The feeling of the Personal Finance room is much different than the one in my previous class. For starters, the students here are much less social, most of them simply sitting at their desks and paying little attention to their neighbors, as well as more gender balanced. Perhaps Toby should have chosen this class instead. Like before, I select the desk as far back as possible with a view of the entire room. After settling in and making a mental note of all objects of interest, I wait patiently for the bell to ring. *page_break Next After everyone arrives, the teacher, who introduces himself as Mr. Forester, begins introducing us to what his class is about. Personal Finance, he describes, is about learning how to manage our personal finances wisely in a digital age. Unlike Miss. Cherry, he simply takes count of all the students who have arrived and doesn't spend a large amount of time trying to learn about our personal backstories, which suits me better. After he's taken account of everyone, he puts on a video on a projector that begins to describe the class in more depth. The video is incredibly boring, and uses a lot of words and examples that I don't understand; how does one put money on a piece of plastic? Why would I buy a cheeseburger when all the nutrients I need is covered by rations? What on earth is a 'Disney World'? *if think =true I spend the next half hour just trying to wrap my head around the basic concepts... *page_break Next *goto aware *set think true After deciding that the video can not possibly provide any educational value to me, *choice #I retain hyperawareness, for security reasons It may feel safe, but in my experience safety is one of the biggest lies a person could believe. Safe was a state you should avoid at all possible costs. Safe was complacency. Safe was that feeling you got, right before a sniper's bullet splattered your brains all over the walls. I've rarely known anyone for more than two years. They usually died pretty early on, and almost every single one of them felt safe when they did. I'd lost count of the number of colleagues I'd seen get shot by a sniper from across town, or stabbed in the back by the whore they thought loved them, or being blown up by the landmine hidden under the patch of dirt on the road they went through every day. Everyone I just mentioned died in a single instance, no warning or chance to save themselves, but I didn't; because I was never safe. Nobody takes any notice of me, which is the ideal scenario. About half an hour passes... *page_break Next *goto aware #I settle into a state of semi-awareness Alertness, when forced by your environment, quickly becomes second nature. Something you do unconsciously at every moment. It doesn't take a great degree of concentration to maintain awareness of all possible threats, especially when the odds have been stacked in my favor such as I have done here by taking a seat in the back of the room and making sure every person, entrance, and possible weapon is in my sight. It is this unconscious perceptiveness that has kept me alive. That being said, the whole point of moving to a suburban utopia was to try and forget all that. While my inner child is screaming at me and telling me what a suicidal idea this is, I begin to let my mind wander to parts unknown. Thinking too much was always a dangerous idea for me, I've spent many sleepless nights back in the trenches, but the sooner I got used to thinking would be the sooner I got used to this whole experience they call a 'normal life.' The psychotherapist that they briefly had me see before being released into the world had recommended taking time out of each day for just thinking and letting my mind wander to wherever it felt like and until now I'd been severely neglecting that task. *choice #And for good reason. There's nothing in my head that I want to dwell on, best to focus on the present That therapist had no idea what he was talking about when he said I could find comfort in my mind. There's nothing in my past that could bring me peace and focusing on it would only make things worse. Better to focus on the present. *goto aware #This is supposed to help me, in some strange way. I don't think I've ever just thought before... I take one last cautious look around and, defying a rule that had been instilled in me since the day I was born, I close my eyes. It's darker than I thought it would be, like all the light in the world had just been snuffed out. To test I try turning my head and the darkness doesn't lift or even shift. I feel a degree of helplessness from being completely cut off from one of my most vital senses. I'm overwhelmed with a feeling of complete lack of defense; is this what others feel all the time? I can't imagine how they can bear it. *choice #This is too much! I open my eyes Maybe these others can live with it, but I certainly can't. When my sight returns, I quickly take stock of everything to make sure it's all right where I left it. Nobody came any closer to me, nobody is looking at me. I'm ready. I'm alert. I'm alive. Still alive. *goto aware #Courage. I've lived through far worse than just closing my eyes Bravery wasn't exactly my area of strength; you don't survive as long as I have by being brave. But if I was ever going to get better, I'd have to dabble in a bit of courage, by necessity. My eyes closed, I try to focus on just thinking. Nothing but thinking. Not on the room full of potential threats, not on the monotone voice of the educator on the screen, not the faint sound of whispers from the other side of the room passing along potentially vital information. Just thoughts. Unfortunately, this is as far as the psychotherapist ever taught me. Nobody ever taught me how to think; in fact, for most of my life I was encouraged specifically to avoid thinking about things. Thinking led to asking questions. They didn't want thinking soldiers, they want soldiers who would go out and die for them without hesitation, and wouldn't give in to petty things like regret and conscience. Killers and cannon fodder were all they wanted, all I was ever meant to be; it was only after I started becoming good at it that they gave me any special attention... *choice #That's enough thinking. I'll travel this road, just not now I thought I was strong enough...but I'm still a coward at heart. I know what comes from remembering those days; there's nothing down that path but regret and misery. I'll cross it, on my own time. So I open my eyes... *goto aware #I remember when I was first approached by the senior officer... It was rare for any of the kids to survive more than two years in the organization. I had far longer than that. He asked me how. I shrugged and told him I didn't know. It was the most honest answer; I'd never thought about it before. Survival was just something I did, on instinct, I never had to think about it. Other people died and I didn't, that was the short and long version of it. This amused him for some reason, they were always laughing at things that to this day I never understand. He asked me if I wanted to get better at surviving. I told him that I would, if that's what he wanted me too. He laughed again, and said he would like that very much. *choice #He was a monster, and so was I, and this was pointless *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set explosives -1 *set tactics -1 *set stealth -1 *set reflex -1 This was a bad idea from the start. The past was the past, I couldn't change it and I can't change me. It was better to just focus on the present. I quickly open my eyes and... *goto aware #[i]That's how I began advanced training... [i]Most kids, the ones who don't make it, just learn how to point a gun and pull the trigger. They're expendable so nobody invests much in their training, just in making sure they know enough and are plentiful enough to win through attrition. For the survivors, like me, they put much more effort into turning us into effective killing machines. [i]Machines. That word is more perfect than I intended it to be. We weren't children, we were guns; we didn't choose who we killed, we just did it without question and without remorse. Killing was just what we did. [i]We became experts in every form of death. Combat, firearms, explosives, tactics, and stealth. We were destroyed and built from the ground up to be perfect killers. And we were really good at it. [i]They knew my training was complete when I was escorting the man who recruited me between hideouts... *choice #I know what happened! I know what I did! I don't need to remember! *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set explosives -1 *set tactics -1 *set stealth -1 *set reflex -1 Will remembering it make anything better? How is digging up everything I've done supposed to help in any way? I don't need to remember, and I don't want to remember! I want to be here, at this school, and out of my head! My eyes swing open and... *goto aware #[i]It was my first time doing a real job... [i]Though by that point, the training had already subjected me to far worse than I would ever see in my actual career. They didn't just make us prepared to fight Hell, the turned us into people capable of bringing Hell wherever we went. That ability came at a cost; pain, humiliation, and suffering was their favorite method of teaching. By the time I was sent into live action, there wasn't anything they could throw at me that I couldn't endure. [i]So I wasn't fazed when what was told to be a routine job was suddenly met with a disaster. We were walking through the empty streets of a city that had been in civil war for the past three months, largely because of us. Every now and then we'd step past a body, usually in packs, or the odd crater where explosives had gone off. It was nothing, just another day in the life, but the nervousness of being on my first job and the terror of failing kept me from being lulled into a false sense of security... *choice #I was right to be afraid, just like I was right to leave it behind! That's all there is to it! *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set explosives -1 *set tactics -1 *set stealth -1 *set reflex -1 Nothing else happened that day that's worth remembering! The past is dead, buried, and should stay that way! It doesn't matter what happened, I'm here now! That time is done! My eyes swing open and... *goto aware #[i]It was why I survived the ambush... [i]It started with sniper fire from the building down the street. The ones leading the group were the first to die; quick bullets through the head. They could have survived if they'd been moving more carefully and using cover properly, but they weren't and so they were defenseless when the bullets started flying. I, on the other hand, was being careful; the second the gunshots went off, I grabbed the arm of the officer we were escorting and pulled both of us behind a wall. A couple seconds later bullets rained down on the spot he had just been standing; I was later promoted for this, but looking back I can't help but scream at the little kid for saving his life. It would have been better to let him burn in hell. [i]After the snipers, foot soldiers came to flank us. There weren't a lot of them, but they had probably been relying on the majority of the escort being taken out by the snipers. They were right; by that point, it was just me, the officer, and a wounded kid, more green than I was, who had a bullet go through his lung and wouldn't live to see tomorrow. Seeing the approaching group, I took a grenade from one of my fallen allies and threw it at their feet. They scrambled quick enough to avoid it, but left themselves open for me to finish them off. I'm not sure how many I actually killed, but I know I shot at least half of them. [i]The officer grabbed me by the shoulder and shouted that we needed to retreat; the nearest hideout was less than a block away, and if there was an ambush this close to it then that probably meant its location had been compromised. We needed to get there, warn them, and relocate the operation. Understanding, I led the way in front of him, always the first to round a corner just in case there was someone waiting there... *choice #Enough! I don't want to remember anymore! *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set explosives -1 *set tactics -1 *set stealth -1 *set reflex -1 There's nothing in my past that could bring me peace! It's dead and gone and I should be too! Coming to peace with it? That wasn't going to happen, and they didn't know what they were saying when they said it could! They didn't know what I'd been through! I'm sick of them, and I'm sick of being in my head! I open my eyes and... *goto aware #[i]It was a necessary precaution... [i]When we were finally getting close, I rounded a corner and almost literally ran into a soldier wearing the same uniform as the ones who had ambushed us. This wasn't the U.S. soldiers, they weren't in this part of the country yet, this was just another rebel faction inside the city. He was poorly trained and his equipment was even worse; as such, I got the first move. [i]Of course, the first thing to do was disable him. I started with a kick to the groin, and was going to gouge out his eyes afterwards but I had panicked and only hit his thigh. He punched me in the face and would have knocked me to the ground had there not been a wall behind me. Afterwards, he pulled a knife and tried to stab me in the throat. [i]I crossed my arms around his, and it was a battle of strength for a brief moment, a scenario that I knew I would lose if I let it keep up. It would later occur to me that the officer could have easily shot him at this point, but apparently he wanted to see if I could do it on my own; I didn't question his reasoning. Especially at the time, when all I saw was a knife coming toward my face. [i]I knew that he was stronger than me, and knew that I would eventually have to try a different tactic or I would die. Acting quickly, I released the knife but misdirected it so it would instead go into my right shoulder. The pain was excruciating, but I'd suffered far worse than that even before I began advanced training. When he came forward, I used the opportunity to open my jaw and get his throat between my teeth. Then I bit down. Hard. *choice #I can't remember! I don't want to remember! I want to forget! Just forget! *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set explosives -1 *set tactics -1 *set stealth -1 *set reflex -1 I'm sick of tasting his blood in my mouth every time I think about it! I don't care if this is supposed to help me, I would give anything to forget those awful sounds he made! I don't need to remember, the past is dead! I'm in the present! I open my eyes as quick as I can and... *goto aware #[i]It made him pull away... [i]Of course, when he tried to wrench his throat free, all he really did was cause me to tear a chunk of meat out of him. He began bleeding and we both knew he was dead, it was just a matter of time. He fell back, holding his throat in a desperate and futile attempt to stop the bleeding; he didn't scream, presumably because his vocal cords were hanging out of my mouth, instead he made an almost inhuman sounding gurgle as the blood flooded into his windpipe [i]"Good work," I feel the officer's hands press down on my shoulders from behind me. I wince from the pressure placed on my wounded shoulder, which still had the knife sticking out of it. But that's secondary; my superior was alive, and more importantly he was pleased with my performance. I would be given a second helping of the meager shares of food that night. But first, there was one last thing I had to do. He slowly slid his arm down mine until it reached my hand, after which he pressed a loaded firearm into my grip, "Now...finish it." *choice #Forget! Forget! Forget! *set forget_past true *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set explosives -1 *set tactics -1 *set stealth -1 *set reflex -1 Forget how his blood tasted! Forget how afraid I was! Forget the screaming! Forget the gunshot! Forget the knife! Forget the officer! Forget! FORGET! I stand up violently, my eyes swinging open and I hurry to take stock of everything in my area. I see students and desks and walls and the teacher and the video on the wall and my bright green backpack and the door and the ceiling and pencils and erasers. I look at everything, take note of every detail, to convince myself that I'm in this room and what I'm looking at is real. I'm not at war, I'm in an ordinary American High School. "${firstname}, are you alright?" The teacher walks toward me, a look of concern on his face and a hint of fear, as he slowly makes his way to my desk. His hand reaches for my shoulder... *choice #[i]Too close! *set violent +5 *set incidents +1 *set second_incident true As his hand reaches for me, I react instinctively; I take the pen from my desk and make a fist, holding the pen inbetween my fingers to create an improvised shiv sticking out of my knuckles. As soon as his hand is about to make contact, I strike his wrist in a vertical motion; once it's bent, I grab hold of the weakened arm and press it against the desk, holding the shiv to his throat. All it would take is a quick jab to press the pen through his adam's apple, throat, and brain stem. The teacher holds his free arm up on a surrendering gesture, and the rest of the students are completely silent, staring at me with complete disbelief. "${firstname}...calm down, and think about this..." The teacher remains mostly composed but there's a distinct trembling in his wrist, though that could just be the pressure I'm pressing down on it with. After hearing his voice, though, I remember where I am; an American High School. And now I'm threatening a teacher... I drop the pen, it hits the ground with a clink, and I quickly run out of the classroom... *page_break Next I quickly wash my face in the bathroom, cleaning off the sweat and focusing on the feeling of water running down my face in order to reassure myself that I really am where I am. Safe, and here. It isn't long before Principal Gardner walks in, fidgeting nervously; "So...I uhm heard about what happened in your second hour...now, I put out a call to your guardian..." *if (daniel_father =true) I picture with horror how Daniel must of reacted when he learned that after all the risks he took on me, I couldn't even go through the first day without causing him trouble. "I uhm recommended that, given the er circumstances you should be allowed home...he said that wouldn't be necessary. I believe his exact words were that he would have been surprised if the first day went perfectly, so...we're going to try and, uh just put this whole...incident behind us, moving onward..." Then he didn't hate me...thank goodness. *if (daniel_guardian =true) I could imagine how Daniel must have reacted to hearing the news; given how he is, I picture it was something between a sigh of resignation and a groan of annoyance before telling them to let it be. "I uhm recommended that, given the er circumstances you should be allowed home...he said that wouldn't be necessary. I believe his exact words were that he would have been surprised if the first day went perfectly, so...we're going to try and, uh just put this whole...incident behind us, moving onward..." As expected. *if (daniel_warden =true) Great, I was probably going to get an earful about this when I next saw him. As if I didn't get enough lectures from him. "I uhm recommended that, given the er circumstances you should be allowed home...he said that wouldn't be necessary. I believe his exact words were that he would have been surprised if the first day went perfectly, so...we're going to try and, uh just put this whole...incident behind us, moving onward..." At least he wasn't making a big deal about it, I suppose. "So...if you would come with me, I'll escort you to your next hour..." *page_break Third Hour... *goto_scene 1-6third-1 #Calm down... *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set reflex -1 I don't react when the hand comes down on my shoulder, keeping all my instincts in check. "...Fine." The teacher looks unconvinced, and I can't say I blame him; between the sweat and the way I can't seem to stop tapping the desk, I must look like an absolute mess. "...Why don't you go wait outside?" I nod, and calmly walk towards the door. *page_break Next I stand fidgeting by the door for a few minutes before the teacher comes out, "Now that there's no audience, how are you really feeling?" "...Like I'm back home." "Right...I was told to not ask about that, so I won't; would you like to talk to the principal?" "No...I can deal with it." "Ok, I'll take your word on that...I'll let you wait out here for the rest of the hour, assuming you can get to your next one on your own when the bell rings." "It shouldn't be a problem." *page_break Third Hour... *goto_scene 1-6third-1 #And then I got promoted *set remember_past true After that display of absolute ruthlessness and lack of self-interest in defending my commanding officer, I rose through the ranks quickly. Soon, I was more than just a simple footsoldier; I was a specialist. There weren't many like me in an occupation where the number of years you were expected to live could be counted on your hands, but I was good at what I did. And for better or worse, that got me noticed. I got a lot more privileges after that. More food and water, which was probably what I appreciated most, and I was given the authority to order around the other grunts though I only tried it once. I didn't understand what the superiors always found fun about ordering people to do things they didn't want to do, I just didn't see the appeal in it. It seemed pointless when I could be training or eating. Of course, with those privileges also came an increase in demand. I couldn't blend in with the other soldiers anymore. That officer continued to give me his attention, which was usually for the worse. On top of that, the missions I was given became increasingly dangerous, and communicated with others of my kind more frequently. Our lifespans tended to be slightly longer than the canon fodder, so we actually bothered to get to know one another. None of had names, names would imply that we were human beings, so we gave each other nicknames to tell each other apart. The others would call me a "Cockroach" since it seemed no matter how many times I was sent into suicidal situations and beaten to hell, 'stepped on' as they put it, nothing ever really stuck. In the end, I suppose the only question is whether or not I regret all of it... *fake_choice #It's the only life I have How could I regret the only life I've ever known? Maybe if I were born somewhere else, I could have been happy; or maybe I was cursed from birth, and I was doomed to live in a permanent Hell no matter what happened and regretting it would only make things worse. This is who I am, and there's nothing I can do about that. #I hate who I am because of it, but what choice do I have? *set humanity +1 For better or worse (and in this case, probably worse), my past has made me who I am. There's no changing that. It doesn't matter how much I try to fight it. Your history isn't something that you can just run away from; it seeps into your very being and lingers in your presence, infecting everything you touch. I catch a glimpse of it, every time I round a corner or look out of the corner of my eye. Your history follows you, like a shadow, and it makes sure you stay in line. There's no changing oneself, no matter how fast you run or how deep you hide; we all have to live with what we are. #Of course I do *set humanity +1 *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set explosives -1 *set tactics -1 *set stealth -1 *set reflex -1 All the bloodshed, all the pain; I would have given anything to make it stop. I often wonder whether or not it was even worth it to survive, only to continue living in the same pathetic stand-in for a life that had been dumped on me. #I don't think about it *set combat -1 *set firearms -1 *set explosives -1 *set tactics -1 *set stealth -1 *set reflex -1 Maybe things could have been better, maybe they could have somehow been worse. It's not worth thinking about. It's the past, and now I'm here. Regret doesn't suit me, I don't need it. After the journey through my mind, I finally open my eyes and become awake to the world once more. The psychotherapist had said that thinking about my past would help me come to terms with it, and maybe eventually find some form of peace with it. That's what it was supposed to do... *fake_choice #And strangely enough, I feel somewhat calmer than when I began Maybe there was a point to coming here after all. #I honestly don't feel any different Some things just can't be fixed; I might be one of them. Or maybe the therapist was even crazier than I am. Either way, this was completely pointless. #Now I'm just angry After all that happened to me, all I had to suffer through, I'm supposed to feel better about it? All this has done is remind me how much the world hated me, and how much I hated it! And I especially hated any doctor that thought they could 'cure' me with a pep talk! With my trip down memory lane complete, I finally open my eyes and begin taking stock of anything that's changed since I began. The video looks like it's just about finished and I notice the other students have put on their backpacks, ready to leave. It seems I missed the entire class. *page_break Third Hour... *goto_scene 1-6third-1 *label aware *set ignore_past true The video is still going, covering topics that are either completely inapplicable to me or beyond anything that I can understand. Then it stops so suddenly that I question if the film isn't simply malfunctioning. "The rest is stuff we don't talk about in this class so we'll just skip it," the teacher says, "Don't tell anyone who asks, though. Curriculum says I have to show the introductory video at the beginning of every year." Strange, I thought it was the principal who gave the teachers orders. Is it possible this 'Curriculum' is someone even higher up? "Tomorrow we can talk about getting some actual work done; until then, you can just chat the rest of the hour. I won't tell if you don't." Despite his instruction, nobody really talks to each other except two people in the corner discussing a rendezvous point after school. Everyone else just starts tapping on little boxes similar to the one Daniel gave me before coming here. And so it continues until the bell rings... *page_break Third Hour... *goto_scene 1-6third-1