They thought we were all dead. Truthfully, if it wasn't for me, they'd be right. Fuck them, I don't die so easy.
That ain't saying that six months as one of the last humans alive on this fucking island was a treat. A real pretty shit hole is all it is to me.
Fenix knew I was still here, I did my best to help the guy. After all, he was the last hope we had against these fucking grubs.
When the cavalry arrived... Man, what sight for sore eyes. Was the first time in over three weeks I left my hideout. Talk about a renewed sense of purpose. Fought like the beast I knew I was. And then, that machine blew and it was all over. Fenix did it, the old bastard actually did it!
I can't really begin to describe how I felt when I finally knew it was all over. At first, it was a complete clusterfuck, Gears coming in from everywhere to help the cleanup of Azura, trying to get power back on and some sense of normalcy going.
Then, there was trying to restore order to the COG. You know, since fucking Prescott dipped out on all of us. What a fucking pussy! And people wonder why I hate politicians!
Of course, in the meantime, Ol' Hoffman had a million questions for me. What happened when the Locust first attacked? Was Fenix able to tell me anything about what we were supposed to do after his machine went off? How did I manage to survive so long alone? Look at me, though. I put that Clay Carmine to shame! I'm not trying to sound like an arrogant prick, but I didn't get where I am by being a complete toad. Of course, I can and do regularly lift heavy things. HA! As far as what we were supposed to do after Fenix saved the world? Fuck if I knew, live?
Oh, fuck... I guess I probably should introduce myself at some point. Specialist Erik Wells, the last of the elite Onyx Guard. Yep, that's me. A real god damned trooper.
I am not entirely sure why I feel the need to write all of this shit, I guess it's just part of my own healing process. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. What the hell does a big tough Gear need to heal? Well, that's the thing. Before this whole mess started... before E-day... we all had lives, ya know? We all had family, loved ones, friends, fuck even pets. If you ask me, even though we finally won this war... we all lost anyways.
Man... usually I don't think about some of this shit when I'm awake. Usually it's just the shit in my nightmares. Which are pretty much every night. I guess... I guess when I think about it though, everyone else is right there with me. We are going to be one fucked up group of people, that's for fucking sure!
I was still a regular Gear on E-day. I remember fighting in the streets of Ephrya... I saw this grub... he spotted this poor woman holding her kid. I couldn't get a shot from where I was, too much shit going on. I will always regret that.
He ran up to this woman who was absolutely petrified in fear. Grabbed this woman's boy, who couldn't have been more than an infant, right out of her arms and crushed him between his hands as if the kid was nothing more than a discarded can. Then, this fucking animal, ripped off the woman's own arm and beat her to death with it.
That was the moment for me. That was when every emotion I had ever known, died, right along with my soul. As soon as I had a clear, I sought out that ugly bastard, and I beat him to death with my bare fists. That fucking shitbag deserved so much worse for what he did, but at that moment, I wasn't thinking with anything other than my fists.
These memories, the things we have seen, this is the shit that we will never get out of our minds. No matter how much writing, or talking, or crying we do. And believe me, there is a lot of crying going on. Some guys, they can hold it in until lights out, and you can hear them at night silently sobbing away. The ones who aren't quite as strong... Yeah, those are the dudes you see just sit down on the side of the road, or in a hallway somewhere, and break down for a half hour. I feel bad for them, ya know? But what the fuck can I do?
Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of times I want to cry, or just put my fist through something. But, I workout instead. Or, just pour myself so completely into whatever mindless fuckall task I am assigned that day, that I completely drown out any other thoughts. Yeah I know, probably not the best way of dealing with shit, but hey... I am writing this fucking journal right? Cut me a fucking break!
PTSD is what the one doc calls it.
Me? Well, I just call it the last seventeen years of our lives finally catching up to us. The grubs were so fucking relentless and headstrong, the vast majority of us never really had time to process what was happening, to see how bad things really were, or to really see the reality of how much and how many we lost.
I lost my whole fucking family. My dad was already sick, had rustlung from working in the Imulsion fields. But he made a good living and took care of us. My mom? My sister? I don't even know when they died. I know it's fucked up, but the saying is "The lucky ones died on E-Day", and I really hope they did.
My friends... all dead. All my old squad mates? Dead. The entire god damned Onyx Guard? All. Fucking. Dead.
The only silver lining to all of this is, there is one person who made it through this alive. The person that I fell in love with nineteen years ago. Back before E-Day, when shit was still normal. I mean, we were just teenagers, but still.
I'm... fuck I don't know what I am. Having a hard time believing they are still alive? Yeah, that is one way of putting it. Not only that, but they were part of the final push that ended this whole nightmare we called a war! A motherfucking hero!
But shit, nineteen years is a long time. Fuck!