Diary Entry I
Dear Diary
My name is Reilly Kestrel
And I’m dying.
I thought maybe keeping a diary would help me cope with everything that’s happened in the last few weeks. It feels a little silly, talking to myself sitting on my stupid bunk in this stupid battlecruiser going to fight in this stupid war. It’s all so STUPID. Did I already mention that? Probably. I don’t care, I’m going to say it again.
This is so, so stupid.
I was going to die either way. Why am I so upset about this? At least this way I’ll get a shiny monument with my name on it, maybe a medal of honor. Things death-row criminals usually don’t get. And odds are I’ll hit the dirt on CS-17 and be shot right away, so I won’t even have to deal with the combat implants they gave me slowly tearing my body apart at the molecular level.
The others say it’s like ‘super cancer’. As if cancer wasn’t bad enough, humanity just had to go invent better, faster, deadlier cancer.
This whole ship is full of people like me. They call us ‘Deathknights.’ I think it’s a little melodramatic, or maybe the secretary of defense just likes fantasy video games too much. Either way, the title’s accurate. The big bulky pneumatic armor is a little bit ‘knight’ looking. And the death part comes with the territory.
The implants are hurting me again. The ones in my knees and back most, but my neck’s getting stiff too. They give us some rec time but they mostly keep us on ice so we don’t die before we cross the solar boundaries. And besides, I’ve heard you don’t want to be awake when the FTL kicks on anyway. Heard of people losing their minds from being shoved through a wormhole like a stubborn bowel movement.
I miss Dev. I mean I miss Scratch and Talon too, but fuck… I miss Dev. I tried to draw her on the other page, but I’m not very good at drawing. And I don’t really have time to learn. And besides, even whoever painted the Mona Lisa couldn’t do her justice.
If you’re watching me from up there babe, I hope you’re proud. I’m fighting for the future of mankind, after all.
And don’t worry. Even if I go to hell, I’m sure there’s visitation. Like prison, remember?
I’ll see you soon babes.
