My First Kill

[Logan]

I can't help but feel that many of you doubt my origins, and may even think I'm crazy. I might to in your position, scratch that, I probably would. I am unable to provide any real physical evidence, at least not any that wouldn't put myself or others at risk, so all I can do is share my experiences from my time (what you would call the future) so I decided to sit down and write down what seemed like an apporpriate place to start, I did, and here it is, the story of:



My First Kill
(Try to keep an open mind)

Global warming would be more than welcome where (or rather when) I come from. Chilly is one way to describe the climate of the latter half of the 21st century, blistering fucking freezing is another, and is probably far more accurate.

I wish I could remember the exact date, it would certainly make it seem to all of you like the experience had a profound effect on me if I could remember the precise time and place, unfortunately I only know it was some time in 2056, I was fourteen, so it had to have been at least June, probably later. I was stationed on a border-post near where Toronto used to be, It was night, and it was blistering fucking freezing.

Being the grandson of the Alliance founder weighed more than I cared to carry, and didn't come with any perks. I trained hard, although I never excelled so much as some, and I certainly wasn't a natural in combat, above average was the label for recruits like me, good, but not gifted. At that point in time I was as green as anybody unfortunate enough to have recently tried my sisters cooking, I had never seen open combat, I'd fired a million shots at paper targets but never at the enemy, and the only time I came close to getting shot at was while I was taking ammunition to soldiers on the front line.

I was on scout-sentry duty, that's what anybody in the Alliance going through puberty is assigned to: the idea is you wont fall asleep because you're too damn horny. Scout-sentry is an odd term really, the first word implies movement while the second implies the opposite, what it actually means is a sentry who is placed - or rather places themselves - ahead of the others in a concealed position, they scout ahead of the group but stand guard, hence “scout-sentry”.

Scout-sentry's are almost always pubescent girls, sometimes boys, and very rarely adults. They are given a scoped rifle with one round and a sidearm. The reason for this is so when an enemy force approaches, they fire one shot, killing or wounding (but almost always hitting) the point-man. This generally causes the enemy force to halt or go for cover, at least for a moment. At this point, the base is alerted to the enemy presence by the sound of the shot firing. The scout-sentry then has no choice but to fall back for a resupply of ammunition, this is why the one-round rule is enforced, as teenagers have a tendency to want to stick around and try to score a few more kills, putting themselves at risk of being flanked, assaulted or simply hit by the enemies inevitable “spray and pray” fire once they calculate the scout-sentry's general direction.

I was sitting in the dark, against a boulder and facing north, inside a rocky embankment, which may have been a crater many years before. It didn't provide the kind of cover from fire the small forest about 60 to 70 meters west would have, but I figured if I was a bad guy, I'd expect the good guy to be hiding in the forest. I was alone of course, my rifle at my side, and I was reminiscing on my days at basic training.

Specifically, I was recalling a particular day, a group of veterans in their 30's and 40's came by as part of a program to try and lift our spirits. The general acceptance of kids going through basic training was that more 80% of them would be dead before they reached 17, we were reminded of this often and overall it created a pretty morbid atmosphere. The vets were there in an attempt to show us that we could all live long and productive life in the rebellion, although for the most part it was having the opposite effect: nobody wants to be 35, with a prosthetic hand, an eye-patch, more scars than freckles and absolutely no personality.

Specifically, I was remembering some advice given to me that day. The woman who gave it to me must have been in her mid 40's, and that in itself is an achievement. She was probably even conventionally attractive once but age and a whole lot of old wounds changed that for good. She had brown hair, amazingly left completely free of any grey by age or the stress of war, and it was oddly cut so that one side was far longer than the other, I assumed this was in an attempt to cover the fact that half of her left ear was missing, however the longer hair was too far forward to achieve that.

I never did ask what had happened, out of fear she would kick my ass.

I had noticed her uniform was camouflaged and her demeanour was that of a quiet observer and had decided to take a guess at her position in the Rebellion.

“Are you a scout, Major?” I asked, I had knew I had guessed incorrectly the moment a smirk appeared across her face.

“No recruit, Sniper.” She answered, brushing the longer side of her hair back out of her left eye, making it evident that the purpose of her strange haircut was to black out the left eye while she looked down the scope with her right.

I sat silent for a moment, in sheer awe, the concept of a Sniper fascinated me, it was what my psychological profile recommended me for, and I had never met one.

“Good guess, though.” She added, I can only figure she felt I may have been embarrassed after seeming so sure I had coined her position accurately.

I grinned “That's what I've been recommended for... should I survive TDE.” TDE being an acronym for the slang term: “The Deep End” the name given to the period of 5 years of field experience after basic training.

“It's not really a compliment to you, you know.” She stated rather cynically.

“No, I know.” I forced a laugh. “Tendency to Nihilism, lack of empathy, ability to calculate and assess of the value of human lives based on figures, and individual human lives based on attitude and commitment to the cause. No personal issues with the taking of Brraqt or Hybrid lives, and a strong will to preserve my own life, however with little instinctive or emotional response when faced with the likelihood of my own death or serious injury.”

“Well fuck me, they made a textbook that talks.” She laughed. “See, if they wanted you as a Sharpshooter, that would be a compliment, Sharpshooters are picked based on accuracy same as Snipers, but the opposite in other regards, they look out for their squad, they're your all-round a-typical Human hero, they're good men.”

“Good men make bad soldiers.” I stated - that was my own, no textbook went that far, and she looked impressed by it.

I could tell she thought to say What about good women? But didn't, simply because she knew I expected it.

And I respected that a lot.

“Getting a job based on the fact that you're a cold son of a bitch has it perks, scares the shit out of folks for one.” She spoke with a slight strain in her voice, as if trying to forget something she didn't want banging around inside her head.

I turned for no particular reason and jumped back – a spider had crawled up the inside wall of the training compound and was sitting still directly at my eye level, just a few inches from my face – and I hated spiders.

The Major seemed amused by this and chuckled “Don't be afraid of him.” She stared at the spider, grinning from one side of her mouth. “He's like me, you can learn from him.”

“Excuse me?” I was immediately confused by the idea of learning from an arachnid.

She pursed her lips to dismiss a grin and dipped her head forward, looking up at me with the one eye not hidden behind a hedgerow of brown hair. “The spider waits, recruit: it has infinite patience, no conscience, no fear, no hate, all it does is wait, and watch, it doesn't attack recklessly, it doesn't bite it's prey on the finger to hurt it but leave it breathing for it to come back seeking revenge, it will wait forever for it's prey to make a mistake, to let it's guard down - if only for a second - then it strikes, and retreats to it's web... being a Sniper is like being the spider on the wall recruit. If you want to survive, you have to be the spider on the wall.”







So I sat in the darkness, those words echoing through my mind.

I waited.

“Spider on the wall.” I whispered to myself as I stared into the distance, watching for silhouettes on the horizon that didn't belong there. This was my perfect horizontal line: the night sky and the valley to the north meeting on what to the naked eye looked like a perfectly straight line with a full moon and a line of sight that went for miles.

I waited.

I took some gum from inside my front pocket and put it in my mouth, chewing as quietly as possible without taking my eyes off the horizon for so much as a second.

I waited.

I sighed and slouched against the rock behind me. “I need to get laid.” I told myself blowing a mediocre-sized bubble and then continuing to chew.

I fell asleep.

I know now I was out for about 2 hours, although at the time I had no idea, in fact, I didn't really have a great deal of time to think about it.

I was rudely awoken by a clanking sound, followed by the smooth, cold, metallic surface of a Hybrid primary weapon (shredder) across my face, it pinned me to it's chest, rendering me unable to move or yell to warn the border-post.

There was no way that it was a Grunt, that was my first fully coherent thought: I was a light sleeper - especially as a teenager - and a Grunt approaching me would have woken me up. Nor would a Grunt think to wrestle me, it would simply shoot me and moved on. This was a reaper – a commando form of Hybrid, the elite slaves of the Brraqt army. Given that it had grabbed me with its gun arm, the only logical conclusion was that it intended to dispatch of me silently by either stabbing me through the heart from behind or slitting my throat. Given that my body was directly parallel to it's it had no way to stab me through the back, so I assumed it would go for the throat option.

That was the last thought I had before learning I had assumed correctly: it slit my throat and dropped me to the ground.

Luckily, it botched the job.

Both my arteries remained intact, although my wind-pipe had been cut open and I was bleeding rather profusely from the neck all the same. I tried to yell out, knowing that my cries would be easily heard through the silence of the night by the border-post compound just 300 meters south. Unfortunately my vocal cords had been completely severed and I was unable to make any noise louder than a gargle mixed with heavy breathing.

I crawled around, grabbing for dirt and then proceeding to pack it into the wound, although given that most of the soil fell directly into my wind-pipe, it made me choke more than it stopped any bleeding.

Looking around I counted 11 reapers: 8 rifleman, 2 support gunners, and a sharpshooter. All of them ignored me, stepping by or even over me and continuing to sneak ahead, their eyes lifeless yet displaying pure intent to kill without regard for their own survival.

I looked around for my rifle for a few moments, finally noticing it had been kicked out of the embankment; most likely the cause of the sound which woke me a split second prior to being ambushed.

I was having difficulty breathing, far more than I should have for a bit of dirt in my windpipe. This gradually got worse over the next few seconds until I became completely unable to breath. Out of desperation, I jammed my index and middle fingers downward into the hole in my wind-pipe and moments later pulled them out with a large wad of gum clenched between them, which in turn quickly made breathing a great deal easier.

I tossed the gum away and stumbled to my feet, cupping my neck-wound with my left hand and taking my sidearm from my holster with my right. At this point all the reapers had passed me, the closest one – a support gunner – just a few meters away.

I took aim at the back of it's torso.

I hesitated, firm in the knowledge that I was virtually without chance of survival as soon as the reaper unit realised I was not incapacitated.

I sucked it up and got ready to die. “Should have squished the spider, mother fucker.” I whispered with rage, barely forming the correct phonetics of the words, I then proceeded to unload all six rounds of my 12mm RH1M2 into the Hybrids torso. I knew what to expect, but oddly enough still didn't quite expect it. The reaper barely reacted to being hit 6 times, it just stopped for a few moments, then dropped to the dirt. Meanwhile his squadies turned and opened fire on me, their shredders and heavy shredders making their trademark terrifying wail as the clear night filled with the mist of heated Hybrid weaponry and the darkness pulsed with a blue-white hue. I dived for cover behind a boulder and clasped my hands behind my head, knowing I was out of ammunition, but hoping the Hybrids didn't.

I laid there for what seemed like forever, shredder rounds bouncing of my makeshift natural barrier before I heard the sweet and familiar sound of the bangs and whistles from gas-propelled rounds. The night sky slowly brightened from the blue pulse of shredders to the yellow muzzle-flash of R1M3's and I could make out the distant yelling and echo of orders, gradually increasing in volume.

I flinched and kept my head down as the few remaining reapers came into view, still calm, regardless of the fact that they were now outnumbered, firing their weapons all the while. They picked up their speed and then finally, as their sharpshooter was hit in the head, it's skull fragmenting, it's enslaved brain-matter exploding and the mask that would normally cover it's mouth and nose dropping away gently, leaving only a jaw, a few teeth and a dark pink mist, they retreated. The yells and gunfire became louder-still, and a new sound: that of footsteps, rumbling in a broken march, could be heard through the earth as my ear was pressed to the ground.

The volume of the Rebellion forces then reached it's peak as at least 40 soldiers, most wearing nothing but undershirts their cargo-slacks and untied combat boots ran past, some jumping straight over me, others taking the kneeling position and firing off aimed shots. All continuing to move in one way or another down the hill ahead and after the enemy. I struggled to sit up and watched them for a moment, as the sound of the battle gradually got quieter and more distant.

I climbed to my feet, wheezing through the hole in my throat and walked over to my rifle, picking it up and dusting it off. I turned and raised the rifle, staring down the scope with my right eye, I was just in time to watch them gun down the last Hybrid, the few soldiers visible through the limited field of view of the reticle threw their arms into the air and the victory cheer that followed was almost as audible as the gunshots just inches from my ears only minutes beforehand.

I lowered the rifle and stood by the rock that had saved my life, trying to comprehend what had just happened as I watched the soldiers in the distance trading jokes and pats on the back, all the while spoiling my perfect horizon.

I have a scar across my neck that will stay with me until I die, the first of many, and my voice has been strained and raspy ever since. I was never assigned as a sniper, my primary role was a support gunner, making use of the MSAR1M1 support weapon, quite a bit different to the bolt action rifles used by snipers.

I still really hate spiders, and I only chew gum when I'm not killing stuff.

Which until recently, was rarely.

[choouei]

I can't help but feel that many of you doubt my origins, and may even think I'm crazy. I might to in your position, scratch that, I probably would. I am unable to provide any real physical evidence, at least not any that wouldn't put myself or others at risk, so all I can do is share my experiences from my time (what you would call the future) so I decided to sit down and write down what seemed like an apporpriate place to start, I did, and here it is, the story of:



My First Kill
(Try to keep an open mind)

Global warming would be more than welcome where (or rather when) I come from. Chilly is one way to describe the climate of the latter half of the 21st century, blistering fucking freezing is another, and is probably far more accurate.

I wish I could remember the exact date, it would certainly make it seem to all of you like the experience had a profound effect on me if I could remember the precise time and place, unfortunately I only know it was some time in 2056, I was fourteen, so it had to have been at least June, probably later. I was stationed on a border-post near where Toronto used to be, It was night, and it was blistering fucking freezing.

Being the grandson of the Alliance founder weighed more than I cared to carry, and didn't come with any perks. I trained hard, although I never excelled so much as some, and I certainly wasn't a natural in combat, above average was the label for recruits like me, good, but not gifted. At that point in time I was as green as anybody unfortunate enough to have recently tried my sisters cooking, I had never seen open combat, I'd fired a million shots at paper targets but never at the enemy, and the only time I came close to getting shot at was while I was taking ammunition to soldiers on the front line.

I was on scout-sentry duty, that's what anybody in the Alliance going through puberty is assigned to: the idea is you wont fall asleep because you're too damn horny. Scout-sentry is an odd term really, the first word implies movement while the second implies the opposite, what it actually means is a sentry who is placed - or rather places themselves - ahead of the others in a concealed position, they scout ahead of the group but stand guard, hence “scout-sentry”.

Scout-sentry's are almost always pubescent girls, sometimes boys, and very rarely adults. They are given a scoped rifle with one round and a sidearm. The reason for this is so when an enemy force approaches, they fire one shot, killing or wounding (but almost always hitting) the point-man. This generally causes the enemy force to halt or go for cover, at least for a moment. At this point, the base is alerted to the enemy presence by the sound of the shot firing. The scout-sentry then has no choice but to fall back for a resupply of ammunition, this is why the one-round rule is enforced, as teenagers have a tendency to want to stick around and try to score a few more kills, putting themselves at risk of being flanked, assaulted or simply hit by the enemies inevitable “spray and pray” fire once they calculate the scout-sentry's general direction.

I was sitting in the dark, against a boulder and facing north, inside a rocky embankment, which may have been a crater many years before. It didn't provide the kind of cover from fire the small forest about 60 to 70 meters west would have, but I figured if I was a bad guy, I'd expect the good guy to be hiding in the forest. I was alone of course, my rifle at my side, and I was reminiscing on my days at basic training.

Specifically, I was recalling a particular day, a group of veterans in their 30's and 40's came by as part of a program to try and lift our spirits. The general acceptance of kids going through basic training was that more 80% of them would be dead before they reached 17, we were reminded of this often and overall it created a pretty morbid atmosphere. The vets were there in an attempt to show us that we could all live long and productive life in the rebellion, although for the most part it was having the opposite effect: nobody wants to be 35, with a prosthetic hand, an eye-patch, more scars than freckles and absolutely no personality.

Specifically, I was remembering some advice given to me that day. The woman who gave it to me must have been in her mid 40's, and that in itself is an achievement. She was probably even conventionally attractive once but age and a whole lot of old wounds changed that for good. She had brown hair, amazingly left completely free of any grey by age or the stress of war, and it was oddly cut so that one side was far longer than the other, I assumed this was in an attempt to cover the fact that half of her left ear was missing, however the longer hair was too far forward to achieve that.

I never did ask what had happened, out of fear she would kick my ass.

I had noticed her uniform was camouflaged and her demeanour was that of a quiet observer and had decided to take a guess at her position in the Rebellion.

“Are you a scout, Major?” I asked, I had knew I had guessed incorrectly the moment a smirk appeared across her face.

“No recruit, Sniper.” She answered, brushing the longer side of her hair back out of her left eye, making it evident that the purpose of her strange haircut was to black out the left eye while she looked down the scope with her right.

I sat silent for a moment, in sheer awe, the concept of a Sniper fascinated me, it was what my psychological profile recommended me for, and I had never met one.

“Good guess, though.” She added, I can only figure she felt I may have been embarrassed after seeming so sure I had coined her position accurately.

I grinned “That's what I've been recommended for... should I survive TDE.” TDE being an acronym for the slang term: “The Deep End” the name given to the period of 5 years of field experience after basic training.

“It's not really a compliment to you, you know.” She stated rather cynically.

“No, I know.” I forced a laugh. “Tendency to Nihilism, lack of empathy, ability to calculate and assess of the value of human lives based on figures, and individual human lives based on attitude and commitment to the cause. No personal issues with the taking of Brraqt or Hybrid lives, and a strong will to preserve my own life, however with little instinctive or emotional response when faced with the likelihood of my own death or serious injury.”

“Well fuck me, they made a textbook that talks.” She laughed. “See, if they wanted you as a Sharpshooter, that would be a compliment, Sharpshooters are picked based on accuracy same as Snipers, but the opposite in other regards, they look out for their squad, they're your all-round a-typical Human hero, they're good men.”

“Good men make bad soldiers.” I stated - that was my own, no textbook went that far, and she looked impressed by it.

I could tell she thought to say What about good women? But didn't, simply because she knew I expected it.

And I respected that a lot.

“Getting a job based on the fact that you're a cold son of a bitch has it perks, scares the shit out of folks for one.” She spoke with a slight strain in her voice, as if trying to forget something she didn't want banging around inside her head.

I turned for no particular reason and jumped back – a spider had crawled up the inside wall of the training compound and was sitting still directly at my eye level, just a few inches from my face – and I hated spiders.

The Major seemed amused by this and chuckled “Don't be afraid of him.” She stared at the spider, grinning from one side of her mouth. “He's like me, you can learn from him.”

“Excuse me?” I was immediately confused by the idea of learning from an arachnid.

She pursed her lips to dismiss a grin and dipped her head forward, looking up at me with the one eye not hidden behind a hedgerow of brown hair. “The spider waits, recruit: it has infinite patience, no conscience, no fear, no hate, all it does is wait, and watch, it doesn't attack recklessly, it doesn't bite it's prey on the finger to hurt it but leave it breathing for it to come back seeking revenge, it will wait forever for it's prey to make a mistake, to let it's guard down - if only for a second - then it strikes, and retreats to it's web... being a Sniper is like being the spider on the wall recruit. If you want to survive, you have to be the spider on the wall.”







So I sat in the darkness, those words echoing through my mind.

I waited.

“Spider on the wall.” I whispered to myself as I stared into the distance, watching for silhouettes on the horizon that didn't belong there. This was my perfect horizontal line: the night sky and the valley to the north meeting on what to the naked eye looked like a perfectly straight line with a full moon and a line of sight that went for miles.

I waited.

I took some gum from inside my front pocket and put it in my mouth, chewing as quietly as possible without taking my eyes off the horizon for so much as a second.

I waited.

I sighed and slouched against the rock behind me. “I need to get laid.” I told myself blowing a mediocre-sized bubble and then continuing to chew.

I fell asleep.

I know now I was out for about 2 hours, although at the time I had no idea, in fact, I didn't really have a great deal of time to think about it.

I was rudely awoken by a clanking sound, followed by the smooth, cold, metallic surface of a Hybrid primary weapon (shredder) across my face, it pinned me to it's chest, rendering me unable to move or yell to warn the border-post.

There was no way that it was a Grunt, that was my first fully coherent thought: I was a light sleeper - especially as a teenager - and a Grunt approaching me would have woken me up. Nor would a Grunt think to wrestle me, it would simply shoot me and moved on. This was a reaper – a commando form of Hybrid, the elite slaves of the Brraqt army. Given that it had grabbed me with its gun arm, the only logical conclusion was that it intended to dispatch of me silently by either stabbing me through the heart from behind or slitting my throat. Given that my body was directly parallel to it's it had no way to stab me through the back, so I assumed it would go for the throat option.

That was the last thought I had before learning I had assumed correctly: it slit my throat and dropped me to the ground.

Luckily, it botched the job.

Both my arteries remained intact, although my wind-pipe had been cut open and I was bleeding rather profusely from the neck all the same. I tried to yell out, knowing that my cries would be easily heard through the silence of the night by the border-post compound just 300 meters south. Unfortunately my vocal cords had been completely severed and I was unable to make any noise louder than a gargle mixed with heavy breathing.

I crawled around, grabbing for dirt and then proceeding to pack it into the wound, although given that most of the soil fell directly into my wind-pipe, it made me choke more than it stopped any bleeding.

Looking around I counted 11 reapers: 8 rifleman, 2 support gunners, and a sharpshooter. All of them ignored me, stepping by or even over me and continuing to sneak ahead, their eyes lifeless yet displaying pure intent to kill without regard for their own survival.

I looked around for my rifle for a few moments, finally noticing it had been kicked out of the embankment; most likely the cause of the sound which woke me a split second prior to being ambushed.

I was having difficulty breathing, far more than I should have for a bit of dirt in my windpipe. This gradually got worse over the next few seconds until I became completely unable to breath. Out of desperation, I jammed my index and middle fingers downward into the hole in my wind-pipe and moments later pulled them out with a large wad of gum clenched between them, which in turn quickly made breathing a great deal easier.

I tossed the gum away and stumbled to my feet, cupping my neck-wound with my left hand and taking my sidearm from my holster with my right. At this point all the reapers had passed me, the closest one – a support gunner – just a few meters away.

I took aim at the back of it's torso.

I hesitated, firm in the knowledge that I was virtually without chance of survival as soon as the reaper unit realised I was not incapacitated.

I sucked it up and got ready to die. “Should have squished the spider, mother fucker.” I whispered with rage, barely forming the correct phonetics of the words, I then proceeded to unload all six rounds of my 12mm RH1M2 into the Hybrids torso. I knew what to expect, but oddly enough still didn't quite expect it. The reaper barely reacted to being hit 6 times, it just stopped for a few moments, then dropped to the dirt. Meanwhile his squadies turned and opened fire on me, their shredders and heavy shredders making their trademark terrifying wail as the clear night filled with the mist of heated Hybrid weaponry and the darkness pulsed with a blue-white hue. I dived for cover behind a boulder and clasped my hands behind my head, knowing I was out of ammunition, but hoping the Hybrids didn't.

I laid there for what seemed like forever, shredder rounds bouncing of my makeshift natural barrier before I heard the sweet and familiar sound of the bangs and whistles from gas-propelled rounds. The night sky slowly brightened from the blue pulse of shredders to the yellow muzzle-flash of R1M3's and I could make out the distant yelling and echo of orders, gradually increasing in volume.

I flinched and kept my head down as the few remaining reapers came into view, still calm, regardless of the fact that they were now outnumbered, firing their weapons all the while. They picked up their speed and then finally, as their sharpshooter was hit in the head, it's skull fragmenting, it's enslaved brain-matter exploding and the mask that would normally cover it's mouth and nose dropping away gently, leaving only a jaw, a few teeth and a dark pink mist, they retreated. The yells and gunfire became louder-still, and a new sound: that of footsteps, rumbling in a broken march, could be heard through the earth as my ear was pressed to the ground.

The volume of the Rebellion forces then reached it's peak as at least 40 soldiers, most wearing nothing but undershirts their cargo-slacks and untied combat boots ran past, some jumping straight over me, others taking the kneeling position and firing off aimed shots. All continuing to move in one way or another down the hill ahead and after the enemy. I struggled to sit up and watched them for a moment, as the sound of the battle gradually got quieter and more distant.

I climbed to my feet, wheezing through the hole in my throat and walked over to my rifle, picking it up and dusting it off. I turned and raised the rifle, staring down the scope with my right eye, I was just in time to watch them gun down the last Hybrid, the few soldiers visible through the limited field of view of the reticle threw their arms into the air and the victory cheer that followed was almost as audible as the gunshots just inches from my ears only minutes beforehand.

I lowered the rifle and stood by the rock that had saved my life, trying to comprehend what had just happened as I watched the soldiers in the distance trading jokes and pats on the back, all the while spoiling my perfect horizon.

I have a scar across my neck that will stay with me until I die, the first of many, and my voice has been strained and raspy ever since. I was never assigned as a sniper, my primary role was a support gunner, making use of the MSAR1M1 support weapon, quite a bit different to the bolt action rifles used by snipers.

I still really hate spiders, and I only chew gum when I'm not killing stuff.

Which until recently, was rarely.

wtf?
is that ur fucking diary or watever shit?
i aint reading that thing u just wrote
thats just too long

[Logan]

Then don't read it dickhead, and given that it is long, and that was the reason for your complaint, quoting it was just plain stupid.

Do you post in every thread you don't intend on reading in order to inform everybody of your intention not to read it? Becuase really, that's beyond stupid.

Maybe not ADDKiD stupid, but pretty stupid.

It shits me that I make the time and effort to educate and prepare those of this forum who may take interest, only for the first reply to contain an unnecessary quote and a refusal to read it based on length.

Seems likely you're just a slow reader on account of you're an idiot.

[choouei]

shit u typed it word by word?
if u want ppl to read it, make it a little shorter XD

[Logan]

shit u typed it word by word?
if u want ppl to read it, make it a little shorter XD

Of course I did.

I'm not really concerened with who reads it, no offence, but those who would disregard it based on length probably don't have the attention span to keep up anyway.

I wished only to tell things how they are, or at least how they will be. Not only does it pass the time... that has already passed... but someone may be able to use some of this information one day. Attribute the length to that, I'm just trying to tell everything I can remember, because I don't know which parts may or may not prove useful.

EDIT: I would appreciate it if you would remove those quote from your first reply, it adds a lot of unneeded length to the thread.

[ADDKiD]

Well, fuck, I thought this was going to be interesting. Not a fucking Diary. <_<

[Logan]

Well, fuck, I thought this was going to be interesting. Not a fucking Diary. <_<

You wouldn't know, you didn't read it.

[ADDKiD]

Well, fuck, I thought this was going to be interesting. Not a fucking Diary. <_<

You wouldn't know, you didn't read it.

I'm too damn lazy too. If the first 10 lines of the story don't catch my attention, i say fuck it.

[Dax]

Lol that was some funny shit. Btw being high helps you read it.

[binarydata]

Lol that was some funny shit. Btw being high helps you read it.

when are you not high?

[Slayer]

Lol that was some funny shit. Btw being high helps you read it.

when are you not high?

when you are black

[Kenshi]

that's some good fuckin reading <3 logan..

PS. Do you have Aspergers?

[Logan]

PS. Do you have Aspergers?

Nope.

You have to understand that serious physical and mental impairments are largely uncommon when I come from, it's a little awkward to simply state it like this (as I assure you all I don't want to offend anyone) but people who aren't mentally or physically fit simply die fairly quickly. Most of this happened before I was even born, when I left in the mid 2065, these sorts of issues were non-existant,

All health issues, ranging from obesity to autism to schizophrenia are gone, basically because the people with them are weaker in some ways, and easier to kill.

It has caused somewhat of a regretable elitist mentallity among the Rebellion, but people from my time are almost always extremely physically and mentally fit (an IQ average is of course difficult to obtain, but it's likely somewhere around the 150's).

Appreciate that you liked the read Kenshi.

[Kenshi]

Only reason I asked if you had Aspergers is because of your style of writing is very self oriented and to the point. But otherwise cool

[Logan]

Only reason I asked if you had Aspergers is because of your style of writing is very self oriented and to the point. But otherwise cool

That's simply because I only recall on what I saw, heard, and felt, from my own perspective.

I don't like to make assumptions about others and outside elements to fill in the gaps I can't be sure of.