In life, I had a wife and children. Before the War, we were happy. I stayed at home most of the time. My wife worked. I would help my children with their schoolwork. We would play games. When my wife was home, we spent time together. Spiritum was not necessary in our house. We read to our children before bed. When we went to bed, we talked for hours. She would tell me about her day and I would tell her about mine. We would make love for hours. If ever there was a place where the lilies would grow, it would be in our relationship. We were the envy of our friends. Our relationship was simply unbeatable. When I was drafted, we wept and mourned together for weeks while I was in basic. The 12 hour days of programming would leave me drained. All we could do together was mourn. Eventually, the hours turned to minutes and then to nothing as training shut down my mind. I was slowly becoming a machine. A soldier. Spiritum became a mainstay in my medicine cabinet. I never let her on to the fact that I was using it. When I left, she cried. I did not. I knew it was better that I leave rather than destroy even the memory of what we had.
I went to the War. For 10 years, I fought for our nation. I fought for freedom. I fought for peace. At least, that’s what I was programmed to believe. I saw men die. Both by the enemy’s hand and my own. I was the best sniper in the Force. I could shoot a small vial from over 2000 meters away. I was recruited frequently for assassinations. I took down warlords and presidents. But, I was taught that they weren’t people. They weren’t like us. They wanted to destroy the peace we had slowly constructed over the past 500 years. So, I did it. I killed dozens of the enemy’s leaders. I was considered a War hero. Aside from my gun skills, I was in the top of the Force for stealth missions. I believe I ranked number 3 overall. On top of my assassinations, I was recruited for those. Primarily intel. I would infiltrate enemy compounds and disarm guards and hack their systems to discover where the leaders planned to be next. I rolled solo. A lone wolf. When I returned, I was considered a War hero. I was highly decorated. But inside, I had died.
When I returned, my children were grown. I had missed their entire childhoods. I was too distant to be involved with them. My son was much like his mother. He excelled in computations and eventually became an analyst for the System. My daughter was much like me. She excelled in logical analysis and became a strategist for the government. But, I didn’t care. My wife looked at me differently. I knew she didn’t like what she saw anymore. I didn’t either. My Spiritum addiction grew. I pushed further away from my family until our marriage was only a formality for both of us. We stayed together because we didn’t want to belong to everyone. We stayed together for our children. It was all her idea, though. I was too apathetic to care about any of that.
Once news of the Impact began to circulate, I hid in my bunker. I didn’t tell anyone. Not my wife. Not my children. I was too closed off. It’s not that I wanted them to die. I just didn’t think of them. All I thought about was myself. I had many missed calls from them. But, I never answered my phone. Finally, my wife came pounding on the hatch of the bunker. I didn’t let her in for fear that the Impact may hit as soon as I did. Just as I had convinced myself to let her in, the Impact came. I watched my wife disintegrate before my eyes. I think I needed to see it. It changed me. I didn’t cry, but I felt something for the first time in 10 years. I still don’t know what the feeling was.
After the Impact, those who knew the aftershock was shortly behind began to scramble as their bunkers had been destroyed by the Impact. Many people pounded on my hatch. I did not answer. When the aftershock finished, I emerged to the husks of men and women and children scattered around my bunker. I felt nothing. I headed out on my journey. Alone. I roll solo. In death, I am a lone wolf.