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Month: Spring. (May?)
Subject-Author: Operative 2013, 013-993-644, Clandestine, Free Agent, Nomad class.
For an easily communicated identity, I am calling myself Clan Destiny, its just a name and doesn't really matter anyway. The only thing that is important, the only thing that ever really was, in retrospect, is the world; the geology and geography, the flora and the fauna. My mission is as it ever was designed to be; find the Governor General and report for an Order to Service.
I don't know what is going on. Everything seems to be a mistake, the past errors, false predictions, and the present foolishness. We are falling from the precipice of our own building with the dogs of war biting at our heels even as we fall. My report will begin with my memories of the last normal day.
Tuesday was the twelfth of May if my reckoning is right and my instruments are properly calibrated. All systems feel, seem, correct and on-line. Tuesday, the Institution was as usual, machinery humming, doctors and scientists shifting in for duty, my training almost boring in its predictability. Outside were shops and businesses and factories nestled amongst the pubs and various gathering places. All of a sudden I look back with fondness at the way walls used to look to me, impervious partitions enclosing separate realities.
I have spent the last several days clamboring over the wreckages of walls, the tops of roofs now a series of broken walkways. Day one was spent just digging out from two floors under, moving rocks and girders, at times detonating small sections just to make a passage possible. Day two was spent on the run in a kind of infectious state caught from the others, all suddenly fugitives running for shelter but wary of covers that just seem to keep crashing down. Day three, more bombs, less runners, fewer screams and now an almost constant drone of moans and pleas from victims, supine and mostly mutilated victims.
I hated most my fourth day, the day in which I was free of the Compound and deciding also to be free of the compulsion to help every living or dying person I came across. Logically, I have to proceed logically, and stay true to my mission. Logically I have only so many bulbs of morphine, adrenaline, endorphins and other medicinal chemicals in my belt, and these would serve no ultimate purpose to my program of orders if I stopped to administer aid to all I encountered. They were everywhere.
The ground is moist, for some reason there seem to be leaks everywhere, foul water, sewage I think, and spongy puddles of some kinds of oil, and in between the coagulating stains of blood. I stayed in the city only long enough to prowl through the last remaining structures, businesses and stores, to finally find this remote recorder, and two others to act as spare parts. Whatever else happens to me and the world I will document as best I can. I have managed to establish an auto connection to the device through my own implanted transceiver.
I must become more disciplined at recording, and from now on I will record every day, but that has been a problem so far.