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.