This week has been pretty much shit from start to finish. Whoever said it doesn't get hot in Bounty needs throat punched!

Very first thing I woke up to? One of my bunk mates, Josh Vasko, had hung himself in the night. That is always a great way to start the day off. Not surprisingly enough, it seems to be happening more and more. I guess the reality of shit really is starting to sink in.

So, me and this other dude, Beckwith... he's a decent guy... We cut Vasko down, called in the medics, not that there was shit they could do, but they were who we were supposed to call when this shit happened, and went about our morning. Yeah, maybe that sounded a bit cold, but there really isn't anything else we can do. Plus, we've been surrounded by so much death and pain, it's like we've all just gone numb to this shit. I really have no idea yet if that is good, or bad. Time will tell I suppose.

Yep, week was off to a great start. Vasko offed himself, then the hot water they just fixed six days ago was broke again. Holy shit, see.. this is the shit I catch myself thinking and just want to punch myself in the face. I am bitching about hot water, and there are stranded out there who've been eating... I don't know... fucking tree bark for the last week. Hell, if they've eaten at all! But what the fuck am I supposed to think? I mean we've been fighting for the last seventeen years to get our lives back. And isn't hot water part of the life we lost? Fuck...

The rest of the day wasn't too bad. I was assigned to help work on repairing the Maelstrom Generator. I don't know shit about fixing stuff like that. But you know, the whole "hey this big asshole can lift heavy things." thing. Whatever, for once I slept like a baby that night. No nightmares, no waking up every hour on the hour. It was really nice for a change.

Next day, same shit. Well, minus waking up to one of my bunk mates dead. The day itself really wasn't too bad. And hey, shit didn't hit the fan until after dinner. A whole bunch of us were hanging out in the hotel courtyard, and I overheard some dickbag make a snide comment about some gear who got swallowed alive by the riftworm. I knew exactly who he was talking about. That's how Clay Carmines brother died. I've fought alongside Carmine a few times. He is a good dude. Like me in a lot of ways, both physically and mentally. The guy cared very deeply for his brothers, and wasn't here to defend their honor.

So, me being me, I sauntered up to the dude and cold cocked him. Of course, this started a fight. One Onyx Guard against five Gears. Now, not to inflate my own ego, or to say I walked away unscathed... trust me, I got hammered pretty damn good... But, I really helped cement home that whole Onyx Guard legend of being the baddest motherfuckers out there. My fallen brethren would have been damn proud. Fuck I miss some of those guys!

Of course, Sergeant Whateverthefuckhisnamewas, wasn't too happy when he was finally able to break up our fight. Then again, once he saw who I was, there really wasn't much he could do, since I am on a playing field all by myself. Fuck him, and fuck the asshole who has the balls to joke about a fallen soldier, bitch better pray I never meet him alone in a dark alley.

And yes, the rest of the week really was as fucked up as the start.

I caught Marcus Fenix staring at me at lunch one day, like he knew something I didn't. No idea what that was all about. Of course, considering everything the guy has been through... fuck he could have been staring through me, the wall, and halfway across Sera at Mount Kadar for all I know. That is one dude that I truly feel bad for in the sincerest way possible. Knowing what I know now, knowing the full story of what happened to him and his squad, and what they went through to save us. If anyone deserves to be called a hero, it's him.

About the only upside of the week to that point was, Beckwith and I found a deck of cards. Yeah, I know... how fucking exciting. But you wouldn't believe how much little shit like that means right now. We played Bullshit with a couple other guys from one of his old squads, and honestly, it really made me forget everything and just be a human for a minute.

It was really kinda nice. But, like every other good thing in life, was short lived. About an hour later, just after lights out, gunfire rang out down the hall from our room.

Another night, another Gear who couldn't deal with it anymore. I don't think any of us really went back to sleep that night. This shit really is happening a lot, and it scares me. Can't really say that any other way. I am worried that the powers that be are going to declare martial law. HA! Martial law for a bunch of soldiers? Yeah, that'll go over like a porcupine in a nudist colony. But, that is what it is going to come if shit doesn't start to change around here, and quick.

There really isn't anyone else on this fucking island but us Gears. There are a few civilians that have been brought in, mostly because they are some of the few left who know how to fix shit, or grow things, or are in one way or another valuable members of the COG. But yeah, martial law is really all we need at this point. With the way shit is going, I am pretty sure that would just throw this whole place into "fuck everything" mode. And that? Not exactly something I would be looking forward to.

I can't wait to get out this shithole.

So, that was how the week pretty much went. One fucked up thing after another. But we managed to get through the last five days of the week without anyone else committing suicide. And right when I thought that maybe, just maybe I could start my weekend without me putting my fist through a wall...

Hoffman happened.

Fucking Hoffman. What. A. Douchebag. He sends this rook after me today, kid couldn't have been more than eighteen. One of the few kids around I suppose. Anyways, kid comes running up to me, saying Hoffman needed to see me like yesterday. Never mind the fact that I was bracing an APC tire with my back while two other guys were trying like hell to bolt the fucking thing back on with some makeshift wrenches. Because, you know... It's not like we actually have enough tools for everyone.

So, this kid and I head off to Hoffman's office, and dude wouldn't shut up the entire walk there. I guess being the last of the Onyx Guard, I've become somewhat of a legend. You know, with my black armor and all. Forget the fact that my armor sleeves are gone... because it's fucking hot. And who the fuck knows where my helmet went. Lost that bastard a while ago. I am a pretty intimidating looking guy though, and then the whole beating the shit out of five guys earlier in the week thing, so I guess I can see where the stories are coming from. Don't fight the feeling, right?

Anyways, did I mention that I really don't like General Hoffman?

The guy is kind of a dick. He means well, so I really can't give him too much shit. The poor old bastard is basically trying to rebuild civilization from what? An island, and five or six outposts, all while trying to fight a bunch of pissed off stranded and help them at the same time? Yeah, not a job I'd want. Still doesn't mean I have to like him.

Anyway, at the urging of his new buddy Commander Trescu, dude wants to restart the Onyx Guard. Thinks it will be a much needed asset once we start the heavy push of trying to reintegrate the stranded into society, as well as keep minds and hands busy. And guess who gets to train all these lucky men and women? Yep, this guy!

I am fucking thrilled.

So, Hoffman is going on and on about how much he has heard about the Onyx Guard training, and how we are the best of the best, and a whole bunch of other shit I really wasn't paying much attention to. Because honestly, the whole time he was talking I was staring at the wall behind him trying really hard not to let loose the massive fart I was holding in.

Plus, there were people constantly coming and going from his office, digging through papers, looking over maps, shit like that. It was really pretty fucking annoying. I can see why he always seems like he has a stick up his ass. Grubs are all dead, still dealing with a shitstorm. Would pretty much ruin anyone's mood. Of course, when he was finally done, being the good soldier that I am, I agreed with a stern, and professional "Yes Sir". Even if I really wasn't looking forwardto this new assignment, that I assume would be my life from now on. Though, on the upside, I am able to hand pick the first Gears I will be training, who will in turn help me train the rest.

We salute, shake hands, and just as I turned to leave his office, thinking I can finally put this god damned week behind me, what happens? I run face first into Corporal Damon S. Baird.

Damon Fucking Baird... Well, that cat is out of the bag.

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Authors Note. So, I wrote these first two chapters a while ago, but never posted them, or even bothered to join FF until now. I guess I just found my inspiration? Who the fuck knows. Anyways, I am sorry if things seem to be going slowly, trust me the story will get better. On top of that, I want to apologize if my grammar and punctuation isn't the best. And as far as the writing style goes, I am trying to write the story as if I was writing to myself in an actual journal. Anyways, if you like it cool, plenty more to come. If not, umm... sorry?