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TAP INTO THIS THREAD 4 ME



LIFE SUCKS

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...okay, maybe it ain't that bad. I just wanted to get your attention with the misleading title on this page, and it clearly worked. Now read about me.


I was once your typical Combine conscript jarhead, right, like most dudes in the shell crater that was once Toronto. What's funny is I went from killing aliens for the good guys (usually by stomping or stabbing. Cheapasses that conscripted me were almost outta guns!) to killing aliens for the bad guys - who were nicely settling in to their new planet. I sometimes took orders from things that weren't human, sometimes from lucky humans that got to be 'officers', and sometimes even from weird telepathic voices in my head that I could never find the source of but the others heard, too. I was rusty as shit with the old MG yanked from the week old carcass of a UN peacekeeper (hadn't shot a gun in my life), but all was fine and dandy and headcrab-killing-go-lucky until our squad got the every-so-often-order of killing a passing-by family of five that just so happen not to be total Dr. Breen asskissers. War wasn't cool, never was, and it slapped me in the face. Hundreds of millions were dead by now, guys in my unit are dying in horrible ways right in front of me, and I've been separated from my little bro for months.

Then one day they kicked me out! You'd think I woulda been pissed - robbed of a career, but I was on fucking cloud nine... 'cause the day I was in line to board a boat out of Ontario, I just so happened to glance left and down the street and saw three of the guys I patrolled with step on an improvised xen acid bomb. If I hadn't been kicked out, I woulda been dissolving to the bone right with 'em. Got me questioning if God was real that night. I think I prayed once or twice, too.

A few weeks of a weird boat sickness I had the entire journey later, I landed in a place called 'District 47.' District of what? Hell if I remember. Architecture was typical Balkan eurotrash style. All I remember was that it was a shithole and the sky looked creepy and also made creepy sounds - perks of an extradimensional invasion. There, I was your usual sad sulking survivor reeking of body odor, ash, and definitely hazardous alien fluids, swinging a pickaxe and clearing rubble for table scraps, 'till I met two others just like me. Separated from close family, pretty much my age, same humor, and becoming my brother and sister from other mothers. Made the most of our time there, bonded over shitty childhoods, got our hands on a bag or two of kush (and sometimes some whack ass crystal from other dimensions), and became your typical back-alley rejects - and we embraced that title, by the way.

All good things come to an end, they say. And it did. First time I learned about their little relocation program was when the three of us were kicking back in the shelter. Still remember the topic of discussion: who'd win a boxing match between Dr. Breen and Cave Johnson. Heard some whitemask go all stupid and robo-like, "Yo Reed, stand up. Now." Wrapped his lanky little gloves around my arms and hauled me off to another vessel of transport (think it was aerial) as the two greatest and only best friends I ever had got pinned against a wall and searched. I almost expected to hear shots after I rounded the corner.

Repeat the fucking process every few months again and again. I learned to stop making friends as the years went on, and now I just hit forty. Wish I had the fucking cash to spend on a midlife crisis.

Had no sense of purpose if I'd keep getting wiped all the time. Never knew how my family was. Never knew what to do. Got so depressed over that stacking up over the years that when I landed in City 8 that I almost took a nosedive off the bridge by the metro street - you know the one. Decided enough was enough. Joined the masks so I wouldn't get shipped off again (was too pussy to rebel). Yeah, I coulda joined sooner, but like I said - midlife crisis. Don't judge me! Put my coupons in the bag! Got drunk off the power, sometimes off the booze I stole. Crawled out of my little depressed sad shit shell. Life was... better.

All I ever wanted was to have a set career for the rest of my life and bond with the like-minded along the way, and I finally got it and thensome - wasn't all peaches and cream, though, still ain't. Far from it, but it beat being a deadbeat waste of oxygen living off of questionable drugs and the weird relationships with even more questionable peeps.

Then one day came where I saw two really familiar faces, and the reunion wasn't all hugs and good laughs.

Guess I forgot how people change over the course of two decades.​
 
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aqua

Lancer
Administrator
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September 26th, 2003

TAPE RECORDER AUDIO PLAYBACK OF DAY #7

MASS CIVILIAN TRANSPORT TO EURASIA

ATLANTIC OCEAN


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Bryce: (Click) "Testing! Testing! Lalalala!"

Antoine: [Unintelligible]

Bryce: "Shut-- Bro, shut up! I'm recording! Uh-- so... Day like... Yo, Antoine! How long we been on this fuckin' thing? And come closer so it hears you - just don't say some bullshit."


Antoine: (Sounds of faint rustling.) "Eh, okay-okay. We been on dis boat, eh... ehhh..."

Bryce: "Spit it out, dawg!"

Antoine: "Seven days, wi?"

Bryce: "Riiight! So. Day seven of being on a cargo ship leading to fuck-knows-where. My guess is that we're well in the Atlantic by now 'cause the gunshots and explosions stopped. And yeah, we heard gunshots and explosions all the way down the St. Lawrence. Prolly turf wars between our lovely new alien occupiers and... the other aliens - or maybe turf wars between the occupiers and people. Or... people versus people. Bottom line is: it's hell on Earth. Canada-- nah, fuck it... all of North America is fucked and there's no way they're gonna keep people here for long. These 'portal' storms, alien things at every corner, mass riots... You get it. I managed to get a couple peeks outside - entire skyline is just all smoke, and at night it glows orange. Every fuckin' town on the riverbank and then some - it's all on fire as far as the eye can see. Last night another... 'portal' storm ripped through, worse than the one in the last recording - made the boat sway real hard, and I think the bridge that was in front of us up and collapsed. Me and-..."

Antoine: "Dey took the bridge down on purpose, man! Dey don't want a land route across the river! Dey want you to use their transports. It's mass relocation! Confusion!"

Bryce: "Okayokayokayokay-- Christ. I get it, man. A bit a stretch, but sure."

Antoine: "Mèd..."

Bryce: "Anyways! ...Me, my lovely friend Antoine, and those other two guys in the corner-- are they asleep? Okay. Yeah, whatever their names were. We're packed in a cargo container with plenty of air holes, and the conscripts come in and dish out our 'meals' twice a day. A couple of 'em recognize me from when I was in their ranks a few weeks back, so sometimes they sneak extra food for our container. What can I say? I left a big impact 'cause I'm such a great guy. It's luxury! We got luckier than most 'cause the container next to us I think has like... over a dozen poor bastards packed in like sardines. Not gonna lie, it's a nice break. Beats seeing my old squad mates getting dissolved to the bone a couple weeks ago... Hopefully all this shit is worth it and everything gets back to normal."

(The distinct whir of a Combine dropship soars overhead, drawing slightly quieter.)

Antoine: "It will never be 'back to normal.' Dis the beginning of the end."

Bryce: "Don't be such a party pooper. We're-..."

(The whistle of a rocket followed by an extremely loud bang causes the audio to suddenly peak.)

Bryce: "HOLY SHIT! What was-- can you... Yeah, look outside! You see anything?"

Antoine: "Look! Look! Alien flyer in flames!"

Bryce: "Holy-- was it a missile? Where'd it come from? That town?"

(The pained moan of the dropship quickly draws closer.)

(Unintelligible chatter of the other two occupants of the container.)


Bryce: "Dude. Dude! DUDE! It's coming this way! DOWN. GET DOWN!"

(Static.)
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aqua

Lancer
Administrator


An old paper - the only one you found on the street standing apart from the even older pre-war adverts and post-war propaganda leaflets, winds likely carrying this one across Districts. It's comprised of scribbled expletives and an attached polaroid photo depicting the evening City 8 skyline with the Citadel specifically excluded from frame.

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I FUCKING HATE MY JOOOOOOB!!!!!!!!!!!!
(...but I also love it.)

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Whoever finds this, make sure you listen to my advice and take the pic as a cool keepsake and a reminder.

No matter WHAT job you take (in the city), make sure you ONLY DO WHAT YOU'RE TOLD AND NOTHING ELSE.

Don't overachieve - people hate that, apparently.

Or actually... If you DO overachieve just a little, do it very carefully - and as I said, do it VERY LITTLE!!!

If it looks like you bent or broke the rules to them to get a win, you're done.

This is a world where you stay in your place. Stay in yours, and you'll get to the top a lot faster than by doing whatever it is you're doing.

Wanna keep your masters appeased? Think their way. Only do what they'd do and nothing else.

I learned the hard way... Take this to the heart so you don't have to.

Anyways... Writing this made me feel a little better. Rant over.

Have fun,

- B

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