Retreat, Catharsis, Decision

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Retreat, Catharsis, Decision

Post by MajorJim on Tue May 12, 2009 6:44 pm

Gatekeeper, D-portal THX-1138

Within gatekeeper, in one of the many stable dimensional portals that has regular traffic with CORE and the marshalship, lies a gate from which two souls aboard the blaze of glory have come. One is a man of icy nerves and unflinching devotion to duty. The other, a shadow cast into this place by the same accident that cost the 1st man his hand. This is the story of the shadow,a flawed man of blood and iron, earth and fire, driven by his passions at his worst, defined by his intellect at his best.

The marshals look over the shadow for a moment, the stubbled, square jawed face frame by black glasses and dark hair that once simply had a few hints of gray hair, now streaked with boldly cutting lines across his scalp. He wears the rank pins of a major over his black stormcoat but his uniform is otherwise bereft of

medals, campaign ribbons, or any of the adornments of rank or achievement. His face is a stern mask as
he steps through the D-gate and returns once more to the place where his journey started.



Mao Industries: Luna Base



The hulking shadow in the EFA uniform steps out, greeted for a moment by the personnel manning the other
side of the gate, he nods once, his grim mien and slow tread at odds with a mind that races off the tracks and routines he has long established, that indeed define him, and a breast that is roiled, scalded with bitter emotions. Love, Hate, Sadness, Despair and Anger war for supremacy within him. The weak vestige of hope echoing plaintively in the discordant mix of feelings at times, but only just,kept alive by the kindness of the girl-child, the old master, the eternal penitent and the immoral slayer.

He walks on, his conversation dull and without affect, the thousand yard stare of the soldier at odds with his bare jacket and uniform, which has none of the attending battle honors of a man who is now very clearly a veteran of conflict.

He contemplates the morn. His dearest friends, now lovers, confronting a madwoman whom his brash words had provoked to action. Two shots, a cry, and the thuds of bodies striking the deckplates. Why did he walk away, abandoning them? His conscious mind has no answer, only the growling and snarling of a hurt beast, running from a scene of immediate pain to a scene of a far older, and more profound sadness.

The man is clad in a vac suit now, this shadow of heroism, as he steps from the domes of Luna base into the void that surrounds Earth's moon. He descends a pathway into a smooth, perfect half-circle crater that was scooped out many years ago, heading towards a small black block in the center, about half his height, upon which an eternal flame... or more precisely a thruster burning reaction mass, is set, burning blue and casting strange shadows across the dusty crater. He kneels, eyes sliding across each name. Doctors, soldiers, technicians. Friends, coworkers, and those he never knew. His eyes close within the helmet, and he kneels, by his own name, cut into the rock by carving lasers, reaching down below it, where friends and family have left little votive offerings to the ones that are now lost. His gloved hand stirs the dust, explosing a duraplast-covered photograph. His last class, smiling, laughing with a man he feels so far away from, now. A slightly pudgy man in the same uniform, crossing his arms and looking approvingly at the new cadets he has trained. It is a datapicture, flickering into photographs of each one in turn, as the hints of light energy hit it, and he just holds it, looking at it.

"Hngh." And then he weeps, kneeling, his body racking with sobs as he remembers each face, and realizes how stupid he's been, how little perspective he's had. His beloved students are almost all dead, and he remains alive. And yet he was so wrapped up in his misery, he almost forgot how important it was to live for them, those who could not because of happenstance and war. He shakes his head, taking the picture away with him, and heads back to the habs, ready to return to the Blaze of glory. Ready to face Reven, Verse, and the unnamed other. Ready to ask questions, and maybe... just maybe, contribute something towards peace.

The shadow leaves the scene, as the moon turns towards the sun, and light plays over the crater in Luna base. His own song, his own story, still discordant... but hope sings again, and in so doing the shadow chooses not to run away, but face himself.
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MajorJim

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