.2 : Whispers in the Dark

Day 1,987, 19:18 • Published in USA USA • by Ludonarr
The continued trials and tribulations of I, Ludonarr, as attempts are made to establish a foothold in my new home

Each day I feel a bit stronger.

The fighting has stopped for the most part. At least, it has stopped for me. Each day my unit receives orders and I fall in line to punch my ticket and get my kills for the day. Only a few days on the job and murder is already second nature. I just can't muster the courage or resources to rage across the battlefield all day like some of my comrades, blasting through foreigners and headless chickens alike with reckless abandon.


Another day, another fight

Applied for some extra training. Was going to ship off to flight training to get some special teaching in the arts of war. That was, until I got the offer to join this unit. They were quiet, they were vaguely mysterious. I joined without hesitation. Only time will tell if the men and women of the Activity are warriors...or lunatics.

Turned on the TV, newsman says there's an election coming up. I walk the streets and see the billboards and news articles littering the land. Vote for Dr. Luis, they say. Artela for President, read others. I shuffle down the street past a rally and hear chants of "We want Tenshibo!"

I pull up the collar of my jacket and just keep walking. Weatherman says there is some major global warming going on. Guess they forgot to tell this city that.



Home awaits with its dim lighting and passable food. I mechanically shovel it down as I read through my reports for the day. Only a couple days in and I am already operating a few plots of farm land and producing food. Nothing much, but better than nothing. Sucker I am, I bought a small factory off some sleazeball. Gonna get rich I thought, gonna sell weapons.

Only thing i'll be selling is that factory...for a loss.

Fell in with some cool cats. Call themselves the USWP I guess. A bit proletariat for my tastes, but it's only a name. What's in a name?

They've been showing me around, giving me access to some nice clubs and cafes. Sitting amongst strangers trying to get my bearings, my eyes catch sight of old posters and my ears pick up whispers, faded relics of long ago.


I walk the halls of the USWP

Revolutionary posters faded and torn, murmurs of conflicts and wars lost past. "World War III" one tells me, "that was the one." I push a dollar into his hat and move on.

The whispers follow me home, invade as I lay down to rest. Whispers of glory and power, of alliances and brolliances, of leaders adored and reviled.

These whispers in the dark promised a deep history and hinted at potential greatness ahead. They fill my ears as I drift off to sleep.

-Ludo

Also, Whispers in the Dark