The Fall of Aomori

[Orin]

Orin sat in the a dark metal room. The walls were closing in again, his mind was spinning. These memories. These false, crippling memories. They were all he could bear these days. The time in the field; the time doing what should have been doing; was falling to nothing. He couldn't help his friends anymore. He couldn't even help himself.

The GMG proved to be a new life, another distraction. Something he could envelop himself in and get lost in. The only scrap of identity remaining was the name. A name that wasn't even his own. But what did it matter anymore? The past was gone, and now the future was following suit. The haunting memories were more than enough for him to deal with, how could he throw himself into combat with... these demons?

He shook his head, uttering a voice command to bring the illumination in his temporary Ogashawa quarters online. The dark thoughts vanished, and he almost felt normal. He couldn't feel sorry himself. Not now, not ever. Self pity hadn't done anything for him in the past, it wasn't going to now. He stood up, letting his hands slide across the stiff vapid sheets as he did. He wasn't down, not yet. Taro was in command, where he should be. Orin couldn't do it anymore, that was clear in his mind. But that wasn't going to do anything to him. Pride was a useless emotion, something most of the GMG failed to realize. Even at his lowest of lows, he could still get out there and do what he did best. Fly.

"Docking control, ready my Taiidan. Keep the Viper on standby." He instructed, flipping on the comm system on the wall. "It's time to give those bastards what they deserve. Hell."