843 Epidemic
Isuuaya Tactical
Caldari State
132
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Posted - 2013.09.09 23:29:00 -
[1] - Quote
Open this in a new tab, and then read on! My first time writing anything fictional since I was about 7. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4d_8yE1HC84
Tattered and torn, the bones of my brothers are broken
From mountains made of steel and iron do their bodies lie
Scattered like seed, a prayer for them will not be spoken
Let us hope the roots are gone, so they may finally die
I think my father read that to me once, before I began training... I never really knew what it's significance was, it seemed to me like another cliche ill-written war poem to install some sort of sympathy for soldiers. But of course, at the time I nodded to my father and pretended like I gave a damn. I mean, that was the LAST thing I wanted to hear, after all I was going to be a mercenary, the best the galaxy has seen!
You see merc-work is in my blood. My father, and his father before him, were soldiers for hire, vying to protect the peace in the name of the 843 Elites - a bloodline of warriors, that stemmed from an early human league, during something I only know as 'the shadow war' -. It was only natural that I followed suit, either that or I become some damned Pilot, floating around in a metal prison, mining asteroid belts... no, the merc' life was the way for me.
They told us our generation was lucky, that we were the pioneers of the greatest technology this universe had ever seen. They had banners and holo-graphics all around the cities. It was the tool that was going to end the war, the great device that would bring peace, consistency, control and order. They told us we would be immortal.
I write to this very day, under the cloak of 'immortality', in a bleeding tundra. I am locked in my armour, as I dare not look upon the skin I bare... it is not my own. My real body died a long time ago. Looking around me I do not see immortals, I see men prolonging death. This foretold immortality is faux, for all men die eventually, no amount of technology can stop death. I understand my fathers poem a little better now.
Mental anguish is the cancer of the battlefield, our bodies may be re-born but our minds will stay scarred, they will remain haunted and broken, and bent. But it ends today. Our MCC has just been terminated, and our contractor has fled, severing our link to be re-born, so that we could not return and find him for double crossing us. This is my final body. No more will I take existence for granted... three men stand with me. The rest shall either embrace our ideal or move aside, this curse of immortality must end.
Consider this my resignation.
Consider me a free man.
Consider this your warning.
I now begin my real training.
- Khorus |