- Joined
- Nov 13, 2022
- Messages
- 564
- Thread Author
- #1
The Eastern Citadel, formerly the capitol of another Union of so-called 'Republics' yet now another former shadow of it self.
Plagued with the infestation of extra-terrestrial insects, cursed with the constant harassment of incursions for years upon end by those fighting for 'Liberation' and of the power to return to it's 'People'.
My most dreaded assignment, yet the most exhilarating at the same time and the home of my spiral.
My quietest posting, yet the one that was abandoned nonetheless, familiar as it was.
One of my former country's largest hubs, rivalling even the capitol. My heartland, my home.
All cast to the side when rot, disease and plague swept through as we packed the citizenry into train carts like cattle for relocation. Anyone too sick to walk well, they were disposed of, either by my hand or through cleansing flame.
My most beloved assignment, quiet, tranquil and steady-going, it was here I was able to fit in better than other places.
The only place where I had someone to lean upon and confide in, the only one of my bloodline that wouldn't toss me to the side without thought.
I miss it dearly and often times consider my reassignment here, yearning for those days of long past where I could lean upon your shoulder and you upon mine. Our bond remaining unshakable even with all this distance between us.
The so-called 'Jewel' of Sector-10, a title they hold onto dearly whilst looking nothing like the luster it claims to shine. Where I currently reside and oversee it's people.
Incompetent, sloth, complacency fills it's streets with it's people casted around the globe leaving and both receiving people in their exodus only to be cast back to their home after expulsion from the Eastern Lands. Unsurprising.
I hate it here, it is here where my duty and loyalty has been stretched thin and fine, yet I stand unwavering and unbroken still whilst my brothers and sisters in arms are cut down by those same swine who stole you from me.
Or trophies, dependent on who you asked.
One of my former country's largest hubs, rivalling even the capitol. My heartland, my home.
All cast to the side when rot, disease and plague swept through as we packed the citizenry into train carts like cattle for relocation. Anyone too sick to walk well, they were disposed of, either by my hand or through cleansing flame.
My most beloved assignment, quiet, tranquil and steady-going, it was here I was able to fit in better than other places.
The only place where I had someone to lean upon and confide in, the only one of my bloodline that wouldn't toss me to the side without thought.
I miss it dearly and often times consider my reassignment here, yearning for those days of long past where I could lean upon your shoulder and you upon mine. Our bond remaining unshakable even with all this distance between us.
The so-called 'Jewel' of Sector-10, a title they hold onto dearly whilst looking nothing like the luster it claims to shine. Where I currently reside and oversee it's people.
Incompetent, sloth, complacency fills it's streets with it's people casted around the globe leaving and both receiving people in their exodus only to be cast back to their home after expulsion from the Eastern Lands. Unsurprising.
I hate it here, it is here where my duty and loyalty has been stretched thin and fine, yet I stand unwavering and unbroken still whilst my brothers and sisters in arms are cut down by those same swine who stole you from me.
Or trophies, dependent on who you asked.
"< :: You got a staring problem? No? Then fuck off back on patrol. :: >"
<::BASIC INFORMATION::> NAME: [REDACTED] ALIAS: N/A NICKNAMES: 'Nol Tri' INTENTION: 2 CID: [REDACTED] GENDER: Female AGE: 46 DATE OF BIRTH: 5/05/1975 CURRENT LOCATION: City-24 EDUCATION: Belarusian State Medical University [DROPPED OUT] OCCUPATION: IN SERVICE PREVIOUS OCCUPATION: Militsiya of the Republic of Belarus PREVIOUS LOCATIONS: City-3, City-14, City-10 | <:: PHYSICAL INFORMATION ::> PHYSICAL STATE: SEVERELY WOUNDED HEIGHT: 6'2 EYES: Amber HAIR: Onyx Black ETHNICITY: Caucasian NOTABLE CLOTHING: UNKNOWN NOTABLE FEATURES: Scarring upon left arm from pre-ascension tattoo removal, several scars from prior injury, stitched left cheek. |
<:: PSYCHOLOGICAL STATE ::> MENTAL STATE: COHESIVE MENTAL DISABILITIES: N/A KEY PERSONAL TRAITS: Stern, Abrasive, Impulsive, Resentful INTERESTS: Reading, Biology, Anatomical Studies DISLIKES: 'Loud-Mouthed' People, Arrogance, Incompetence, Snakes LANGUAGES: English, Russian, Belarusian, Polish | <:: FAMILY COHESION ::> <:: COHESIVE ::> MOTHER: Grażyna [REDACTED] / COHESIVE FATHER: Yauheni [REDACTED] / COHESIVE SIBLING: C14.i2.UNION-06 / COHESIVE SIBLING: Tatsiana [REDACTED] / COHESIVE DAUGHTER: Zoya [REDACTED] / DECEASED |
C3.i5.PATROL-03 Incident Report: 13/06/2020
< :: 4 23 23 8 17 23 12 18 17 9 12 15 8 12 22 15 12 16 12 23 8 7 23 18 12 17 23 8 17 23 12 18 17 23 26 18 4 17 7 4 5 18 25 8 :: >
< :: 11 23 23 19 22 7 18 6 22 10 18 18 10 15 8 6 18 16 7 18 6 24 16 8 17 23 7 3 10 5 25 18 21 26 16 10 17 17 2 12 21 1 3 7 11 7 11 22 11 14 25 16 16 26 3 18 3 17 4 17 20 10 26 8 7 12 23 23 4 5 23 :: >
CHARACTER RELATIONS:
"< :: USELESS, ALL OF THEM. THEY'LL RENDER BEFORE THEY SEE THE ERRORS OF THEIR WAYS. :: >"
Competent - Functionable - Handy - Usable - Dependable - Faulty - Irritable - Wasteful - Cannon-Fodder - Replaceable
The German Hero:
You were an i3, now an i1. Impressive, however it's too early to tell, you flip flop between relaxed to stuck up for the mere chance at getting a credit. We'll see how you fit in the grand scheme of things.
You have fallen. Cut down alongside the sixteen who fell during our darkest moment. Do know this, that the ones who cut you down will suffer the consequences, in full.
The Vertically Challenged Tap-Out:
Somehow you got up there and you've proven yourself to be as narcissistic as you are practically delusional, then again those who live in glass house's should not throw stones, lest they want a boulder sent in their direction. Not to mention you got stamped, how embarrassing.
You try to act as my friend, as if you can shrug off the threat you made to my family as well as your threat of ripping my choice of leaving my duty behind me. Do not try these charlatan acts with me for I can see through you like glass. Egotistical, nepotistic and prideful. The hallmarks of a person who were given everything on a silver platter with their mother never saying no.
Good riddance to you. Little more than a petulant and insolent mentally inept given an inkling of power. If your actions had been done anywhere than this mountainous Genevan shithole, they'd have shot you twice over already and had your carcass turned into biopaste. Such as shame you couldn't save your little puppeteer from having her innards splayed across the floor of the muck ridden sewers.
The Vindictive Victor:
You'd be leashed and collared like a loyal lap-dog, on all fours if you had any dignity left to throw away. Stamped? Of course you were, an embarrassment to the precinct and yourself. Then again, perhaps Mother and Father didn't teach you well enough at home on your manners, perhaps you need reminding on why you can't be left alone.
Good riddance.
The Disgraced Administrator:
First you were on top, now? You're way at the bottom. A fall which was, a disaster to say the very least. However, I will keep my eye on you. You owe me for getting you an agreeable report with the Ministry, a debt I do not expect to be fulfilled. An agreement I am content with.
Given a shotgun in one hand and a medical pouch in the other. Pressed into service as if you were common scum. Yet your tongue avoided yourself the collar like the rest of the dregs they call for service. Stationed with me out in that shithole of a camp you fought. This is not your first time, no. I can tell. I'll see how you are in the city whenever we meet again.
Hazmat suit, detector and cleanup equipment. Your assignment following your discharge. All the while complaining with the baggage attached. I'd say you should stop complaining but, I have a feeling you've earned the right to complain. Whilst I will keep my eye on you and watch your inevitable rise again to status, I will be there to nudge you along the way if needed.
The Unpredictable Unionist:
One of our so-called leaders, more so a spoilt child who was given everything by their dearest parents whilst never being told no. You wished for my death and I spat in the face of your wishes. It'll only be a matter of time for you.
I spat on your wishes when I was spared and I have spat on your wishes of my image being fractured yet again. My reinstatement is my triumph in our little spat and I hope it's the last of you I see in such a light.
Arrogance, it reeks from you. You try to accuse me of breaking the one rule we're told when all of us take our vows of service and duty. All the whilst dismissing anyone else around who doesn't drop to their knees and lick the very grime and muck from your boots. Perhaps it would be better if your biosignal suddenly halted, for all our sakes.
Indecisive, arrogant and too full of yourself. That's what you were, you never could once bring yourself to giving thanks to the very person who kept you from the Reaper's embrace, yet it came for you all the same. Alas, you're dead too and more than likely for the better of this precinct, despite it's stench of incompetence lingering around like a brat begging their mother for a toy.
The Defamatory Defendant:
Same with you, a leader on paper, but a person who still lacks the traits a leader requires, narcissistic, selfish and unwilling to listen to your subordinates. Another one of the masks who wanted me dead, with expectations I spat on.
The other one promoted, transhuman in all but appearance and equipment like her. Yet you seem to have forgotten attempting to break me, sending in that freak to have his way with me in that chair. Perhaps it was the replacement, perhaps you've elected to forget. Or perhaps you just don't care, because I don't.
Perhaps my initial appraisal of you was wrong. Although, I still don't care much for your praise and shine. You do you job and stay out of my way unless you need to call for me and I do the same. Keep your distance, it's better for both of us that way.
The Jagged Juror:
My hands will squeeze the very life force from you, my fingers will embed themselves into your eye-sockets as you scream and plead for me to stop. You tried to break me in that chair and you failed. You however? You're more fragile than you think and I'll gladly allow the masses to watch as you break under my grip.
The Tapped Torturer:
You're the one they call in when they refuse to let loose their secrets. Knife in hand and conscience forced to turn a blind eye. They break under your duress as we go in and round up more for your blade. However, if anything you latch onto those above you seeking attention. Similar to my regard but different from my ordeal, you seek glory and pride as if it's all just a very large game to you, breaking a person down and letting them wallow in the remains you leave. Similar, yet different.
Egotistical, nepotistic, incompetent and insolent. A child who's parents lacked the common goodness in themselves to instill discipline at a young age either with an open hand or the crack of a belt across the arm, your mother probably regretted wasting the very energy she spent on bringing you into this world. All through your service, cozied up close with the Ministry, whispering in their ears for favor and credit, all the whilst attempting to have those who stood in your way killed.
Albeit, when I found out that your puppet who's backside you firmly had your hand placed within wasn't around to save you from those same feral sub-human dregs who call themselves liberators, it lightened my day.
The Quick-Witted Sixer:
One of the more older units in the district, yet proven to both be competent and insubordinate at times. Although, I do recall having to save you from a blunder with a parasite once, so that was... Something. Although, you were there when that... Creature nearly killed me and you elected to remain and observe. Admirable.
The Valorous Victor:
A right hand to our Leaders, yet more competent than a majority of our leadership. Ego, vanity, selfishness. Something that doesn't linger around your character, unlike others. You managed to keep your head, something that many others fail to do, falling into the net of nepotism and self-centeredness. We'll see how long that lasts.
You have fallen, right next to me. You died because of the incompetence this place reeks of. Yet... It could've been avoided, if I had been quicker. I'm sorry, this shouldn't have happened.
The Valiant Victor:
Another replacement, yet one that has already had their past rewritten due to their abrasive tone, although you have your moments. I tended to your wounds as if you were any other unit, but you're adamant on proving yourself, like me. I'll be watching you.
My emotions clash when I interact with you. I see a unit who attempts to prove themselves, attempting to put their past fuckups behind them yet still falling into the same pitfalls. My expectations as your superior take me over, yet I feel naught but sympathy for your situation. Your home, flattened whilst being forcefully removed from the land you called your own. I will try to help you, when you return. A woman of your station shouldn't be punished like so.
The Germanic Lancer:
With us by our side during the most unfathomable circumstances. Industrial-Twenty Four, The Alsace Wound and on the general beat. You share the same hatred and vile emotions to our so called 'Leytenants'. Yet you've proven yourself unlike them. For they would prefer to remain within the safe confines of the city, we embarked out. Getting our hands dirty with blood, grime and whatever else we found ourselves knee deep in. As far as I'm concerned, you should be the one who should carry such a title.
The Vice Locked Grip:
Your claims of omnipotence and calculation are not worth wasting your time on me. You refusal to acknowledge a security risk in our ranks, only to turn around and give them even more power wrote you off when I first met you proper. You view me as disposable and comparable to the block-fodder that lazes around our streets.
How misguided you are. You will see in time, even if you refuse to be enlightened.
You were an i3, now an i1. Impressive, however it's too early to tell, you flip flop between relaxed to stuck up for the mere chance at getting a credit. We'll see how you fit in the grand scheme of things.
You have fallen. Cut down alongside the sixteen who fell during our darkest moment. Do know this, that the ones who cut you down will suffer the consequences, in full.
The Vertically Challenged Tap-Out:
Somehow you got up there and you've proven yourself to be as narcissistic as you are practically delusional, then again those who live in glass house's should not throw stones, lest they want a boulder sent in their direction. Not to mention you got stamped, how embarrassing.
You try to act as my friend, as if you can shrug off the threat you made to my family as well as your threat of ripping my choice of leaving my duty behind me. Do not try these charlatan acts with me for I can see through you like glass. Egotistical, nepotistic and prideful. The hallmarks of a person who were given everything on a silver platter with their mother never saying no.
Good riddance to you. Little more than a petulant and insolent mentally inept given an inkling of power. If your actions had been done anywhere than this mountainous Genevan shithole, they'd have shot you twice over already and had your carcass turned into biopaste. Such as shame you couldn't save your little puppeteer from having her innards splayed across the floor of the muck ridden sewers.
The Vindictive Victor:
Good riddance.
The Disgraced Administrator:
First you were on top, now? You're way at the bottom. A fall which was, a disaster to say the very least. However, I will keep my eye on you. You owe me for getting you an agreeable report with the Ministry, a debt I do not expect to be fulfilled. An agreement I am content with.
Given a shotgun in one hand and a medical pouch in the other. Pressed into service as if you were common scum. Yet your tongue avoided yourself the collar like the rest of the dregs they call for service. Stationed with me out in that shithole of a camp you fought. This is not your first time, no. I can tell. I'll see how you are in the city whenever we meet again.
Hazmat suit, detector and cleanup equipment. Your assignment following your discharge. All the while complaining with the baggage attached. I'd say you should stop complaining but, I have a feeling you've earned the right to complain. Whilst I will keep my eye on you and watch your inevitable rise again to status, I will be there to nudge you along the way if needed.
The Unpredictable Unionist:
One of our so-called leaders, more so a spoilt child who was given everything by their dearest parents whilst never being told no. You wished for my death and I spat in the face of your wishes. It'll only be a matter of time for you.
I spat on your wishes when I was spared and I have spat on your wishes of my image being fractured yet again. My reinstatement is my triumph in our little spat and I hope it's the last of you I see in such a light.
Arrogance, it reeks from you. You try to accuse me of breaking the one rule we're told when all of us take our vows of service and duty. All the whilst dismissing anyone else around who doesn't drop to their knees and lick the very grime and muck from your boots. Perhaps it would be better if your biosignal suddenly halted, for all our sakes.
Indecisive, arrogant and too full of yourself. That's what you were, you never could once bring yourself to giving thanks to the very person who kept you from the Reaper's embrace, yet it came for you all the same. Alas, you're dead too and more than likely for the better of this precinct, despite it's stench of incompetence lingering around like a brat begging their mother for a toy.
The Defamatory Defendant:
Same with you, a leader on paper, but a person who still lacks the traits a leader requires, narcissistic, selfish and unwilling to listen to your subordinates. Another one of the masks who wanted me dead, with expectations I spat on.
The other one promoted, transhuman in all but appearance and equipment like her. Yet you seem to have forgotten attempting to break me, sending in that freak to have his way with me in that chair. Perhaps it was the replacement, perhaps you've elected to forget. Or perhaps you just don't care, because I don't.
Perhaps my initial appraisal of you was wrong. Although, I still don't care much for your praise and shine. You do you job and stay out of my way unless you need to call for me and I do the same. Keep your distance, it's better for both of us that way.
The Jagged Juror:
My hands will squeeze the very life force from you, my fingers will embed themselves into your eye-sockets as you scream and plead for me to stop. You tried to break me in that chair and you failed. You however? You're more fragile than you think and I'll gladly allow the masses to watch as you break under my grip.
The Tapped Torturer:
You're the one they call in when they refuse to let loose their secrets. Knife in hand and conscience forced to turn a blind eye. They break under your duress as we go in and round up more for your blade. However, if anything you latch onto those above you seeking attention. Similar to my regard but different from my ordeal, you seek glory and pride as if it's all just a very large game to you, breaking a person down and letting them wallow in the remains you leave. Similar, yet different.
Egotistical, nepotistic, incompetent and insolent. A child who's parents lacked the common goodness in themselves to instill discipline at a young age either with an open hand or the crack of a belt across the arm, your mother probably regretted wasting the very energy she spent on bringing you into this world. All through your service, cozied up close with the Ministry, whispering in their ears for favor and credit, all the whilst attempting to have those who stood in your way killed.
Albeit, when I found out that your puppet who's backside you firmly had your hand placed within wasn't around to save you from those same feral sub-human dregs who call themselves liberators, it lightened my day.
The Quick-Witted Sixer:
One of the more older units in the district, yet proven to both be competent and insubordinate at times. Although, I do recall having to save you from a blunder with a parasite once, so that was... Something. Although, you were there when that... Creature nearly killed me and you elected to remain and observe. Admirable.
The Valorous Victor:
A right hand to our Leaders, yet more competent than a majority of our leadership. Ego, vanity, selfishness. Something that doesn't linger around your character, unlike others. You managed to keep your head, something that many others fail to do, falling into the net of nepotism and self-centeredness. We'll see how long that lasts.
You have fallen, right next to me. You died because of the incompetence this place reeks of. Yet... It could've been avoided, if I had been quicker. I'm sorry, this shouldn't have happened.
The Valiant Victor:
Another replacement, yet one that has already had their past rewritten due to their abrasive tone, although you have your moments. I tended to your wounds as if you were any other unit, but you're adamant on proving yourself, like me. I'll be watching you.
My emotions clash when I interact with you. I see a unit who attempts to prove themselves, attempting to put their past fuckups behind them yet still falling into the same pitfalls. My expectations as your superior take me over, yet I feel naught but sympathy for your situation. Your home, flattened whilst being forcefully removed from the land you called your own. I will try to help you, when you return. A woman of your station shouldn't be punished like so.
The Germanic Lancer:
With us by our side during the most unfathomable circumstances. Industrial-Twenty Four, The Alsace Wound and on the general beat. You share the same hatred and vile emotions to our so called 'Leytenants'. Yet you've proven yourself unlike them. For they would prefer to remain within the safe confines of the city, we embarked out. Getting our hands dirty with blood, grime and whatever else we found ourselves knee deep in. As far as I'm concerned, you should be the one who should carry such a title.
The Vice Locked Grip:
Your claims of omnipotence and calculation are not worth wasting your time on me. You refusal to acknowledge a security risk in our ranks, only to turn around and give them even more power wrote you off when I first met you proper. You view me as disposable and comparable to the block-fodder that lazes around our streets.
How misguided you are. You will see in time, even if you refuse to be enlightened.
The Pathetic Patriarch:
Arrogance, abuse, alcoholism and wraith was all you had on offer. Vindictive whenever I was present and scornful when not. You envisioned me yet another cog in the industrial lungs of our former 'Republic' and mocked me when I refused your designs. Your adamancy on my failure persists after all this time alongside the clutches of the drink upon you. Hateful in everyway. Yet another parasite upon our civil society.
The Malevolent Matriarch:
Scorn, resentment and abhorrence was all you wrought. Like the Father you hated me for my sheer existence, never good enough, never perfect nor the one you wanted. All the praise, glee and joy presented to my lookalike on silver platters whenever with her and me? The days anger and despair on full blast for me to absorb. I look forward to our next interaction, so that I may see what I have risen above. Choke on your 'benefits' while you can, any sane person would've cut you off years ago.
Tatsiana Tyszkiewicz:
Doppelganger, body-double, sister and egotistical. The one favored the most out of us three with myself at the very bottom of our familiar hierarchy. A socialite in your hey-day, a politician in the present within a sea of hyenas, jackals and snakes. Yet you fit right into the mix as if it was second nature, responsible for my untimely career change and the sole reason for my dream stolen from me, responsible in full for my loyalty and duty to protection of our society. If I could I'd have ripped you out of my life the moment I had signed the letter to the university. Yet you persist in my shadow, looming over me at every turn.
You are little more than a lyme-ridden tick. Suckling on whatever pleasure you can gain out of my suffering. I contact you after two decades as a gesture of goodwill to rebuilt what bridges were burnt. Only for you to spit in my face and revel in my torment. Ruining my chances of my dream and the relationship I had formed wasn't enough for you, oh no. You had to have more, you stole the very work I toiled away on, years of my life wasted just so you could live the very dream I wanted.
Oh but how you fail to acknowledge the power balance my dear Tatsiana. You think I'm some grudge fueled power-seeker, that I can't extend an olive branch outside of situations when it can benefit me. Oh how deluded you are dear sister. This is my world, you are merely one of it's many side-characters existing in it and I shall be the one who dictates how your story ends.
The Dutiful Bond:
Steadfast, gallant and my savior. You stood up to those who would've kept me down, breaking from our shattered household to greener pastures in which we both flourished. We triumphed over those who would've kept us broken and complicit. We enlisted together, beginning our service in full as green as can be. Now, nigh thirty years later we are separated. My faults nearly condemning you to your future alone and desolate with only my corrections and service saving you. I miss you everyday, and I wish to be together again. I look forward to our next correspondence.
Arrogance, abuse, alcoholism and wraith was all you had on offer. Vindictive whenever I was present and scornful when not. You envisioned me yet another cog in the industrial lungs of our former 'Republic' and mocked me when I refused your designs. Your adamancy on my failure persists after all this time alongside the clutches of the drink upon you. Hateful in everyway. Yet another parasite upon our civil society.
The Malevolent Matriarch:
Scorn, resentment and abhorrence was all you wrought. Like the Father you hated me for my sheer existence, never good enough, never perfect nor the one you wanted. All the praise, glee and joy presented to my lookalike on silver platters whenever with her and me? The days anger and despair on full blast for me to absorb. I look forward to our next interaction, so that I may see what I have risen above. Choke on your 'benefits' while you can, any sane person would've cut you off years ago.
Tatsiana Tyszkiewicz:
Doppelganger, body-double, sister and egotistical. The one favored the most out of us three with myself at the very bottom of our familiar hierarchy. A socialite in your hey-day, a politician in the present within a sea of hyenas, jackals and snakes. Yet you fit right into the mix as if it was second nature, responsible for my untimely career change and the sole reason for my dream stolen from me, responsible in full for my loyalty and duty to protection of our society. If I could I'd have ripped you out of my life the moment I had signed the letter to the university. Yet you persist in my shadow, looming over me at every turn.
You are little more than a lyme-ridden tick. Suckling on whatever pleasure you can gain out of my suffering. I contact you after two decades as a gesture of goodwill to rebuilt what bridges were burnt. Only for you to spit in my face and revel in my torment. Ruining my chances of my dream and the relationship I had formed wasn't enough for you, oh no. You had to have more, you stole the very work I toiled away on, years of my life wasted just so you could live the very dream I wanted.
Oh but how you fail to acknowledge the power balance my dear Tatsiana. You think I'm some grudge fueled power-seeker, that I can't extend an olive branch outside of situations when it can benefit me. Oh how deluded you are dear sister. This is my world, you are merely one of it's many side-characters existing in it and I shall be the one who dictates how your story ends.
The Dutiful Bond:
Steadfast, gallant and my savior. You stood up to those who would've kept me down, breaking from our shattered household to greener pastures in which we both flourished. We triumphed over those who would've kept us broken and complicit. We enlisted together, beginning our service in full as green as can be. Now, nigh thirty years later we are separated. My faults nearly condemning you to your future alone and desolate with only my corrections and service saving you. I miss you everyday, and I wish to be together again. I look forward to our next correspondence.
The Lost Soul:
My greatest triumph, and my greatest failure. I bought you into this world with countless dreams and plans to which you gleefully accepted alongside my presence. Your hair the same color of onyx as mine with your eyes the same emerald as your grandfather. You haunt my dreams every night and I miss you, I long for our company together again but I know that I cannot have it.
I toiled to bring you back to me, the mistake that led me down this path of self-hatred, nihilism and resentment. The things I did, unfathomable to some yet all the regular to me and those who swore to protect, executions, torture both on the physical and mental fronts as well as ripping the very humanity from our kind, repurposing them into horrors that should only have been reserved for those who were there that day. All of that in-between the constant harassment of our so called 'Liberators', sworn to free us from our chains and to give the worker their power like in past. Fools, all of them.
It was not until that fateful day, I realized the gravity of my error. They took you. They saw that armband and wrote you off as irredeemable. I was part of those tasked with bringing you back, they tried to save themselves with pitiless gestures, only to be cut down by the 'pinnacle' of humanity, yet it was too late. I held you in my arms one last time but it was too late, you looked at me one last time before fading from this world.
They tried to tell me what I was experiencing was normal, they offered to fix me as well as to deliver me from my agony. All I had to exchange was my memory of you. I refused so I was sent away, viewed as a liability by those around me, second glances, whispered conversations and half truths given to me.
My greatest triumph, and my greatest failure. I bought you into this world with countless dreams and plans to which you gleefully accepted alongside my presence. Your hair the same color of onyx as mine with your eyes the same emerald as your grandfather. You haunt my dreams every night and I miss you, I long for our company together again but I know that I cannot have it.
I toiled to bring you back to me, the mistake that led me down this path of self-hatred, nihilism and resentment. The things I did, unfathomable to some yet all the regular to me and those who swore to protect, executions, torture both on the physical and mental fronts as well as ripping the very humanity from our kind, repurposing them into horrors that should only have been reserved for those who were there that day. All of that in-between the constant harassment of our so called 'Liberators', sworn to free us from our chains and to give the worker their power like in past. Fools, all of them.
It was not until that fateful day, I realized the gravity of my error. They took you. They saw that armband and wrote you off as irredeemable. I was part of those tasked with bringing you back, they tried to save themselves with pitiless gestures, only to be cut down by the 'pinnacle' of humanity, yet it was too late. I held you in my arms one last time but it was too late, you looked at me one last time before fading from this world.
They tried to tell me what I was experiencing was normal, they offered to fix me as well as to deliver me from my agony. All I had to exchange was my memory of you. I refused so I was sent away, viewed as a liability by those around me, second glances, whispered conversations and half truths given to me.
Camélia Valois:
Hatred, something I carry in my heart with each waking step I take. Hatred for this city, it's people, it's administration and the garrison. Something I began to carry when she was ripped from me those years ago. Initially it began with those who attempted to overthrow our so-called 'Benefactors' in City-3, only festering and wrapping it's stranglehold on me to develop into a hatred for every person who dared to breathe in my presence.
You, were the exception. Out of the countless I've seen cut down, both by my hands or others, you were the only one who stuck out to me. Innocent, naïve, oblivious. Oblivious to what you'd signed yourself up to and innocent to what you'd become, I watched you however, your bond that you formed with 399, your day to day routine and interactions with the populace, as well as your darkest moment. For you were stained with the mark of incompetence, reserved only for those who were spared from execution, yet resigned to indentured servitude until you were dead. I however intervened.
My intervention spared you from your toil, for I spoke on your behalf and had that very stain expunged from your record, out of my own pocket and out of respect for you. You had made a mistake, not compromised other units under your watch, yet those above us had you marked all the same and my reward? You drifted closer to me and repaid the favor. You came to me in my own darkest moment where I contemplated taking matters into my own hands if I was to bare the same mark, something you wrote off as running away, impulsive I am, a fool I am not. The favors only increased after your so called 'enlightenment', for you let me see the person who I cared for most who was taken from me even if it was simple illusion and drugs.
And eventually? You confessed your true feelings for me, you confessed that I made you feel complete, that I had made you feel a way that you hadn't felt ever since 399 had been cut down by those troglodytes who scurry around like common vermin in the slums. It only blossomed further, rewarding me with affectionate moments, rewards and... Other... Gestures, to put it lightly. Yet you struggled to ask me on how I felt through it all, you assumed that I merely went along with it, anxious that I was simply feigning affection.
I shall tell you this, Camélia Valois.
You are the only thing on my mind. I drop everything when you fall in combat, I dedicate my time ensuring that you don't fade from this world. Rebinding the flesh and mending what damage is caused, only for you to do the same. I have made my feelings clear for you in a way greater than telling you them, for I struggle to say the words. But those very same feelings you hold for me, I hold the same for you.
And I thank you for making me feel something outside of pure guilt ridden hatred.
Hatred, something I carry in my heart with each waking step I take. Hatred for this city, it's people, it's administration and the garrison. Something I began to carry when she was ripped from me those years ago. Initially it began with those who attempted to overthrow our so-called 'Benefactors' in City-3, only festering and wrapping it's stranglehold on me to develop into a hatred for every person who dared to breathe in my presence.
You, were the exception. Out of the countless I've seen cut down, both by my hands or others, you were the only one who stuck out to me. Innocent, naïve, oblivious. Oblivious to what you'd signed yourself up to and innocent to what you'd become, I watched you however, your bond that you formed with 399, your day to day routine and interactions with the populace, as well as your darkest moment. For you were stained with the mark of incompetence, reserved only for those who were spared from execution, yet resigned to indentured servitude until you were dead. I however intervened.
My intervention spared you from your toil, for I spoke on your behalf and had that very stain expunged from your record, out of my own pocket and out of respect for you. You had made a mistake, not compromised other units under your watch, yet those above us had you marked all the same and my reward? You drifted closer to me and repaid the favor. You came to me in my own darkest moment where I contemplated taking matters into my own hands if I was to bare the same mark, something you wrote off as running away, impulsive I am, a fool I am not. The favors only increased after your so called 'enlightenment', for you let me see the person who I cared for most who was taken from me even if it was simple illusion and drugs.
And eventually? You confessed your true feelings for me, you confessed that I made you feel complete, that I had made you feel a way that you hadn't felt ever since 399 had been cut down by those troglodytes who scurry around like common vermin in the slums. It only blossomed further, rewarding me with affectionate moments, rewards and... Other... Gestures, to put it lightly. Yet you struggled to ask me on how I felt through it all, you assumed that I merely went along with it, anxious that I was simply feigning affection.
I shall tell you this, Camélia Valois.
You are the only thing on my mind. I drop everything when you fall in combat, I dedicate my time ensuring that you don't fade from this world. Rebinding the flesh and mending what damage is caused, only for you to do the same. I have made my feelings clear for you in a way greater than telling you them, for I struggle to say the words. But those very same feelings you hold for me, I hold the same for you.
And I thank you for making me feel something outside of pure guilt ridden hatred.
Nadzeya Tyszkiewicz:
I look at myself in the mirror and see a husk occupying another faceless suit. Another cog in the machine that intends to ascend us to another realm.
Atrocities some would call it, wicked they would whisper behind my back. Traitor, murmured by both those in their decrepit squalor and those who observed me stripped of my uniform. People try to comfort me and break past the façade I place upon myself for each waking hour I walk, only one out of the dozens of masks who have broken through and has seen me for what I truly am.
And I laugh at those who attempt to profit on my suffering and downfall who've been cut down like the swine they are.
The Russian incompetent, cut down by those very same dregs she spent her time beating down, unable to be saved by her puppet, a unit stained with the mark of incompetence, whom had a non-proverbial collar and leash attached, merely directed like a blunt instrument whenever an issue needed to be hammered away, an inane and incompetent who would've stamped me for standing my ground, only to be relocated out of this Swiss shithole to be another City's issue. And the arrogance ridden child in an oversized uniform, one of the very leaders who would've had me executed for my guile and arrogance, executed and discarded without second thought.
All of them, they wanted my head one way or another with the scum in the slums and sewers taking their chances whenever they could, only to be hunted down and eradicated like the afterthoughts and pests they truly are. Leeches, all of them.
I laugh at them all, for they have all tried to have my life either cut short or my service irreparably tarnished with the mark of incompetence, only to receive their own comeuppances.
I will be the one to outlast this path I walk. Be it either with our so called 'Benefactors' assistance, or their inevitable capitulation by both Anti-Citizen and Xeno alike. Then again, if that day comes. I will ensure that myself and the one I've formed my bond with is out of harms way, one way or another.
I look at myself in the mirror and see a husk occupying another faceless suit. Another cog in the machine that intends to ascend us to another realm.
Atrocities some would call it, wicked they would whisper behind my back. Traitor, murmured by both those in their decrepit squalor and those who observed me stripped of my uniform. People try to comfort me and break past the façade I place upon myself for each waking hour I walk, only one out of the dozens of masks who have broken through and has seen me for what I truly am.
And I laugh at those who attempt to profit on my suffering and downfall who've been cut down like the swine they are.
The Russian incompetent, cut down by those very same dregs she spent her time beating down, unable to be saved by her puppet, a unit stained with the mark of incompetence, whom had a non-proverbial collar and leash attached, merely directed like a blunt instrument whenever an issue needed to be hammered away, an inane and incompetent who would've stamped me for standing my ground, only to be relocated out of this Swiss shithole to be another City's issue. And the arrogance ridden child in an oversized uniform, one of the very leaders who would've had me executed for my guile and arrogance, executed and discarded without second thought.
All of them, they wanted my head one way or another with the scum in the slums and sewers taking their chances whenever they could, only to be hunted down and eradicated like the afterthoughts and pests they truly are. Leeches, all of them.
I laugh at them all, for they have all tried to have my life either cut short or my service irreparably tarnished with the mark of incompetence, only to receive their own comeuppances.
I will be the one to outlast this path I walk. Be it either with our so called 'Benefactors' assistance, or their inevitable capitulation by both Anti-Citizen and Xeno alike. Then again, if that day comes. I will ensure that myself and the one I've formed my bond with is out of harms way, one way or another.
Last edited:
