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Also, the pictures below are from Minaus on deviantart.
CITY 30 - WASHINGTON D.C
Oddly enough, it was the closest thing I had to a home in these days. Lucky enough to be on the same continent; lucky further, with how long I have managed to last.
I have no disillusions about my duty, my service. The morality of it all escapes me.
City 30. Washington D.C. To this day, I remember the stale taste of the air, the touch of the wind from across the walls; an echo of the malignancy.
I miss those daysโ when my biggest concern was a citizen's pocket and a shortage of cigarettes.
As everything, time passes. I climb this bureacrautic ladder; my uniform changes color. I wear heavier gear, carry larger weaponry.
Assigned to ever-growing missions of danger. Infestationsโ old world partisans. Some survive, some don't. The details are lost to me.
I did, and some say I thrived. All I did was my job. This life would be easier as a recruit; but nothing ever stays the same.
Change can happen in an instant.
CITY 17
It's safer here.
That means it'd be boring.
Everyone here was, and is boring. I supposed I got used to it all.
It was here, that I reached the top of my career, the highest I'd ever go.
I was never on good terms with my colleagues, here, at least.
Saw me as too flippant, ignorant. To their benefit, I ignored what they said, so they couldn't be that wrong.
I raise my hand to tug at my collar; fucking hated these shirts, made me feel like a politican.
Jackboots thudded against metal as I paced towards an office, more paperwork I dread.
I stopped at the door, glancing at the handle as I hesistate, the everpresent, dark ambience of the Citadel droning onward.
I glance to my right, towards another office.
Life was better when my biggest concern was a shortage of cigarettes, and a citizen's pocket.
I turned, jackboots thudded against metal as I paced towards an office.
It's safer here.
That means it'd be boring.
Everyone here was, and is boring. I supposed I got used to it all.
It was here, that I reached the top of my career, the highest I'd ever go.
I was never on good terms with my colleagues, here, at least.
Saw me as too flippant, ignorant. To their benefit, I ignored what they said, so they couldn't be that wrong.
I raise my hand to tug at my collar; fucking hated these shirts, made me feel like a politican.
Jackboots thudded against metal as I paced towards an office, more paperwork I dread.
I stopped at the door, glancing at the handle as I hesistate, the everpresent, dark ambience of the Citadel droning onward.
I glance to my right, towards another office.
Life was better when my biggest concern was a shortage of cigarettes, and a citizen's pocket.
I turned, jackboots thudded against metal as I paced towards an office.
I was always endeared with souvenirs, modifications, antiques and all.
A habit dies hard, I suppose.
Simple thing, a classic, really.
After I took hold of it, I changed it.
It's a niche classic, but it's mine.
I ain't so childish as to name it; damn thing's a tool.
That don't mean I can't like it.
Fuckin' hell, ain't this a thing?
They gave me this for m' work.
I ain't gonna complain.
Ain't nothing wrong with stickin' a sight on it either.
They gave me this for m' work.
I ain't gonna complain.
Ain't nothing wrong with stickin' a sight on it either.
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