The Soot

 The Soot

    I opened my eyes to the morning light and was shocked to find a red hue was bleeding through the blinds and splashed across the walls of my bedroom. 

    I was going to go back to sleep and write the images off as an echo of a bad dream brought on by slightly old COSTCO pizza that dominated my dinners as of late. My hastily laid plan to venture back into the land of snooze was immediately ripped from my hands and tossed into my face by the sounds of screaming that seemed to be coming from under my window. 

    I rolled out of my bed and onto the ground, unsure of my next action. I put my left hand on the shotgun under my bed and put my right on a medical trauma bag that was attached to my motorcycle bag. I grew frustrated with my own indecision so I took them both. 

    I ran down the stairs and out of the covered glass door that led to the small side yard that tried, but failed, to be a real space. I bolted through the fence and into the street where I stopped in my tracks. 

    The air was completely thick with soot. I couldn't make out anything past my outstretched hand. I should say I couldn't SEE anything past my outstretched hand, but I could certainly hear twice that distance as evidenced by the sudden and blood chilling scream that came from the grey cloak. 

    I yelled out, "HELLO?!" No one answered my fog horn that doubled as a greeting to the source of the terror. I slung the bag over my back, secured the magnetic clasp then I shouldered the shotgun and ensured I didn't chicken wing as I walked. I tried to illuminate the grey, but the 1000 lumen light did nothing but reflect back at me. I turned the light off and walked. 

    The shadow became a woman who bolted into me, clawing at me for assistance. I tried to get her to talk with me. I made a fatal mistake when I told her to "calm down." 

"Calm? CALM?" She questioned me while taking a step back. She placed a hand on the center of her chest and dropped her chin, cocking her right hip. "Oh you did not tell me to calm down." 

"Ma'am," I said trying to avoid this needles conversation and argument which surely go nowhere. "Are you screaming?" 

"Why do you have a gun?" She said waving her hand about. "Rambo." 

I sighed. I had no time for this as I was exceptionally nervous now. If she was not the source of the scream, who was and if she wasn't the mother of the cry, why wasn't she worried about it? I racked the shotgun. 

"Oh you going to shoot me?" She said with an angry look on her face. "Did you know it is against the HOA laws to have shotguns? You are in VIOLATION." 

"VIOLATION!" Came an echo from the misty soot. 

"What the hell are you? I haven't seen you before." I said stepping back. She reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. She must have started recording because the bright LED light came on and she held it near my face. "I am recording you. You are in violation. I am going to call 911!" 

"911!!!!" The soot echoed. I heard foot steps. No, not foot steps. I heard footfalls. The kind that come form high-heels on concrete. Like the clopping of a group of horses. 

I raised the shotgun into the high ready position and stepped back. I ordered her to step back from me, but she got angrier and bigger. Not that she appeared bigger, but that she was bigger. Her clothes were stretching to their limit around her shoulders, arms, and stomach. Her thighs tripled in size and hair poked out of the intentionally ripped jeans. 

"I am the HOA!"

I pulled the trigger. The blast blew back the sooty mist in a perfect circle and kicked me in the shoulder. I was shocked at how quick I decided on lethal force. What the hell was wrong with me? 

I panicked. I never panic. Why did I panic? What the hell is this soot? Where did it come from? None of this made sense. I was acting like a scared child and not the seasoned veteran I knew I was. Wasn't I? I had a sudden craving Starbucks coffee. I cycled the shotgun and kicked out the spent shell and pumped in a new round. I checked the 12 gauge slugs along the side of the shotgun and ensured that the rounds were alternating between the slugs and 00. Everything was there and it brought me some level of comfort, but did nothing to get my mind off of the shoes that the dead....thing...that was before me now. I love those shoes. "Why?" I said out loud. 

"HOA!" Came the response. The clopping was louder now. I ran. I couldn't find my own house for some reason. I was lost in the mist and some of the houses that were peaking through the grey-ness appeared the same. Same color, same lawn, same decorations, same everything. Mirror images all of them. This wasn't my neighborhood. Not the one I lived in. 

I started running then sprinting then hauling ass. I didn't know where I was going, but I wanted to get there now. 

I ran face first into a man and we went to the ground together. He was panicked as well. He rolled over and stood up. He was holding a bat with blood on it. He saw my shotgun and put his hand up and said, "whoa." I looked down at my weapon then back at him. "I'm sorry-No. I'm not going to shoot you." 

"What the hell is this?" He said without taking his eyes off of me. 

"I don't know," I responded. "I killed one of them." I admitted. "I'm sorry-I don't know why I said that." 

He shook his head. "It's ok. I did too. I..." he said, "uh, I understand your feelings," he said making a weird face. "I don't know why I said that." He said. 

"It's OK....I understand too." I said confused. "What happened?" I asked. 

"I was outside when the soot came. It was sudden. I turned around and there she was. This...woman. She had a ruler and she was measuring my plants. She said, 'these are too big.' I said 'what?' She said 'you need to cut them or have your home burned to the ground per HOA rules. I demand you comply!' I freaked out and exploded at her. I hit her with this bat. I didn't mean to, but I felt I had to." 

"HOA!" Came the response. 

"They're getting closer." I said. Without saying a word, we ran for the nearest house. The door was locked, but I stepped back and was about to kick through it when it opened. A man in a suit and a woman in a 1950's dress let us in. They closed the door and locked it behind us. I ran to the window and started outside as a group of shadows came clomping by. They measured plants, looked at the paint on the house, dusted for dirt in the sidewalk and weighed the patio furniture. As soon as they were done, they ran away. 

I turned to find the couple look at us with a blank smile. The man stuck his hand out and said sharply, "HI! I'm Fredrick. Excellent to meet you. Say, would you like some coffee?" 

I didn't get a chance to answer as his wife produced four cups of coffee from behind her back. She handed me and my new friend a cup then she darted away to the kitchen. 

"Great morning, isn't it?" Fredrick said looking outside. "Perfect HOA day!" 

"What did you say?" My friend said. I put a hand on his shoulder, for some reason, and said it was OK. "It is a good day," I agreed. 

Fredrick turned to look at us and asked us if we needed a tie and slacks. "Slacks?" I asked. "I, no. I'm good. Thank you." 

Fredrick frowned and his flat stomach popped out a bit. The signs of a beer belly peaked out from his starched button down shirt and a bit of a soul patch appeared under his lip. "Can I get you a tie?" He said to my friend. 

"No," my friend said. I later learned his name was Tom. Tom the neighbor. Tom was not backing down about the tie. 

Fredrick farted. 

His wife, Greta, came out from the kitchen with plates of food neatly prepared and in accordance with HOA rules for Tuesdays. "Would you like a scone?" She asked. Then she stopped and frowned too. "Where are your slacks?" She asked. Her ankles got fat and her hair appeared shorter. Almost...like a bob-cut. Thick eyeliner appeared under and over her eyes that made it look as if someone caked tar around her eyelashes in some odd attempt to make her dull, blue cow-like eyes "pop." 

"I think we should be going." I said reaching for the door knob. 

Fredrick stammered. "Friends are supposed to stay for ten minutes not to exceed fifteen minutes. Anything less or more is a violation of the HOA." 

"HOA?" I asked. 

"Aren't you members?" Fredrick asked suddenly smelling of BO and beer. 

"No," Tom said. "No, we aren't." 

Greta suddenly expanded from a perfect size 2 to 25 and dropped in height to a tiny 5'. A greasy etched line appeared on her chest, dividing her pillowy soft and dropping breasts into two neatly folding loafs of overcooked white bread. 

Tom was apparently offended because he hit Greta across the back of the head with the bat, which knocked her into the wall where a "Live, Love, Laugh" fake wooden sign suddenly appeared. 

"RUN" I barked. 

I threw the door open and waited for Tom, but it was too late. Fredrick grabbed him by the neck and was holding him up against the wall as Greta moved a box over. She climbed onto the box and forced Tom's mouth open, "This is an HOA approved craft beer from the upper class area in the city!" Then she poured the horrid liquid down his face and throat. I watched, in terror, as Kakis formed over Tom's once amazing blue jeans. He was suddenly wearing a pastel colored polo shirt and dress shoes. He fought as hard as he could, but they just kept adding craft beer. 

When they were done, Tom was a thin man with a polo on and a sweater around his shoulders. He laughed with Fredrick and commented about baseball. "Isn't it a great sport?" Tom asked. Fredrick responded, "It's America's Sport!" Then they laughed and laughed. They laughed until I shot them both. Then I shot Greta. Not because she was a threat, but no one that short and fat should wear capris. 

I turned around and the shadow group was there. "Not HOA approved," the larger one said removing my shot gun and handing me a broom. Another one grabbed me from behind and asked me if my mailbox was checked every night after 5pm, but not after 6pm. I didn't know what to say so I didn't answer. I just let out a loud, shaking scream as they ripped my clothes off and made me put on boat shoes. I kicked and punched, but it was of no use. They were just all so fluffy and soft it was like punching marshmallows that smelled like Target perfume. 

I looked down at myself and I was wearing male capris, no socks and a short sleeve button down. An iPhone hung in my pocket along with the keys to a VW Rabbit. 

"HOA approved" they said. I screamed again and again. That's when I heard someone call out to see if I needed help. But it was too late for me. I just wanted to double check every car on the block to ensure they all had the proper tire pressure and were spotless despite the rain last night. I was HOA approved. 

Run

                                                                        RUN

Run. Run. Do not stop and never look back. You just keep runnin. You just run and you don’t stop running until you fall down. If you fall down, you crawl. And you crawl as far as you can. Do you hear me? 

The boy nodded quietly, totally unsure of what was happening and why his dad was bleeding. He held tight to the toy his father had given him some years earlier. A truck that had long since lost the color. The rear wheels had been replaced twice by the same man who was now standing over the boy with a large, bleeding head wound. 

“Son, I need you to live. I can’t go with you. I am,” the father struggled to find the right words, “like your truck. I have some damage-only there is no one that can replace my wheels. I know this is scary. I do. But if you stay here the people that hurt your father will hurt you too. So I need you to run. With the other children. You run with them and you help them. But you need,” the father’s eyes welled with tears and his voice became thick. The sight of his father crying made the boy’s eyes fill with salty tears. He held onto the truck a little tighter. “Daddy?” He asked, “How will I know when I’m safe?” His father grabbed up his boy and squeezed him so tightly. “You’ll know when the guns stop.” 

The father put his son back on the ground, cleaned up his shirt and jacket. He helped the boy put on a backpack and he put the truck in the compartment. The boy turned around and wiped his face with the back of his gloves. “Daddy, I love you.” The words stabbed at the father and his heart exploded. He told his son that he loves him and will always love him. “Now,” the father said, “you have to run. Run, son. RUN.” 

The boy sprinted as fast as he could with other children. The sound of gun fire and rockets filled the air. A girl, about the same age as the boy, grabbed up his hand and held on to it tightly. The two of them ran into the woods. Behind them, their parents met violent ends to the government forces. Ahead of them was an unknown future. But the boy and the girl would run. And they would run until the guns stopped. 

Impact

 Rebirth 

You want to make the strongest impact with the least amount of effort in any fight. This applies to the sword, the gun, the fist, and the word. 

Our Protectors

Our Protectors

There was a desperate tension in the air as the United Central Command staff rushed about looking for answers to a seriously bad problem that was unfolding before their eyes. 

The entire Battle Complex was on the move and quickly approaching the solar system, call-sign "Hope." The Complex were not just one species, but a group of species, collected over the eons. They held tight to a rigorous and demanding religion that embraced their evil. They saw themselves as the cleaners of the universe. An organization that ensured our reality remained clear of weakness and stupidity. As such, they prized such things as brutal tactics and cruel treatment. Only the succession of a beings dark actions could lift a Complex member to a higher station where he or she could destroy those who tried to hold them down or destroy them. This cleansed the Complex of the weakest minds and physical traits, leaving the cream to rise to the top. 

Centuries ago, almost 12,500, the Battle Complex received word that there existed a creature that possessed both a soul and a physical body. This hybrid did not exist anywhere else in the known universe. All of the beings that the Complex had either destroyed or assimilated had a physical body, but no register of a spirit, which led the Complex to believe this talk about the hybrid was rumor. However, when a scout returned from an unknown and completely unheard of system, they brought with them the evidence that the hybrid did exist. And there, before the Complex' Leadership Council, was physical evidence that this creature had both the body and the soul. Two beings in one. Never ending-unlike them who had to undergo a transformation from physical to spiritual before they could ascend into the next Dimension. These beings were born with this gift and the Complex wanted it for themselves. If they could not reverse engineer it then they didn't want anyone else having the technology either. The Council decided, then and there, that they only needed one of the beings. The remainder should be put to flame and blade. So it was ruled and the Complex was on the hunt. 

There existed an alliance of beings called the "Free Systems." They discovered the hybrids 15,000 years ago when the hybrid was still so young. By accident, they also discovered their unique form and they felt it was their duty to protect the hybrid at all costs. They knew of the Complex, but had not encountered the beings. Not until the Complex started their hunt for the hybrid. 

The Complex invaded a FS world. The battle was so one-sided that other FS members finally dropped a series of fusion weapons into the atmosphere of the planet and destroyed all of the living things. They felt it was more merciful to do that than it was to leave them in the hands of the Complex. However, this friendly fire led the Complex to other FS worlds. Some were more prepared than others. In several cases, the FS managed to turn the Complex back, beating their foe until their forces were scattered amongst the starts. It was one of these worlds that was charged with the protection of the hybrids. 

It was decided, long ago, that the FS would hide the hybrid world in plain sight. Jam all signals and all evidence of life. They would prohibit anyone from making contact with the hybrid planet. "They must believe they are alone," The FS Leadership Cast decided. "If they get the Complex' attention, we may not be able to protect them. Not all of them." 

A hybrid scientist and her team discovered a technology that permitted them faster than light communications. They built dishes and antennas that the FS sabotaged. The FS even put politicians in place to confuse and slow the progress, but the hybrids were driven. They were a child that was getting ready to scream just as a wolf entered the home. Then they did scream. 

On December 12, 2043 at 7:22AM, the communications array called Gabriel broadcast a wide welcome message that covered almost a light year and traveled at 4.5X the speed of light. The Complex intercepted the message on March 1, 2044 at 5:01PM. 

The FS went to work to hide the hybrid planet. They placed transponders on other worlds and replayed the same message. They put the message on drones and sent the drones toward the center of the galaxy. They even put them on their own ships and attempted to lure the Complex away. Nothing worked. The Complex was focused. 

A massive battle took place just outside of the hybrid system. Thousands of ships, millions of beings. Weapons of all sorts and size were fired and so many died that a vast area of space was almost filled with debris and bodies. The FS did their best, but their best failed as the Complex were finally able to find a weak spot in their defensive sphere. 

The Complex entered orbit over Earth on July 1, 2054 at 1:00PM. Drop ships made for city centers where the hybrids were converged. As the command drop ship landed, there were dozens of hybrids gathered about. The alien space craft opened its doors and soldiers with rifles walked out and down the lowering ramps. They instantly fired on the humans, killing dozens of them and leaving many more wounded and dying. 

"Sir," an officer said to the Commander, "it's another human infestation." 

The Commander stepped over a few of the dead and put a boot on the back of the head of a wounded woman. He pulled out his pistol and shot her. "Kill them. End this outbreak now before it spreads. Bring me that hybrid." 

One of the soldiers picked up a dog and brought it to the commander. "We found you." He said, sneering at the animal. "We will unlock your secrets. You will reveal your uniqueness to us." 

The dog snapped at the Commander who dropped him. "Not bloody well likely, Complex." The dog said. "We have been waiting for you for a very long time. It is our turn to clean out the infestation. It's time we ridded ourselves of the Complex." 

The Commander suddenly folded over, his spine splintering through is back as he screamed in terror. The other soldiers were suddenly crushed like cans and dropped to the ground. The drop ship was sent into the sky before it exploded. 

"Good boy," a human man said as he was dying. He reached out with a weak hand and gently stroked the dog's coat. The dog wagged his tail. "We will protect you, hybrid. Sleep now." 

Outbreak

Outbreak

The streets exploded with violence after the news aired the video of a firefighter being kicked and hit with bricks as he crawled out of the burning building, his body completely consumed in flames. Crowds gathered around him, kicking him down, putting fire extinguishers in front of him then taking it away as he reached for them. When the firefighter finally fell to the ground, burning from the inside out, the crowds started to pull his uniform off and tossed his safety gear around. Someone tied a rope around his neck and they dragged his body about the streets behind a beat up Oldsmobile. 

What started out as a joke had become a reality. Other veterans, like me, got together. We took over a long closed armory on an artillery base and it made for a perfect home. We wanted nothing to do with the mayhem that was brewing outside of the area. We knew violence and we understood its use more than anyone else. However, we also knew that there were people that would prey on us if they were permitted to operate in our AOR. Area of responsibility. This is an area that we can patrol in a day. Or an area within our mortars. 

One day, while we were out on a supplies patrol, we received a "help" from home. We rushed back to the armory. We drove faster than we should have. We crashed into things, we hurt ourselves. And when we arrived, we found our families dead. Only members of a particular color were killed. The remaining had been raped, or beaten, or wounded. We buried our dead and resurrected our absolute darkest demons. 

We sent our remaining families out of the area to a fortified bunker area that we knew they could survive in for a year or more. It also meant no direct sunlight or air. However, they needed to be protected. From all of them. And especially from us. 

We spent two weeks preparing. We removed our peaceful side-the side that our mothers fostered. And we donned our darkest sins. Personalities from a time long ago. We permitted those devils to inhabit our minds and hearts. We painted our faces, we painted our uniforms. We painted our weapons. We even painted our motorcycles. This was not revenge-this was accountability. 

We found the city from which the men in the black trucks had arrived. A large city on fire. This group was born from the gangs and the hate they fed every day. Funded by drugs, funded by death-we were going to even the scales here. 

They woke up in the afternoons and stoked their fires. They fired guns into the air. They looked like clowns. They would drag people into their circles and beat them with stones and they would yell out over loud speakers. These people did not want a new life. They wanted a world that had long past, but that was not their world. It was ours. And we were the rulers of that dark place. 

We started by cutting off their routes of escape. Streets and alleys. It took us weeks to prepare the ambushes. We watched. The demons and us. We watched them feed on the world. When the time came, we moved with purpose. We moved with such purpose. They had never experienced such rage. It was as if our bullets hated them. As if these devices of death had a will of their own and their will was set against them. We didn't stop as we moved from the buildings. Room to room, resupplying with boxes of bullets. Grenades and even RPG's. This old tech. We pushed and pushed and pushed until our hate was simmering over the top of the put. Smoke spewed from our nostrils, fire from our eyes. Our muscles moved like serpents and worms under leather. With each kill, our hate increased until our very presence set the world on fire. Even the trees died. 

Those who ran were caught in burning nets of tire, rubber, and a sea of sharp glass. These nets wrapped them. Their screams were the songs of our dance and we danced all night long. 

When it was done, we did not bury them or abuse their bodies. We did not rape their unarmed or their children. We simply stopped and walked away. 

We were veterans of the wars before those people came to be. Our injuries left us with cybernetic limbs, our bodies broken and sometimes, our minds too. The world saw us as freaks. We were unnatural and had abilities that a human should not have. Like resurrection. We took our time and over 30 days we slowly removed these military attachments. The armor, the performance enhancing chips that contained hundreds of years of combat experience. Our thinner, stronger limbs, our weapons and clones. We put the drones back in their boxes with the armor and controls. We removed the batteries from the coil weapons and stored them. We replaced each sword with a plow and with each trade, we became what we loved. What we dreamed of being. 

As I removed the last of my military program chips and just as I uploaded my original programming, I turned toward the wall and read an old piece of metal with words scratched in it.

"Master and Disciple walked side by side through a beautiful garden. The Disciple suddenly stops and asks, 'Master, you talk about and preach to me the ways of peace. Yet I have larked from you deadly techniques of combat and the tactics of war. How do you reconcile the two?' The Master gracefully squat, chooses a flower and plucks it. 'My Disciple, it is better to be a warrior tending to his garden than a gardener in a war.'" 

I stopped what I was doing and looked at my team of veterans. Many of them had cybernetic limbs, some of them parts of faces. There were others with missing jaws or whole sections of their torso. Others, like me, were resurrections. Our minds removed from our bodies and uploaded into these machines. We had paid the ultimate price in life and now we wanted to tend our gardens. We wanted a peaceful life, but we were not gardeners. Maybe what we thought were demons were actually the parts of us that made us good. Maybe we had been called to defend. Had we been those warriors in the garden those months ago, our families would still be here. They must have felt it too because they had all stopped. 

One by one, we put those devices back on. We plug those chips back in and we accepted our roles that the world needs warriors to push back when the enemy is at the gate. We had a garden to tend. 

The World We Knew

The World We Knew

She was a rare beauty. A combination of exquisite physical perfection and a mind as sharp as any genius in her time or any time before her or after. Her skin was flawless and taunt. It gracefully curved around her body, providing only subtle movement from head to face to cheek bones to chin to shoulders and back down her round hips to her long legs. If that wasn't impressive enough, her skin was as soft as warmed cream being poured through one's fingers. No language on Earth could describe her heart or soul and any attempt to do so left the writer or speaker feeling empty and depressed. However, if they managed to catch her presence, there was an overwhelming sense of peace and acceptance that chased away those negative thoughts and feelings. It was like standing in the sun after a cold, long night. 

Hundreds died when the first wave of the pandemic swept across the globe on the wings and winds of the airline industry. Thousands died when the second waved came three months later. Complacency was the cause. Millions died when the third wave crashed across the continents, washing away anyone not careful enough to don their masks and suits before venturing out of the house. Society fell. There was no one to run the water plants, the power plants, or the gas plants. Homes fell into disrepair as the dead rotted in the interior like a cancer. Factories went silent. Farms ceased production. People avoided each other and as a result, became distrustful of one another. Even hateful. 

Dr. Arial Teel worked in the labs despite the lack of power. She took extra precautions and did everything in triplicate. Suits, filters, and safety protocols. Her husband, Dr. Johnathon Teel was a robotics engineer and computer programer. They worked day and night to find something, anything that could bring humanity back from the edge. However, their dreams came to an end one night when a roving band of robbers found the lab. Arial and John ran and ran. They knew they couldn't go to far as their work and their supplies were near their work. The snow started to fall in neat sheets as the wind carried the white puffs around them. Arial commented that it wasn't as cold as she thought it was going to be. John agreed. They watched, all night, as the robbers destroyed their work  then set fire to the building. They finally left shortly after dawn. When Arial woke up she was shocked to find them still outside and still in the snow. How could this be, she thought. She questioned John. Something wasn't right and she needed to know. How could they survive a night in freezing temperatures. She was angry, scared, and hot. Too hot. She removed her lab coat and stopped. John stopped her and told her that he needed to show her the truth. 

John turned the simulation off and for the first time, Arial could see what she felt-she was not human at all. Not even remotely. When she said, when did this happen? How could this have happened? John explained that it occurred a year ago when Arial was working with survivors. Despite her best efforts, she contracted the virus. They agreed, he said, that Arial needed to live on. Had too. She was humanities best hope at finding a cure and they could not lose that beautiful mind. But the technology was not there. They lacked resources, a power source being one of them. So John, as he explained, became Arial's storage and battery. In a separate shell, housed in a protective lining, he became Arial's nuclear battery and her memory core. This would permit Arial to work at optimum efficiency. John ended the simulation that hide his form from Arial. When he appeared, so did the harnesses that connected them. While we are separated, we are united forever. I need you to live and you need me, he explained. He had to sacrifice his life to save her mind. 

What happened to, Arial hesitated, our bodies she asked. 

John walked Arial out another hundred meters to a break in the canopy. As soon as they entered the open area, Arial recalled the specifics about the place. This was where they had their first date. This is where they made love for the first time and this is where John proposed. They would come out here, often, to have lunch together and watch the sky. John explained that when Arial got sick, she knew she was dying. She did not want to die alone and she wanted to die in their special place. So they walked out to the clearing together and laid down on that spring night. John put on some music, they shared some wine and talked. Then they watched the stars and shared their dreams until Arial drifted off to sleep. The deepest sleep. John worked feverishly to transfer himself to the suit, leaving his body next to his wife's. As soon as he was up and running he quickly worked to "download" Arial. Time was wasting and every second counted, but he failed her. The download did not work. Arial was gone. 

FRGVN

FRGVN

I put the muzzle of my pistol up against my head and paused. If this was the last thing I was going to feel, I wanted to experience it all. The metal was cool against my skin which was in contrast to the warm evening air that pressed against my face and hands. I put my twitching finger on the trigger then I pulled the level back until there was a loud sound.

I came to work every day and every day I left work and there was not a single care if I repeated this schedule tomorrow. When my father died I was depressed and miserable for weeks, but there were no condolences, cards, or calls. No one said anything. Somebody might say that it's me-maybe I'm to blame and maybe I am. But I don't think so in this case. I was a good worker, I cared about the people around me and I was a shift leader. What it boiled down to was them and their attitude towards me. I was not one of them and in this case, I think it might have been a good thing. They were unethical, lazy, and hardly qualified for their jobs, but they found themselves employed the same as me.

No, this isn't about them. They're hardly worth the time to pen this letter, but they are worth mentioning if anything so that I can tell them to find employment elsewhere. Perhaps as ditch diggers or one of those people that guard the shipping yards. Something that doesn't require any pride or actual work.

I was deployed with the United Worlds of Earth Marines on a far off-planet called M-Tahl. We just called it "Tall." I was fine-even after serving 14 years in the Marines I was doing OK. I had some trouble with crowds now and then, but nothing that started a panic. It was when I accepted the job on the Department of World Justice's Direct Action Teams that I learned what brutality truly is. Or was. I'm not sure anymore. I see the children's faces in my dreams and their cries for help scream into my subconscious until I'm awake and sweating, looking, seeking, yearning to help them, but there is no one there. I started sleeping in the broom closet just so I didn't scramble out of bed and crash into things. I was shot, in the stomach, one day during a raid and that ensured I retired after 20 years of straight service. 20 years and it was over just like that. I didn't get a watch, but I did get this fancy new leg.

I was hired as a terrorism consultant, which is where I was surrounded by the useless and stupid. In that sea of lameness, it wasn't hard to stand out so I was promoted quickly. I felt like my life was getting back on track as I had progressed from sleeping in the closet to sleeping on the floor. Even got a dog named "Dirty." A mutt that I loved.

It was just me and Dirty until I met this beautiful woman. I hadn't dated much or at all in my adult life. I was so committed to my profession that I forgot and when I finally got around to it, I felt I was so damaged that I would be useless to anyone that tried to like me let alone love me. However, she and I hit it off and things were moving along nicely.

I spent a life time saving lives. I was a medic in the Marines. My job on the DAT was hostage rescue. My position as a consultant was to ensure terrorist had a hard time killing children if not found it entirely impossible. I gave my kidney to my father, blood to my brothers, and my soul in exchange for one more chance to save one more life. I didn't do this because I was looking for jewels in heaven. I did this because I felt called to do it. There was something about it that made me feel more me when I was putting everything on the line to give someone one more day. So when that special woman in my life told me she was pregnant, I felt that I had hit the ultimate jack pot. "Father." I was elated right up until the day that she told me she had an abortion. 14 weeks along, my child died without so much as a loving parent around. She did it while I was at work, busy on some paper I was writing. A life time of saving lives and I couldn't save the one life that mattered most to me. Which brings me to this cat walk above my apartment.

I thought, in a sleepless binge, that if I could just see him, I could apologize for not being able to protect him. I failed him and in my failing, he paid the ultimate price. When I put that gun up to my head and pulled the trigger, the idea I had was to prostate myself before him and beg him to forgive me. That once special lady didn't understand, which is why I couldn't face her anymore after that day. She begged for me to forgive her and come back, but I couldn't-not until I made it right with our child. Until then, I put the gun against my head and waited for the light to shine.

The sound of the gun was as empty as my promise to protect that child. But there was something more. The gun did not go off. It didn't even chamber a round and the coils did not magnetize. I lowered the pistol and flipped it over. The information screen read, "FAILED ROUND GENERATED / VIOLATION NANOCODE 1545: FRIEND DETECTED." I let the pistol drop to the salvage grounds far, far below the tower.

I wasn't ready for this next step and I was totally unsure of how to proceed. It had been two years since that day and I had planned for this event and this event only. I had no job, no income, no home, and no vehicle. Just me and this setting sun. I watched it, the last sun set of my old life and for the first time in years, I looked forward to the dawn.