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A Hero is A Coward too Scared to Run

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Private Log #1 Lieutenant Cameron Rushton- encrypted

It's supposed to help, writing. Writing what happened with the faceless. How they came and swatted our shitbox out the sky and killed everyone but me. Lucky me.

Captured for years on a spaceship, thinking every day I was going to die, sometimes wanting to, only to get back and have everyone think I was a traitor.

Is that what you want? A detailed confession? Or maybe you think I'll tell my innermost thoughts and you can catch a slip up? Or--

Shit, now I've really lost it talking to a computer like it's going to talk back.

Let me rephrase it for all the brass that are no doubt going to read this and pick apart every comment looking for the key ;Even though this is private logs and supposedly encrypted.

I'm not a fucking traitor.

I didn't choose to be kidnapped and tortured. And sent back as...I don't even know what the fuck I'm supposed to be. An envoy for the faceless? A human bomb waiting for my programming to kick in? Or something more?

I’m not a fucking traitor.

The doc said to write it down, I know why. He wants to pass the logs on to command. I told him no I didn’t want to, and yet here I am.

This is for you Garrett.

It’s for when they find out, everything. For when I’m long gone. For when I’m executed, or jailed or fucking killed by the Faceless or soldiers or some recruit who thinks he’s saving the world.

I want you to know Brady…

I’m not a fucking traitor.

I wasn’t a traitor…

I don’t know what I am.

I remember that day, I was riding a shitbox on a typical point A to point B run. Honestly, I was thanking my stars for being on the flight. Varro was back from a two-week training run and making my life hell. Chris, had cornered me in the shower earlier that morning and we’d fucked. Hard and brutal like he liked it, his teeth snapping against my neck, his hips bruising mine. Little moans of fucked up pain and pleasure spilling from my lips.

After all these months together, after wanting to kill him for touching me, this was how it was, my lot in life. And sometimes, hell I’ll be honest, a lot of the time I got off on it. I can’t deny, he was in mind, my dreams, my sickest twisted fantasies. I couldn’t deny memories of him and me didn’t come to my head making me hard when I least wanted it. Chris could be gentle and nice as hell sometimes...and when he wasn’t...he wasn’t.

The recruits and scuts though thought they had it bad, but it was just as bad on the officer level. Only, you could get away with knocking the fuck out of the guy who corned you in the shower and made you suck him off, when you were a recruit. Provided the asshole was of the same rank. You couldn’t do that if the guy who had done that was your CO...and you were a lowly LT…you couldn’t do that if you were and LT and he was an LT. I guess the regular enlisted guys couldn’t get away from the latest CO who decided consent was really overrated either, but at least they had each other to commiserate with. I had just me, everyone knew, and everyone turned a blind eye. Because I was the reffo kid, who happened to get in as a lieutenant fresh off the ship. Reffo’s were made to be fucked over, fucked with and just in general fucked.

So of course, we officially we weren’t together. The heads still looked down at that kind of thing, taking it up the ass in the dark of your bunk was fine. Sucking dick in the shower, double fine...but holding hands in public...get ready to be bought up on regs. And if you were the guy who made someone else your bitch, way to be a man. Brass didn’t say it like that but on a ship with precious few females, more than a few people chose players from the same team to temporarily fill their line up.

So, I was Varro’s, ever since that first night I got off a shitbox and stepped aboard in the place of my brother back home. Maybe Chris saw that I was the leftover reffo trash my parents had adopted and turned upper-class until they found out they could have a real kid of their own. Maybe he sensed I was the one sent on a pointless commission in a pointless war so they didn’t have to send their biological son. Whatever the reason...well, Chris knew I was used to being used. I wasn’t only Chris’s….when he wasn’t jealous….well...he didn’t mind sharing…

I’m getting off point...sorry, fuck...You don’t want to hear all this Brady...just the facts...where was I?

Oh, yeah. Shitboxes in space. Sounds like the title of a corny movie.

The gravity was more than a little messed up, always was on these things. I still don’t remember how it happened, but one moment Mora was complaining about feeling space-sick and we were all giving him shit about being a top tier pilot and acting like a new boots recruit, next moment the alarm was going off.

That alarm that wipes all grins off the face and replaces it with that blank mask. Muscle memory...grabbing a rifle, strapping on armor. Doing your best not to piss your pants.

This wasn’t a drill. This was the real thing. Something hit or ship, crashed into it slamming us backwards. I toppled down hitting my head and quickly righted myself as I heard a hiss.

It was seconds...just seconds, Brady.

And then they came.

I never saw their faces.

We never stood a chance.

I raised my rifle and fired. It was so much different than being in the cockpit of a ship.

This was face to face with your death.

Our weapon fire glanced off them harmlessly, like needles against a bear. Casually one reached out, his black armored hand? Claw? Wrapping around the neck of Lawrence Noel, LT second division. Two little brothers back home, and a prized old fashioned baseball card collection in his locker…amazing the details that pop in your head.

None of that matter though. The Faceless held him tightly as it ripped his head from his neck. His mouth was still open in a silent scream as the body toppled to the floor.

Keanu Phillip was next, they tore his arms off. Blood sprayed out from the jagged edges and then more as the Faceless ripped his chest apart, body armor be damned. Bryce Xu, they just crushed him...his eyeballs popped out before he finally fell limp and stopped screaming…

The rest was blood and screaming, and weapon fire, both the Faceless’ weapons and ours.

And then it was silent, eerily silent. My rifle fell from my grip, I dropped it and reached out, trying to fend them off. The rifle that could take down an African Elephant was useless against them and I don’t know why I thought my hands would be more effective…

I fought, I screamed , I yelled , I cursed.

I slid on the deck in the blood and gore from the others they had killed.

I lashed out, and inside knew it was all hopeless. And they didn't stop. It was seconds.

Seconds from them boarding, them killing all of us, before they had what they wanted.

Me.

I was the goal Brady.

They grabbed me with the ease of a child and just as easily carried me away. I screamed, it was a primal sound. The sound of an animal to the slaughter, the sound of a terrified person going into the unknown. I had no idea what the Faceless were going to do to me, but one thing I was sure of. Death was preferable.

I saw the footage of it all...watched it on the messhall screen last night. Everything that happened, the Faceless slaughtering us all ,the bodies sucked out into space as the faceless disengaged from our ship.

The light flickering in the shitbox, and blood coating the floor, and me the war hero who had went down fighting. All I heard was the screaming…the soldiers screaming as they died. My own screaming as I fought and then I was carried away…And the Faceless were silent.

I’m not a hero Brady.

But I’m not a traitor either.

And I hope to God…I’m telling you the truth.

End Log