Threats from within.

[Exile]

16 months since the last check. Planet New London, Bretonia. Current time and date unkown

I haven't heard from Julie ever since I departed from Liberty. She said she'd hook up with some kind of group or another. Don't know for sure. Haven't heard from that Libertonian guy I met a while ago in ages, either. Undercover? Dead? Ignoring the rest of us? Wouldn't know. As for home? Well, they've been quiet too. Just sent me out here and told me to 'wait'. Well, wait I did.

I waited for nearly a year and a half in this war-focused realm. You'd think New London doesn't have any poor quarters or the likes when you look at it from orbit, right? Guess again. It's where they put me : Province 21, District 69, Block 12. Basic thing really. Water, check. (Pure water was another thing on it's own) Plumbing, check. Wide-screen connection, semi check. (It liked to kill it's own connection on occasion, fun fun. ) Intra/Extra-net, check. Though limited. Mostly propaganda. A job? Not so much. Every man woman and child was on the market around this place. Working for the lowest wages with the crappiest hours. Sure, they sent me off with -some- from of international credit, but barely enough for this place and one's normal quantity of food. What'd I do?

I stole, ran, hid, and stole again. Soon I found myself running errands for even worse low-lives. Drug dealers, major thieves, and the occasional preparations in case somebody had to make some one else disappear. Shady stuff. Unclean stuff. Things I wasn't proud off. Things that didn't work out.

It paid fine for a while. Enough to come by and the occasional 'treat'. Never really saved much, so all that did come in went out before you could blink. But where did it bring me? How did it end? Well, as a lackey of the underworld, you're bound to get busted. Even quicker when you're sold out.



So... Now I'm here. District 69's prison. Cold, damp, barbaric. A poor prison in a poor quarter in a world concerned with war. For how long now? Well, let's just say that I lost track of time quite a while ago, with still ages to go... My charges? Petty theft, major theft. Accomplice at murder. Planning to murder some one, and armed robbery. 24 hours of sitting in a cell, looking at the floor, the ceiling, or my chains. (Told you, barbaric.) Occasionally I get up and practice some martial arts. Note, practice. But that's only on the 'good' days. What are the bad days then, you ask? Staring at the floor, thinking of the outside. All those worlds, all those peoples. The things happening and the things I could be doing. Then again, 'Wait', they said.

Wait.

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