Hello darkness my old friend, I've come to talk with you again ...

When exactly did darkness become my old friend? I was always the honest one - an open, frank, do-things-by-the-book kind of guy. Darkness? That's more Starbuck's forte ... hiding, keeping secrets, living in the shadows ... I never wanted to be that person. Never thought I could be. When did I change from being a person who lived in the light to someone who craved darkness?

New Caprica.

Meant to be the new Utopia - a place for us to put down roots and start life anew without fear. If only it were possible. Even before the Cylons came and took over people were afraid. Afraid of freezing to death, afraid of starving ... afraid of their own shadows. How do you escape the fear within when it follows you everywhere you go? Just because the enemy seemed to have disappeared didn't mean they'd ever vanished from the hearts and minds of those of us down on the planet. We'd fooled ourselves into believing we were safe down there, that only those who stayed on the ships would be in danger. We were living in a little protective cocoon of static that would shield us from the enemy.

It shielded our hearts and minds to reality.

Darkness is my only friend now. I am a shadow. Not really even a person anymore - the one on the other end doesn't know who I am, just that I merely exist. I can't have friends now. Anyone could be one of them. I can't trust anyone. I can only trust the darkness ... the shadows. Hiding is the only constant for me.

Because a vision softly creeping, left it's seeds while I was sleeping ...

There are times when I wish I could take a gun and just put it into my mouth and pull the trigger.

A spy. A traitor. A two-faced betrayer. That's what I am now. I trade in lies and deceit, pretending I'm working with one side while feeding the other what it needs to strike down the government I've always supported and believed in.

I deserve to die, as much as the cowardly bastard signing the death warrants in the next room.

I believed in him. I believed in what he stood for, what he was going to do for the people. I believed he could and would make a difference - giving power to the people where Roslin wouldn't. I thought she was a dictator. I thought Baltar stood for democracy and freedom.

I'd like to hate myself for trusting him but I already hate myself for betraying him. Is there any more room inside me for hatred?

I see it in the eyes of those I pass in the streets. You're working with him, they shout out wordlessly, accusing and condemning me before they turn away in revulsion. I wish I could yell out that I'm not with him anymore, that I'm doing my level best to bring him and his circuit-filled cohorts down as painfully as I can. But such is the life of a spy - I'm condemned to face their hot, hateful eyes and match them with as much coolness as I'm able.

They can't know the truth. No one can. Not even the ones I work with. My life may not be worth much as far as nobility and pride go, but this is all I've got to give to the cause. It's the only way I can fight back.

I don't sleep anymore. The demons are too big, too dark and threaten to consume me if I close my eyes. The darkness is my refuge but also my enemy.

And the vision that was planted in my brain, still remains ...

How do you know what is good and what is evil? What's black and what's white? When you think you know but your whole world gets turned upside down, what do you do? Where do you go?

You hide in the shadows, afraid of being identified as one or the other.

Each side thinks they're in the right, that killing the other is necessary. How did I get stuck in the middle of this struggle? Why was it so much easier to know who the enemy was when I was back on Galactica?

Once upon a time the thought of terrorism and guerilla warfare was completely wrong to me. There was no justification whatsoever for dealings outside the law. Now I've become a law unto myself. I'm neither with one side nor the other - I'm playing both sides and like a match burning at both ends, I'm going to end up singed.

Or dead.

Within the sound of silence.