn't have our idealistic medic we wouldn't have made it back - but I'm glad you at the very end at least didn't. We don't need incompetents that can't think outside the box. But maybe you were just scared to go back empty-handed, huh?
JURY-1, if it wasn't for your training I wouldn't have made it out. I lost my helmet but because I had to use my head we killed that sniper, and at the end of the day I'm glad we have someone decent as QRF lead. I'll make it up to that orange armband one day.
I don't remember who else was there with us but these idiots were the ones I went in with and, save one, came back with to experience a cell, interrogation, and punishment. Some of us got harsher verdicts but in the end no one competent died and that's all I care about. Getting shot isn't fun but it reminds me I'm still alive when I can feel the pain.
LINE-3 talks about PTSD but I don't think I have that. I know I hate pussies, incompetent leadership, and idealists though. I wish I could drink, but I hate the taste. And I tried smoking but, again, I hate the fucking taste. Can't make anything bad taste good.
First it was a week in mud, shit, and piss. You can't keep yourself clean out there when there's just a bucket and, at risk of getting your head shot off, taking a shower is the last thing on the forefront of your mind. The others were competent enough and I learned how to move, shoot, and take cover from it. My hands shook when the shells came; a twitch that turned into a waterfall of nerves as adrenaline came rushing in. The first few days ironed that out. Most of it was just waiting. I had a pistol for a trench-line on the other side of three hundred meters. They were crap shots but a line of dumb asses with submachine guns will eventually hit the broadside of a barn given enough bullets. That was the first time I got shot and it felt like having a hot knife against my chest.
I kept fighting because it was the only thing I knew I could do. Shoot back. The explosions and shelling were just afterthoughts. I didn't want to die but I was okay with dying. What sense did that make? When what's his face got blasted into smithereens I dragged him behind the rock and left him with the other faceless unit to deal with. Then I kept going because I didn't want to get stuck in the middle of no-man's land. That's what they called it in the Battle of the Somme, didn't they? No-Man's Land. I made it back with broken ribs and a new appreciation for bandages and painkillers.
...
Next it was an expedition south of the city, far far from the safety of Dispatch and the Nexus. No Airwatch patrols. No delegates to come and save our asses. Just the six of us. Six of us against who knew how many. I expected a village of maybe a dozen or so not the small army - but let's rewind.
VICE-7 was an annoying voice of humanity, constantly reminding me that there was more to life then just what I thought. I warned him it wouldn't be butterflies and honey dew. That his mindset wouldn't last long when time came - and I was right. I look at him now and I see the ghosts that haunt him. Stupid idiot.
JUDGE-3 was good for her amazing ability to counter-act the bad with some warped, crazy form of humor. Too much chuckling and I figured at the end of it all she would eventually crack under it all. It's the jokesters that have the most to lose. I'll find a way to thank you for what you did but I wished you hadn't needed to pay for it at all - but you dumb bitch we all shared the same foxhole together and the last thing you should do is blame me for something you chose to do yourself. I don't think a 'Thank you' would suffice you losing all your hard work. Maybe a terrorist can attack and I can save you from the shitstorm to make up for it instead.
TAP-9 you were the Rank Leader and I learned long ago in Thirty-Four that if you made it that far you were either competent, an ass kisser or just really lucky. I followed you into that hell hole with just a pistol. If I didn't have that repair kit, extra ammo, extra food, and didn't loot from that stash of medical supplies I would probably be dead. If we didn't have our idealistic medic we wouldn't have made it back - but I'm glad you at the very end at least didn't. We don't need incompetents that can't think outside the box. But maybe you were just scared to go back empty-handed, huh?
JURY-1, if it wasn't for your training I wouldn't have made it out. I lost my helmet but because I had to use my head we killed that sniper, and at the end of the day I'm glad we have someone decent as QRF lead. I'll make it up to that orange armband one day.
I don't remember who else was there with us but these idiots were the ones I went in with and, save one, came back with to experience a cell, interrogation, and punishment. Some of us got harsher verdicts but in the end no one competent died and that's all I care about. Getting shot isn't fun but it reminds me I'm still alive when I can feel the pain.
LINE-3 talks about PTSD but I don't think I have that. I know I hate pussies, incompetent leadership, and idealists though. I wish I could drink, but I hate the taste. And I tried smoking but, again, I hate the fucking taste. Can't make anything bad taste good.
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