Crack in The Wall

[Noth Squadron]

. . .Theodore Syd, Noth Squadron . . .Kaarst Drydock, Hangar #4 You know what? I take it back. Five was a way better choice than him. Anyone but him. Even the family's goofball was preferable compared to this...vile man. I shudder to think why the overseers spared him a well deserved dose of lead through the skull. I remember that day... when the news flared up with homicide after homicide. Good people suddenly turned maniacs, causing hysteria in Ludwigshafen. It was so bad they closed up most traffic over thousands of kilometers and issued random checks even beyond. Unfortunately for me, my job was in that radius. I had a run to do that day. Nothing special: some civilians being given asylum on Bruchsal. All I had to do was fly there under the guise of a Rheinland Patrol. I've done this so many times I even took the trademarked Rheinlandic accent and the assorted police douchebagery as a reflex. It should've been easy, I swear. What I did not expect however was all public landing pads being locked down and anyone leaving to be arrested. Show up after I'm done loading up everything, why don't you? Ran out of credits at the coffee machine or is it the comedic effect you're chasing? There were five people. Innocent, people. I watched from afar as the Police locked them in a circle and started asking questions. Eventually, my clients were found out for who they were and paid the price for it before I could even take a step to get them out of the mess they were in. They probably still do to this very day -- breaking stone somewhere a few hundred or thousands of meters deep on Hammersee whilst being too busy to remember why they're there to begin with. And I almost joined them, had my survival instincts not kicked in when the officers' attention turned to me soon after. I remember the narrow escape, but not much after that. Shame only scratches the surface of what I felt. And what better way to drown the pain other than copious amounts of alcohol? Because that's the most popular thing to do. You see it in movies, you see it in reality, you can even read it in books. The next thing I know is being surrounded by strangers in an abandoned public bathroom. The stench was... awful, definitely fitting the place. I only wish my roommates knew how to use the toilets when the headaches kicked in. Every one of those 'enlightened servants' pride themselves with how the process is flawless. That the already weak are separated from the strong - viable subjects worth something. What they don't tell you is how some of us shat ourselves from the pain - trust the process or whatever. When the deed was done and the doors opened for us few survivors, the smell shot out the door and right up those servants' nostrils. I only wish it had more of an effect on them when it happened. There's some food left that needs picking. Right there by the salvage heap we brought in last month. Bring it over and let's bounce. Look at him. Average in everything, except the imagination he's got in that psychotic mind of his. What's worse: He doesn't even know the things he's done. But this mission is a chance to fix that, isn't it? For once, I'm hoping he falls in a ditch and I - we - happen to not see him.