Hi. Goodbye.

Disclaimer: A couple bits are written notes from Far Cry New Dawn.

"Put to rest what you thought of me while I clean this slate with the hands of uncertainty. So let mercy come and wash away what I've done. I'll face myself to cross out what I've become. Erase myself and let go of what I've done."

What I've Done, Linkin Park

~13~

Hiding. Huddled beneath the table in the barracks. Hunger, a constant companion, clawing at my insides with blunt talons. The world is a diagonal. I am the balancing point. Crumpled papers between my hands crackled, threatening to give me away. But I heard no footsteps. Good. Good good good.

I flattened the papers out on the floor, staring in semi-darkness. They were mine, but I couldn't remember writing on them.

You are weak.

Over and over and over. In pencil, different sizes, all over, sometimes written so vigorously the paper had ripped.

You are weak.

Flipped through them. Page after page after page. All the same. Same same same. A voice not heard forever but could never be forgotten whispered it in my ear.

You are WEAK.

Even now the fear of a dead man came through. But so did the anger. I seized all of the papers, shaking. Teeth clenched.

I am weak. But you are dead.

I ripped them in half.

You had no place in the new world.

I ripped them again.

Not in the world Joseph wants to create.

And again.

Not in the world we will create together.

I dropped the shreds of paper on the ground. White confetti. Petals of Bliss.

Together.

I wrapped my arms around myself, tucked and hidden beneath the table. Safe and sound. Alone.

Not alone. Never alone.

Reached into the neck of my ragged pull-over, the grey one with a stained hole in the gut, and drew out a single sheet of lined paper, folded and refolded countless times. Unfolded it one more time. On it were three sketched faces.

Hudson. Pratt. Whitehorse.

I gazed at them, a lead bar in my gut. I closed my eyes. I didn't pray. Couldn't pray. But I could wish them well, wherever they were. I tapped my finger on the floor, once for each of them.

One. Two. Three.

When I left my hidey-hole, I left their images there. Maybe one day someone would find them. Wonder who drew them. Wonder who they were. There wasn't much I could do to immortalize my long gone friends, but I didn't need their pictures to remember them. They were with me, all of them, friends and enemies, and I screamed for them in my sleep, and I cried over them in the dark, and I saw them every time I looked into Joseph's eyes.

I wanted more than anything to see them again. Any of them, just to prove it hadn't all been a lie. That there had once been a world out there. That there were more than just two souls left on a wounded planet.

But no. No no no, it could never be. They could never see me. No one could. It's my fault. Joseph said there was a chance some had survived, but even if he spoke the truth, they were better off never seeing my face again...

Day 2346

The day I have yearned for and dreaded has come. Long ago I had rationed our food, dividing our supplies into weekly portions. And we are down to our last week. The remnants of the previous weeks' was divided this morning, the last spoonful of the last can of tuna, and I watched with remorse as Isaac picked up every minuscule crumb off his plate and looked at me hopefully. I hadn't the heart to tell him.

Nearly seven years. In a few months the world should be safe enough to roam again. But we will have to emerge early, before we are too weak to attempt it. I have faith God will give us strength but am not so foolish as to believe He will do the work for us. Since Isaac's escape attempt five years ago, I had not dared to open the hatch to the outside world, lest I anger our Lord, so I can only hope life has risen from the ashes as promised...

Forgive me. I know there is life. We have done everything God asked of us, and now we may start anew.

No more internet. No more electricity. No cars, no guns, no refrigeration. No factories, government, currency, or borders. No cellphones. We will raise our children as our parents should have raised us – as one with the land, just like our ancestors. The world has been purged of sin but sin is like rot. It will always return, so long as there are human souls on this planet. Materialistic luxuries, conveniences, and valuables all lead to the same self-destructive path. The bane of empires, the scourge of civilizations. They always have, and they always will. Our only hope is to return to the time where such temptations were absent, where everything is worked for and earned and nothing, nothing is taken for granted.

I look to Isaac, sketching on scrap pieces of paper at his usual spot, on the floor by the footboard. He is already a skilled woodsman. The bow is his weapon of choice and he is adept at using the land to his advantage, as he did when he sought to dismantle all that my family and I had created. Now that he is one of us, he will be an invaluable asset. Jacob's hunters, should any yet survive, will also prove useful. They will be our guardians, the protectors of New Eden. And as I wander the land our family will grow, with old faces and new, and all will be as God planned...

Again I look to the deputy. I think about all he had done. What he did still tears at him, tears ever deeper into the festering, poisoned wound that has replaced his heart. I have forgiven him but he has not forgiven himself. He believes he is beyond salvation, no matter what I tell him. These final two years have pushed him over the brink. A man of fire, of hot blood, a spirit stuck in high gear should never be kept underground, starved, deprived of sunlight. It is a wonder he had not lost his mind sooner, but as I have God to keep my sanity, Isaac has me. Not only as a companion, but as a lamb of his own.

No, I have not forgotten what he did for me that day. When I attacked him a second time, bringing him within an inch of his life after I, albeit briefly, lost my way. Never had my faith so devastatingly wavered. And yet, Isaac came to me, sat with me, opened his fist and showed me the love and mercy I have given him from the beginning.

I changed that deputy. And that deputy changed me.

I watch as he stands, leaving his papers there in his corner and shuffling out of the room. I can see his sketches from here. But I can also see a scrawled note. Curiosity is not a sin, and yet I feel sullied as I stand to retrieve it.

I shall copy his words here, exactly as written so that you, my family, may learn what this man has become.

You know. You know best. God tells you. If I listen to you, it's good, and right, and I can help, and I can save people, and make it right, and everything will be okay. If I judge as your judge the judgment is right and just, the judgment is God's Word. I see now. I am so sorry. Please give me a mask I am afraid. No one can know me. Please let me be reborn like the world, cleansed of sin and new, and I will fight to cleanse the sin. Thank you Joseph thank you Father.

When I next looked up, Junior Deputy Isaac Crowford stood in the doorway, staring at me. Not in anger, fear, or shame. He wanted me to find this. Had waited for it. He came and knelt before me, shaking. I put my hand on his head, and that was answer enough for him.

...

If you have not yet met my Judge, you will know when you do. I made him a mask, carved it with my own two hands. I cut it from the kitchen table using the tools left by the builder of this bunker, carved and shaped it with kitchen knives, and then painted it white. It took many days, but my Judge was patient and left me to it, not complaining of hunger, not seeking comfort. And when I presented the mask to him, he wept.

I can't think, I'm getting hungry

we need to go topside soon but I'm terrified

I think I did the right thing

I want to do the right thing now

he says he forgives me but I can't

I don't know if I did the right thing

I don't understand and all he gives me is the Word.

My hand shook as I dropped my last pencil, ground to a stub that cramped my hand. My breathing was loud in the mask, moisture dripping from the bottom. I was afraid. Joseph said it was time. Said we had to go now. That we had very little food and that we had no choice.

Choice, choice, there was always a choice. I chose. I chose and look what happened. I did this. I chose to defy the Father, I chose to kill my friends, I chose to kill the county. And I couldn't fix it. I couldn't put it back together. I could only hide here, underground. I would not choose again. I would listen to the Father, and the Father alone. He knew, he knew what was right and so if I did as he said all would be fine. Fine fine fine.

I looked about the bedroom, lit by candles. The walls were filled with pages. Some from me. Most from the Father. Copies or rejects from the Word. The world is a diagonal. I am the balancing point. All would be left here when we go. The Father said he would leave the bound Word as well, because someone one day was destined to find it. I didn't understand. How could he preach without his Word? But he told me to have faith in him, and I did. I really, really did.

I did wrong. But I would make things right. I was no longer Isaac, the deputy, the rookie. I was Joseph's Judge, and would be so until my dying breath. I would defend him and his until I could no more. And then my soul would be cleansed, and I would die in peace, and all would be right...

The Father came for me, without uttering a sound told me it was time. I stood, sticking my last note on the wall. Didn't know why – I burned most of my scribbles because of my shame. Because it was the past and I was leaving the past behind, where it belonged. I had a new face, so no one would know me, for how could any of them forgive me?

The Father said he forgave me, a thousand times and more. As I trailed out of the bedroom after him, I clung to that thought like a lead, and didn't look back. Even if I couldn't forgive myself, maybe he forgave me enough for both of us.

Every step felt like a shed anchor, a dropped chain link, a weight cast from my body. We passed the barracks, the armoury, the red room. The stacks of barren shelves, the heaps of discarded trash. The living room and kitchen with its empty fish tank and worn furniture. We paused at the lockers and piled on extra clothes, and the Father picked up two backpacks of supplies, handing one to me. I shouldered mine, he shouldered his. Then he took the lead again, passing the silent generator and furnace, the extra ducting and steel rack and chemical showers. And then we were going up the stairs, to the hatch. There, he paused and turned to me.

"Welcome, my child, to Eden's Garden."

He opened the hatch, and together, we rose into the new dawn.

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