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TIME TO FIGHT.

The sixth entry in the diary of Jesse Charleston Maith

Wednesday 3 October 14 N.G., 2214hrs.

The sixth entry in the diary of Jesse Charleston Maith

Wednesday 3 October 14 N.G., 2214hrs.

 I write this post today as a changed man.

 Again.

 My life is altered.

Again.

Another person close to me has died. My aunt Stacy was murdered at the hands of the New Alaskan armed forces during last week’s attack.

 Seeing her bruised and battered body in that hospital bed, and witnessing her struggle to speak or move, much less feed herself, was the hardest thing I’ve had to watch since my mom passed. The terror and sheer repulsiveness of that sight was nothing short of wrath and nausea inducing.

 Then, just when I thought she was getting better, she’s gone. I wish I could have seen her one last time. Through my anguish and ire, I couldn’t bring myself to think why her body was removed from her room so soon after her passing.

 Regardless, another enormous chunk of my heart ripped out of my chest.

If not for my girlfriend and my cousins, it would no longer exist.

 If my aunt were downstairs drinking her tea, the purpose of this entry would be to declare a call for a defector coalition to escape to Canada, as I had declared in my last post.

 After what happened, though, I’m instead going to seek those of you reading to join the military effort.

 Before you label me a traitor, a charlatan, or any derogatory term you see fit, I ask you to put yourself in my shoes for a moment. Please indulge me as I tell you a story about my late father, as told to me by my aunt.

 When he was drafted for the U.S. Marine Corps before the Endgame, his instant reaction was: I refuse to go. That’s not to say he refused to fight for his country, but he believed his skill-set would be better-suited for the laboratory than the battlefield. After much cajoling from his brother, my aunt, many friends, and his wife, he joined the Marines. His rationale was: some things are bigger and more important than speculation or mental wrestling. If your life is at stake, or you believe, deep within your heart, that putting your own life on the line is justifiable, then you must struggle for what you think is right.

 I have reached the point where placing my life on the line is justifiable.

The truth is, you-know-who didn’t kill my aunt. George Fetisov is the one that acted. He just couldn’t take the high road on Stewart’s egging and instigating this time.

 Thousands are dead, including someone dear to me. Perhaps they killed someone you cherish.

I can’t force you to volunteer. You have your choice to join or dodge the draft. But if someone you love was lost, and if you can see past you-know-who’s intentions, then I ask you to join me in accepting your draft order, and to fight against this new evil; a malevolence that proved to be intent on killing innocent civilians, disposing of diplomacy and the potential for peace.

 For the record, my girlfriend and my cousins are joining me.

 This site was founded on the principle of peaceful protest championed by Sarah Boynton, and honored by The Tipster, but at least for me, the game has changed.

 It is no longer time to just speculate on you-know-who’s true intentions for our country. It’s time, for now, to stop pointing fingers at him.

 It’s time to fight the cowards that killed our fellow Freedomers in cold blood.

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