The following entries have been edited for clarity by the author later in life, and as much as possible, the grammar of a grade-school kid has been brought up to standards. The original historical documents are available upon request at...

Entries from Andy's Diary:

Today was one of the hardest days of my life. Mom and I sat down after breakfast, and she looked different. Tired. Not just the type of tired you get from not sleeping, but the type that seeps into your bones after carrying a heavy weight for a long time. Her eyes, once so full of laughter, were dimmed, like stars hidden behind a dense cloud cover.

She took a deep breath and began, "Andy, there's something we need to talk about." I could hear a quiver in her voice, something I wasn't used to. Mom had always been strong, always been there to pick me up when I fell, always the comforting presence in my life.

"I've been thinking a lot about what's best for both of us," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "I love you so much, and I want the best for you. I don't feel like I've been giving you the best lately." Tears formed in her eyes, but she blinked them away.

I interrupted, "Mom, what are you talking about? You're the best. Always have been."

She smiled weakly. "I appreciate that, sweetie. But I can't ignore how I've been feeling. The emptiness since your dad's passing... It's hard to explain, but it's been consuming me. I think I need some time, some space, to heal. And I think you need a place where you can flourish without constantly being weighed down by my grief."

She went on to explain her decision to send me to a boarding school. A place where I could focus on my studies, make friends, and be surrounded by supportive mentors and teachers. A place where I could be a kid again.

"I don't want to leave you, Mom," I said, tears streaming down my face.

She held me tight, her embrace warm and familiar. "I know, Andy. I don't want you to go either. But I think this is the best choice for both of us right now."

Looking back, as an older person, I see the immense strength it took for Mom to make that decision. To recognize her own limitations and prioritize my well-being over her desire to keep me close. It was an act of selfless love, a sacrifice for my future. At that time, all I felt was pain and confusion. But now, I'm filled with gratitude.

That night, as I packed my bags, Mom came into my room. She held a photo of Dad, one from one of our summer vacations. We sat on my bed, looking at it, remembering happier times. "Promise me you'll never forget him," she said, her voice choked with emotion.

"I promise, Mom," I replied, holding onto the photo. "And I promise I'll come back to you."

She smiled, a genuine smile this time. "I know you will. I love you, Andy."

"I love you too, Mom," I whispered back, holding onto her as if I could somehow absorb all her pain and make everything okay again.

The next morning, as I stepped onto the bus heading towards the boarding school, I took one last look at my childhood home and my mother, who stood waving with tears in her eyes. I knew then that no matter where life took me, my heart would always be anchored there, with her.


The strangest thing happened today. My first day at the new "school," and it's nothing like I've ever seen. The technology here is beyond anything imaginable. It feels like I've been thrown into a futuristic sci-fi movie.

The video games! They're more advanced than anything I've seen in my life. Imagine playing games with today's graphics back in the 90s! The control seats move with your actions, and some setups even let you step into the game, a basic form of virtual reality.

All the kids are so engrossed in these games, but there's something eerie about the way they play. It's like they're in a trance, so hyper-focused. It's not just for fun either. They talk about scores and levels as if their lives depend on it.

As I walked past a group of kids, I heard snippets of their conversation:

"Hi, I'm new here. What you been blowing up?" A kid with shaggy brown hair asked, trying to strike up a conversation with one of the players.

"A military base." The other kid replied without taking his eyes off the screen.

"What type of things at the military base?" The newcomer pressed on, sounding genuinely curious.

"People, army tanks, helicopters," the player responded mechanically.

"And how many points do you get for people?" The newcomer's voice wavered slightly, hinting at disbelief.

"1000, 300, 500." The player listed, still engrossed in the game.

The focus on scoring high is intense. It feels like the higher your score, the more the adults, or rather the L's, notice you. Speaking of the L's, they're peculiar. They all look so similar – young women, hard to place where they're from, all with black hair and wearing thin-rimmed glasses. Names like Lena, Lilith, Laura... it's all very orchestrated, very uniform.


I've noticed there's a clear demarcation between the kids who've been here since they were babies and those who, like me, are new. The inducted ones seem more in tune with the system, more integrated.

The environment is strange, very controlled, and I can't help but wonder what the real purpose behind all this is. Why the emphasis on war games? Why the intense training? It feels like there's something much bigger at play here, and I intend to find out.

Until then, I need to play along, get high scores, and earn some positive attention from the L's. But I'll be keeping my eyes and ears open, and I'll document everything. Something tells me I might need it one day.


It's been a few weeks since I've settled into the routine here. The games, or "training simulators" as they're formally called, were daunting at first. To be honest, my shooting skills were laughable. I missed targets frequently and my scores reflected that. But as Mum used to say, "Every cloud has a silver lining."

After a few days of struggling, one of the L's, Lena, noticed my struggles. But she also noticed my academic prowess. I've always been sharp, analytical, and I suppose, in this strange environment, my outside world experiences gave me an edge.

Lena pulled me aside one day and introduced me to the command program. Here, I wouldn't just be shooting; I would be strategizing, leading, and coordinating. It was less about raw skill and more about tactics, decision-making, and leadership.

And surprisingly, I excelled.

When put in control of a virtual squad of pilots, I found a rhythm. Each pilot had their strengths and weaknesses, and I quickly grasped how to best deploy them, when to push forward and when to pull back, when to split the group and when to keep them together. The simulators here are incredibly advanced, reacting to every decision in real-time.

But the real challenge and my shining moment came when I had to compete against my peers. Directing a squad against NPCs was one thing, but other kids? They were unpredictable, clever, and strategic. Yet, every move they made, I countered. It was like a dance, a game of chess, each side anticipating the other's moves.

The results spoke for themselves. My scores skyrocketed. I would earn a portion of each pilot's score under my command, and the combination was impressive. Word got around, and soon, even the best shooters wanted to be on my team, trusting in my leadership.

However, as exciting as it all is, I can't help but wonder what's the end game? What's the purpose of this extensive training program? And what happens when the training is over?

I guess only time will tell. For now, I'll continue playing the game, quite literally. But I'm also keeping my eyes open, observing everything, and questioning everything.

In this new world, knowledge truly is power. And I intend to gather as much as I can.


The lessons here are becoming progressively more unsettling. The core theme being drilled into our heads is the sheer importance of humanity at the expense of everything else. Our tutors, or the L's, have this rather distorted version of history and the environment, painting nature as an enemy or rather a tool in the hands of a deity named Yahweh, aimed to weaken us.

Today's lesson left an especially sour taste in my mouth. They spoke of the environment and animals as mere expendables, collateral damage in the greater scheme of things. Every heartfelt lesson my parents taught me about the beauty of nature and the importance of coexisting with animals felt like it was under attack.

Lena led today's discussion, stating that "Every tree, every endangered panda, everything is expendable. Only humanity is important. Humanity must prevail. Humans are the apex predators, evolved to be persistence hunters, to outlast all."

I glanced around the room, wondering if anyone else was as disturbed as I was. Most of the kids looked impassive, absorbing the lesson like a sponge. But there was a girl, Jennifer, who hesitantly raised her hand and asked, "Who is humanity?"

Lena's response was chilling. She simply said, "You." Not "us", but "you".

It made me wonder, where do the L's place themselves in this narrative? Why the distinction? It was a small word, but it spoke volumes.

I scribble these thoughts down not just as a record but as a means to hold onto my own beliefs, my own understanding of the world. The teachings here are becoming harder to stomach by the day. I need to remember what's real and what's not.

For now, I play along. I nod, I listen, but inside, I'm rebelling against every word they say. I know the truth about nature, about coexistence, and about the harmony of life. And no amount of twisted teachings can change that.


Today was a whirlwind. It started off as a high – our team nailed a simulated combat exercise. The graphics, the feel of it, the adrenaline... I have to admit, it's intoxicating. It felt like a game but with real-world consequences. We celebrated, laughing, patting each other's backs, and then came the low point.

I've always been one of the older kids here, but not the biggest. It seems that in this place, physical size and simulated gaming scores are the determining factors of your social standing. I was ambushed in the restroom by Jack, Mark, and Toby, the top-scoring kids. They thought it was funny to push me around and give me a swirlie. I was humiliated, drenched, and angry.

Approaching Lilith, I expected some kind of understanding, maybe even comfort. But she looked at me impassively, running a calculation in her mind. She told me that the combined scores of the bullies were higher than mine, and thus, she couldn't intervene directly. My score had to be higher to make a legitimate claim. She suggested I challenge them to a simulator combat.

It was crazy. I was being asked to settle a physical bullying incident with a video game duel. But I realized, in this world, the simulator WAS the ultimate decision maker. It determined respect, power, and even justice.

I was given a squad of NPC drones – tanks and helicopters. My opponents were real kids, driven by ego and skill. I had to command, strategize, move pieces in real-time, think three steps ahead, and predict their next moves. It was mentally exhausting. Every call I made determined the course of the battle. And after what felt like hours, by a narrow margin, we won.

I was spent, physically and mentally. But there was satisfaction too. That evening, I watched as the L's handed down their "punishment". Jack, Mark, and Toby were put on Nutraloaf, a far cry from the flavorful dishes we were used to. The look of disgust on their faces was almost... almost worth the swirlie.

But I wonder, in a place where your worth is determined by scores and simulation wins, what is the real lesson here? Do the ends justify the means? And where does one draw the line between justice and vengeance?


There's an invisible line that runs through this place. On one side are kids like me who have memories of the outside world, of families, and of a life that once felt normal. On the other side are the ones who've known nothing but these walls, the simulators, and the L's. Then there are those in-betweeners, haunted by fragmented memories of neglect, sometimes even cruelty.

Today, I sought out Leona, one of the L's. There's a peculiar way they shuffle amongst themselves so that we never get too close to any one of them. But today, I needed answers.

"Why are we here?" I asked. "Some of these kids... they're traumatized. Why bring them into this?"

Leona paused, staring at me intently. I noticed for the first time the slight outline of a headset beneath what looked like a wig. "Potentate Carpatescu believes in providing a refuge for kids who couldn't find a place in the world," she began. "Those who would have otherwise been condemned to a life of abuse and neglect. Here, at least, they find purpose. They find structure."

"But I had a family. I had my mom."

Leona's eyes, always so impassive, seemed to hold a hint of compassion. "Your mom is in pain, Andy. Deep, inconsolable pain. Sending you here wasn't just for your good, but for her healing too."

My throat tightened. "I miss her so much."

For a split second, I saw a glimmer of emotion in Leona's eyes. "If you want, Andy, we can send you home. But your mother's recovery may take a hit. Do you wish to go back?"

The weight of that question hung heavy in the air. My heart ached for the warmth of my mother's embrace, for the familiarity of our home. But I also couldn't bear the thought of her suffering more because of me. Tears blurred my vision as I whispered, "No, I'll stay."

The moment passed, and Leona's features reset to their usual stoic demeanor. But for that brief moment, I felt a connection. A fleeting bond in a place where such ties were a rarity. It gave me a sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe, behind those emotionless faces, the L's were human too.


Friendship is a peculiar thing in this place. It's like trying to catch a butterfly; when you least expect it, it lands on your shoulder. Over time, I've found camaraderie with Bean, Alai, Dink, Jennifer, and Vassilissa... or rather, Petra as I first knew her. We're a motley crew of different backgrounds and memories, but we've found common ground in this maze of simulators, L's, and combat training.

Movie nights here are a mix of nostalgia and strategy. Peter Pan was this week's pick. But the L's have a knack for turning innocent tales into tactical lessons. Suddenly, we weren't just the kids of the training center; we were the Lost Boys and Girls, forgotten by the world outside. And the next week? Simulated air battles over ships. Peter's flight over Neverland had transformed into a combative lesson. Nothing's ever just for fun here.

News from the outside is becoming more and more dystopian. It's hard to sift through what's real and what's just another manipulation tactic by the L's and Potentate Carpatescu. They claim Yahweh is causing supernatural disasters. A deity's wrath made manifest. And Christians? They're getting the blame. The news tells of their mass exodus to Petra, a sanctuary city. But what's truly odd was the day they told us to stop calling Petra by her name. Vassilissa, they insisted. I don't know what's in a name, but it felt eerie. Why hide her name? What are they not telling us?


Every day here feels like a puzzle. A puzzle I'm determined to solve. But for now, I'm just grateful for the few friends I have. In this world of shifting truths and facades, they're my only anchor to reality.

Change is the only constant here. It feels like every time we start to find our rhythm, the ground beneath us shifts. We've been inducted into the Global Defense Initiative. A heady mix of historical lessons and strangely adult movies paved the way for this. We are now 'legionaries'. It's hard to fathom; one day you're a kid, the next, you're decked out in handmade lorica armor with a real gladius in hand, expected to defend the world from...what exactly? Still, the weight of the metal, the cold feel of the blade, it brings a strange sense of power. The sort of feeling I never imagined I'd ever experience.


The introduction of the vehicle hierarchy struck hard. We'd always been a unit, my friends and I. But with the new classifications, distinctions started emerging. Alai got the mini-tank, Bean took to the skies with the quadcopter, and I could see the distance grow. There's a sense of superiority that seems to come with air missions. I hate it. It feels like school all over again, with its cliques and in-groups.

The L's have always been distant, their emotions locked behind an impenetrable facade. But today, I learned something that shook me. My mother... she's in a mental hospital. They said she'd be out in 18 months. It gave me pause. The offer to leave was laid out again, but with the assurance of staying for at least two more years. Weighing the two timelines, I decided to stay. Mom would want me to complete what I started, and by the time she's better, I can go home. There's a sense of bitter comfort in that.

Despite the chaos, the hierarchy, the constant shifting sands of this place, there's one thing I've come to realize: My decisions, as hard as they may be, are still mine. Even in this web of control and manipulation, I have agency. And I cling to that fiercely. It's all I've got.


Today marked a monumental shift in my journey here. I was designated as a centurion. Leading 100 entities into battle, albeit 80 of them being drones, feels overwhelming. To be honest, I never saw myself as a leader. But this training center and its constantly evolving challenges have a strange way of revealing strengths I never knew I possessed.

Selecting my optiones was another ordeal. The tablet in my hands, so closely associated with the L's, felt alien. Yet, its weight reminded me of the responsibility I now held. There was a clear hierarchy, scores that could easily dictate my choices. But numbers alone can't forge trust. Watching most centurions choose solely based on scores was a stark reminder of the environment we've been raised in. Trust placed on data, not human intuition.

Bean and Petra (or Vassilissa, as she's now called) have been there for me. Their abilities are unparalleled, but it's more than that. It's the unspoken bond, the late-night discussions, and the strategies we've forged in the heat of simulated battle. I know how they think and they know how I operate. We complement each other.

So, I took a leap of faith and chose them as my optiones, grounding my decision in a blend of scores and personal connection. It might not be the conventional choice, but leadership is about more than just following conventions. It's about forging your path, and today, I did just that.


The world of simulation is captivating. It's almost a paradox; it feels real and yet it doesn't. The L's seem to have taken an interest in our group, or more specifically, centurions like me who chose to lead with heart rather than just data. Our missions have grown more challenging, throwing us into the deep end of strategy and precision. Yet, it's pushing my group to bond, adapt and excel.

Flying real vehicles added a dimension of authenticity I hadn't anticipated. Feeling the actual weight beneath you, the inertia, the sensation of elevation. It's exhilarating. But there's a catch. The line between reality and game is blurring. When you're up there, the world shrinks. Enemies become mere targets; consequences are reduced to numbers on a scoreboard. The very real vibrations of the vehicle, the hum of engines, juxtaposed against the virtual bullets and explosions—it's easy to lose oneself in this duality.

Bean once told me, during a rare moment of reflection, that maybe the blurring line is intentional. To desensitize us, to ensure we make clinical decisions when it matters, devoid of emotion. Perhaps that's why centurions like me, who chose leadership based on bonds, are given tougher challenges—to test if our emotions would be our downfall.

Regardless, my team is thriving. We might laugh louder during breaks and take a few more minutes to prep, but on the battlefield, we're in sync. We lean on each other's strengths, patch up each other's weak spots, and together, we make a formidable team.

It's almost ironic. The L's might have intended to challenge us with the harder missions, but they unknowingly solidified our bond. In a world of virtual enemies and simulated explosions, my real allies are the people by my side, both in the simulation and out of it.


Today I pushed Nurse Lorine for answers. The environment here is mysterious, and the purpose sometimes muddled. Everything is taught through a lens of strategy and defence, but against whom? Or what?

Lorine's answer was both alarming and surreal. Angels and demons. Creatures of old myths, religious texts, and folklore. Are they real? Has humanity's evolution, our advancements in technology and our rise to the top of the food chain brought us to this? A confrontation with celestial beings?

To be taught that these entities, whether angelic or demonic, are "inhuman" is... disconcerting. For as long as humanity has existed, these creatures have been either worshipped or feared. They've been painted in golden halos or surrounded by fiery flames. But to think of them as enemies? That's something new.

If what Lorine says is true, it recontextualizes everything. Our training, our simulations, our purpose. This isn't just about defence; this is about survival. Our adversaries aren't fellow humans; they're beings from a different realm entirely.

But there's something else too. A nagging doubt. Could it be that we're being groomed to view everything that's different as 'inhuman' and thus, the enemy? My bond with my squad makes me question everything. Are we being led into a battle of survival or into a war of prejudice?

Only time will tell. In the meantime, I'll keep my head down, learn as much as I can, and protect my team. They are my humanity in this world of shadows and uncertainties.