We are in the future. I have not aged, but I am different. I am all sinew and bone, no fat, no softness, tough and wiry and tough and tough again. I am dark, almost black. A shadow. I carry an M4 and ammo packs and other strange weapons. I am walking down a dirt road, alone.
I am married, but I have not seen my wife in some time. I have young children, but I have not seen them in some time. I do not know my wife anymore, and she does not know me. Same with the children. But this is all OK, because the world has changed and it, too, is different. So we are all OK with our changed selves and the changed world. Maybe we sense this new world is better than the old. Maybe it is more vital and alive, and thus more real.
I have killed many men, but I am not troubled by this, not at all. The men I have killed were bad men - thugs, mercenaries, killers and fools. I'm not sure how I was able to kill all of them (there were so many), but somehow I move in circles not so different than their own. In fighting them I have become like them, and learned their skills, but I am not one of them. Nor will I ever be.
Food, or rather starvation, is not an issue for me. Strangely, I am well-fed, even alone on this dirt road. I carry a small flask -- a hi-tech machine -- on my person, and by filling it with dirt I am able to survive. This machine creates a highly nutritious substance that I eat. There are other, even more miraculous machines woven into my clothing and body, machines that perform tiny tasks which I can scarcely conceive of. But combined, these tiny motors and computers and monitors keep me energized and aware.
Gunshots and explosions and shouts. Smoke, thru the trees. I am running forward, M4 raised, wargoggles activated, charging toward the green tracers ahead.
I am married, but I have not seen my wife in some time. I have young children, but I have not seen them in some time. I do not know my wife anymore, and she does not know me. Same with the children. But this is all OK, because the world has changed and it, too, is different. So we are all OK with our changed selves and the changed world. Maybe we sense this new world is better than the old. Maybe it is more vital and alive, and thus more real.
I have killed many men, but I am not troubled by this, not at all. The men I have killed were bad men - thugs, mercenaries, killers and fools. I'm not sure how I was able to kill all of them (there were so many), but somehow I move in circles not so different than their own. In fighting them I have become like them, and learned their skills, but I am not one of them. Nor will I ever be.
Food, or rather starvation, is not an issue for me. Strangely, I am well-fed, even alone on this dirt road. I carry a small flask -- a hi-tech machine -- on my person, and by filling it with dirt I am able to survive. This machine creates a highly nutritious substance that I eat. There are other, even more miraculous machines woven into my clothing and body, machines that perform tiny tasks which I can scarcely conceive of. But combined, these tiny motors and computers and monitors keep me energized and aware.
Gunshots and explosions and shouts. Smoke, thru the trees. I am running forward, M4 raised, wargoggles activated, charging toward the green tracers ahead.
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