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10:28 AM (Dreams,.... Part 71)

 
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Entry 148
Book 6
Time; Early Morning
Date; December 19th, 2158

Tried to attend the Rack, had made Mohawk promise to dance and laugh again and stop worrying so much. Wanted to be there to laugh with her again. Had to go in disguise though, act like someone else. Got Nemo to cover me but within five, maybe ten minutes he decided we were drawing too much attention and pulled me out of there.

We met on the street and he told me why he'd pulled me out. Asked me why I was looking at him funny. I've stopped speaking when wearing the disguise, since my voice and speech would give me away as much as anything else I wore. Couldn't really explain to him that he'd just dragged me away from all the people I considered family. That I wanted a night of faceless freedom, try to stabilize myself again, remember I'm a person and not an experiment gone wrong from a battlefield that no longer existed or even mattered.

Instead of explaining, I thumped his chest and pointed back to the party then left.

I'm sending the best 100 wood samples I could find in Terminal Woods, along with several dozen camp bundles that I've been gathering and working on since the day after the fire. The wood will go to Papermill to be processed since it seems to be the last remaining functional lumber yard with functioning saws. Juniper Brandy and a kings feast of Boar Curry to help the workers spiced with virtually untouched herbs I've found while trying to survive out here...

- Suppose I lied in my previous entry, I do feel guilty, since I am.


I don't really want to go back. The drugs are keeping me down, but their effectiveness is decreasing the more I use them, and the dreams are getting worse. I've remembered waking up on operation tables, I've remembered nanite control experiments eating my flesh alive and parts of me had to be cut off and regrown in a vat, I remember training in blind fighting with my father and later with an old blind man kicking my ass with nothing but a stick. I remember watching technology advance and thinking how proud I was to have most my natural body, I remember voices in my head that were not my own telling me to do things, I remember standing at the altar in tears, wondering where my husband was.

I remember a talk with my sister one night at a shooting range. We both liked to practice in a variety of firearms, though I tended to lean towards pistols and close combat while she preferred to be unseen with a sniper. She wasn't really a funny kind of person and rarely smiled, much less let anyone see her at all, but she was still my sister and she was all I had at the time keeping me safe.

She had said she uncovered information on our profiles, stuff that was hidden from us while our Father had been alive. That the Survival Training mission had not been an accident. The Scientist had been ordered to give us all kill switches that was supposed to make our bodies degrade over a weeks time and turn us all to goo that couldn't be retrieved and studied by the enemy. We weren't made to live past fifteen years. But the Scientist hadn't done it. He'd thought of us as his greatest experiments in manipulating life. He couldn't bear to let his creations turn to goop when they could do so much good for the world and left us with hidden protocols to help us stay alive.

She also stated that there were problems with all of us. As much good intent that the scientist had had, she had found evidence that we were all decaying anyway. Whatever we'd been pumped full of was repairing the decay as quickly as it was happening, but we were young then. The older it got, the slower the response time, until our systems were overwhelmed and shut down and we'd be forced to rely on our 'natural' immune systems. She'd been watching the cycle in our eldest brother and she was positive the mind would rot before the body.

I got word a few months later that my eldest brother had died. They had found Cancer had overwhelmed his legs and the right side of his body. Walking and breathing must have left him in constant agony, and yet when I went to New York to find out what was left of his home, I was told he was up and about until the last few weeks of his life, refusing to acknowledge anything was wrong.

I remember walking around his home town. It had an officially mandated name by the people who made the maps, but I kept hearing it being called something else by everyone he touched. "Lost", they had called it. Everyone had some kind of story to tell about him saving their children from fires in the slums where the cops refused to tread, or strange tales of drug dealers being beaten to death like pinatas in the night club when they were caught selling meth to minors. He had swept his city clean of homeless, created jobs for those willing to work and even opened a goddamned orphanage and safe house for gay and lesbian kids from abusive families.

He'd left behind a legacy of terror that had kept the crime in line, and kindness that had kept people supporting him. The city of Lost would remember their late Leader fondly, and a church had been erected in his name with the money he'd left for his cultist fan-club in his will.


All I left behind when I 'died' was a constant sense of betrayal, that no one ever really knew me and a feeling of loss. I know I made hundreds if not thousands of people smile, but beyond glimpses of faces and names on the rare night I have a good dream, I cant remember actually doing good things worth remembering once I left the Tavern. The man I am now is not the person I was born as, not the person that was looked up to for a brief period of time. I look in the reflection of the pond here and the person who did those good deeds back in the day is long gone. My face no longer resembles anything remotely close to its original design, only my skeletal structure really remains unchanged and that's been through the cloner so many times it probably isn't one original particle of my real self any more.


My sister's parting words that night when we were packing up for the night crouch in the back of my brain and leave me wondering.

"You were the Failed experiment. Father was trying to make a replica of himself but the technology was too weak back then. He was trying to train you to be a cold, ruthless killer and a leader in the field. Instead you were just a genetic Frankenstein of other experiments and nanotechnology. Your life will be hard, your missing so many pieces. I pity you."



I haven't had anyone to sleep with for almost two months, maybe longer. I'm falling apart. I've got no rock to lean on, nobody to sit there and let me talk and help me figure out why this or why that. I feel like a Teddybear whose seams are being snipped apart, one little strand at a time. I cant think straight and I fear sleeping more and more. The more I Remember about myself, the more I want to turn the clock back about two hundred years and just kill the goddamned scientist that created me.

Just kill me already!



Ow. Dire Kyo just bit my shoulder. We're connected in some ways, though how all I don't know for sure. He seems annoyed I'm down on myself so much. I remind him I have to write to keep my thoughts together and a paw swipes at the book. Some other stuff happened during the week but I'll write more later, I've got to feed him and take him for a run.

Comments

Ardenn's picture

(( As a quick OOC side, I am not claiming to be supplying the wood mentioned in Zach's posts, I've been farming TW every chance I get trying to find Strong Wood to use as a prop to send to Hope Springs. That stuff doesnt come up much! Took me this long to get 94 XD ))

Current Status; Fully Operational, Slightly Cheesy

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“I destroy my enemies when I make them my friends”

(a good write up as always Ardenn :)  You are making me feel bad for him again. )

Ardenn's picture

(( Dont worry, Im sure I'll come up with a reason to hate him again next month. Trying to tone down the lunacy for christmas lol ))

Current Status; Fully Operational, Slightly Cheesy

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“I destroy my enemies when I make them my friends”



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