Memoirs of the Forgotten

[Durandal]

I inhaled deeply as I walked down the tightly cramped and dimly lit corridor of Leniex's maximum security detainment cells, the comforting aroma of human feces and vomit mixed with piss filling my nostrils, muffled screams drowning out whatever it is that keeps a sane man sane. Anyone outside of the Legion may have thought that their prisoners would be treated with the utmost respect, that the Legion's guards might have some sense of justice. This was far from the case. In fact, the opposite was true, at least since Tadao took power.

This hell on earth had been my home for the past three months, and not out of choice. The guards here were as much prisoners to their own job as the actual prisoners were to their own fate. I had been a Westpoint dropout before joining the Legion's ranks. A faulty fuel cell having been overlooked by the technicians, causing my Guardian's engine to combust and leaving the ship to drift into the badlands. Ironic that a poorly maintained mine dropper on my sabre the second time around would have me sent to Tartarus itself after being convinced that the Legion could give me a second chance.

As I continued down the abyssal corridor one scream became more prominent than the man I had passed a few cells behind. Every few hundred feet they would rise and fall. It was nothing new to me, any shreds of sanity that the stench and sights didn't take care of were finished off by the screams. Cell #142, cell #143, 144, 145...

I don't know what compelled me to do what I did that day. Whether it was some sick perversion or sense of pity in a man who's soul should've long since been crushed. But I looked. I turned my head and I looked into that cell, my gaze and hers locked together. My "soul", or whatever may have been left of it, looking into - becoming one with - her own remnant's of a psyche.

Her lips were moving. I didn't hear the words, but her lips were moving.

"Help."

"Help me."


But my mind had since stopped functioning to the point where it could decipher even a simple sentence derived from a human being's vocal chords.

She was on her back, lying in a puddle of her own waste and vomit. They had her on the grounds as they took turns with her, each guard goading the next on.



I broke my gaze.

I looked away.

I inhaled deeply.

And I continued walking.

Cell #147, 148, 149...

It was too late to purge that image, her deep blue eyes locked into mine.

Past the point of no return.

150, 151, 152...