Thursday, February 1st, 2018

The Marine

Thursday, February 1st, 2018 18:40
During the 17th century of the New Era, our country began drafting the youth into the military again. Most people couldn't understand why, even though it was pretty obvious if you looked at our current relations with other nations.

I wasn't particularly young, but they decided to draft me anyway - apparently they were short on people to steal away for their inscrutable purposes. When my term was up, though, I stayed, though, unlike the rest of my motley crew. Sometimes I wish I'd just packed my bags and left with them, but that thought is always followed with that, perhaps, this is just where I belong.

Where I belong and where I want to be could perhaps be different places entirely, but as fate has it, I'm going to be in the former, no matter what. Oh well, I sigh. Where in the world are we going?

The scientist responds, Not in the world. Out of it. While your deploy location is still technically — I cut him off. I don't give a damn. Just tell me where it is.

The egghead pauses for a minute. While he doesn't look disturbed by the question, he seems to not know how to phrase the answer. Hell. That's where you're going.

Somehow, a scoff escapes me, a disparaging chuckle – I completely believe him. He deliberates for a moment thinking I'd react, and asks, That's it? No questions? That would be quite honestly great, as we haven't much time.

Yeah. I start laughing, quietly. I'm goin' to Hell.

I've seen weirder things. Papa Billy always told me weird stories from his childhood, and I still believe them, to be honest. Hell really wouldn't be much stranger.

Can't help it. No use in fighting it. Maybe I'll get to shoot demons.

My laughter subsides, and I return my attention to the labcoated lunatic. No complaints here.

The scientist looks at me like I've grown a second head and walks back out the door, writing something on his clipboard all the while.

I sit back on the couch and close my eyes, waiting for the next interview. The sun shines out the window above me, and I fall asleep for a little while.

The Mage

Thursday, February 1st, 2018 18:44
I try to think to myself for a moment. I look back at the door, then at the back of this transport ship. I am not allotted time to consider. I stand up.

The robotic voice from earlier calls out, Destination arrival completed. Exit the vehicle and proceed with orders. I recall that this is the thirty-seventh time I've heard those words.

I'm so tired that I feel like weeping, passing out on the floor of the transport. I can't, though. The software patcher will halt on any change in my OS state. Not only will I never be free, but I will likely die a painful and unforgivable death as my cybernetics fail to load the proper executables and force me into a state of permanent insanity. I must keep going.

The information streams through my mind, all the cerebral intake forcing itself through my consciousness in a raging torrent. Throughout it I catch the necessary pieces – my orders, and my mind.

My mind, though corrupted and unfeeling, still it holds many treasures: The methods I've learned and the hardware manufactured for them, the hundreds of hours of mechanical rewiring perfectly culminating into a vast network of possible configurations – though I digress.

The world is spinning, not just because of my head. Now there is no way out. So into the midst of Hell I go.
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