Operations Officer O'Callahan

[Fletcher]

Welcome to the Bretonian Armed Forces Database Terminal v1.342.3, Commander ________.
Please input a command...
access.personnel.id.0135468765
print.log."musings".page1
Accessing "Musings" log from personnel id 0135468765...
Printing...

I guess it is time I make a log of these things, at least before my shrink decides to have another lecture on 'how to communicate'. Yeah, he understands where I'm coming from... in his dreams.

My name is James Leary O'Callahan, I am an Operations Officer for the Bretonian Armed Forces. Maybe I should explain what my job is, maybe that will clear my head. As an operations officer, I am tasked with collecting data from the neural net channels, be it civilian communications or encrypted military communications in the Leeds system. In a sense, I become a set of eyes and ears that listens to the pulse of Leeds. It almost sounds perverse, listening in on innocent conversations, to the deepest and darkest talks of the military.

Unfortunately for me, I'm a perfect candidate for this job; because of my strengths, and weaknesses. I can sort out data faster than most people can here, the stuff that the optronics aren't allowed to record, the stuff the government doesn't want the public to know about; making it easy come; easy go. However. The main reason why they put me in this job? A person like me? Hmm. Maybe its because I can't talk. Not the kind where a guy walks into a bar and freezes at the sight of a fine woman, heh, no. The kind that had his vocal cords burned out in battle on Planet Harris. Yeah, the skirmishes nobody wants to talk about. Maybe I should become a spy, since, well I can't make a sound any more, would be useful in poker.

But enough about that side of things. Maybe. Maybe I should get this portion of my chest, after all, pain is a movable object too.

There are some things I can hear on the Leeds neural net, some normal innocent things... to the outright soul crushing. I can. I. I can still remember that freighter's distress call... I could hear them calling for help, they were being raided by pirates... And what did I do? WHAT WAS I TOLD TO DO?!?! I disobeyed orders... I managed to get a BPA patrol to recon the area where the freighter was. Even though it was too late. Maybe I wanted to clear my conscience, that I did something. Something.

Then another log came in. The patrol I pulled, was maintaining a perimeter for a search and capture of a serial rapist. I. I pulled a patrol out of line, for my own conscience, and the sick... sick... that... person got away. He escaped. All this during a war.

I was pulled into the office for that, lectured about categories and levels of priority. I couldn't say anything, even if I could. What could I say? "I'm sorry?" "Understood sir?" No. I don't agree. My orders are to prioritize military chat, then police and if possible with the resources, civilian. Basically, soldiers will only get my help thanks to this God forsaken war.

Maybe, maybe this is all in my head you know? God, testing me. Testing me to the brink of my humanity. What can I do? What should I do? What will I do? These are questions that fill me day in, day out.

I think that is all for today, if my shrink thinks otherwise, he can take my snooker cue and shove it. Right. Up. HIS! -#$%

Transcript ended...
Encoding date and read time for logs.
Please input command...
update.personnel.id.0135468765
medical.a_depressants.x3
Update confirmed, Commander.
Increasing allocated medical dosage for anti-depressant concentration by factor three.
WARNING!!! WARNING!!!
Current dosage above regular health limits, advise concentration to 1.2. Failure to update may result in death of personnel.
override.limit.a_depressants
Confirmed, Commander.
Shipping new medical batch to O'Callahan, James Leary.
Have a nice day, Commander.

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"Oh chuffing blimey, another day, another person being whiney!"
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