Grunt
Constant images are flashing through my head with each passing moment.
Mostly of war and battle. Images that glorify it. Blood. Death. Carnage. What more is there to describe it?
I feel nothing for these… pictures that continue to appear in my mind. The scenes of death that I keep seeing give me no emotion. I don't feel anger or hatred when I see the icons of a dead krogan. I feel nothing when I see images of the "proud" warlords who came before me. I just merely think of one word:
Weak.
If the dead weren't weak, they wouldn't be dead in the first place.
And I wouldn't be needed.
I no longer care for the teachings "the Voice" tries to pound into my unconscious mind… And I no longer care for "the Voice"… for Okeer. The stubborn bastard merely proclaims the same thing over, and over. It grows tiresome.
As long as I can fight, Okeer shouldn't care about whether I know of great warlords and how their mistakes led to their deaths. As long as I am able to fight… Okeer's teachings are useless to me.
The lengths he has gone to create me is proof that others thought the same of him… of his apparent outdated thinking… they looked down on him, and they always will till the day he dies.
…Okeer… I can hear his voice again- but he's not talking to me… he's recording something… for someone…
...This one soldier... this grunt... perfect...
And then he's gone. The voice that's plagued my entire existence in this tank… it's gone forever, hasn't it?
A/N: Pfff... yeah, this isn't that good. I guess it should've been more detailed, but it's Grunt. He puts everything simple and blunt... usually.