Log 008

Log 008

-Author: Rinas Rylas
-Rank: Soldier
-Corporation: Hostile Acquisitions Inc. (H.A.I.)
-Date: 115.04.18

Met with my therapist in person for the first time. He'd hopped on a ship last night that got here just this morning. Normally it's vidchat or messages or some electronic bullshit in case I decide to flip out and start going crazy again, so this was a bit of a change of pace. He was taller than I thought he'd be, taller than me, but he didn't really seem that imposing. The lines on his face seemed to tense up when I shook his hand, and I'll admit that I was a little sad when I thought he was still wary of me. Sad, but...given my line of work, it's really not that surprising anymore.

We talked for hours and hours, shooting the shit about anything and everything as we sat inside my apartment. Eventually he eased up, and it was kinda nice to see a civvie who treated me like just another person, rather than a walking, talking, killing machine. We touched on my family, but I also got to learn about his. Apparently he's got two little girls and a husband that he comes home to every day after seeing his more local clients, and the entire family is big on watching those nuts that go out with the solar sailors. He confessed he'd be interested in it before, but once he'd gained a family he couldn't knowingly endanger himself like that.

Eventually, the day cycle came and went, and I left him with a hug at the dock. He joked that he'd been expecting me to just crush him outright, and I replied that there was still time left before he got on the plane. It was such a simple thing, a little joking around, and yet I cherished it more than the bonus I'd gotten from downing two tanks the other week. I hadn't had the chance to really chat with anyone like that besides mercs in...god, I don't even know how long, and even with other mercs it's usually shit like tactics, or gear, or something else related to our paychecks. Aside from this diary, I don't think I actually had really just sat down and talked with anyone face-to-face in the longest damned time.

Anyway, I suppose I should at least write something about all the battling here. Battles, skirmishes, contracts. Same old bullshit. You know you're stuck in an odd rut when running headfirst into a veritable firing range seems to grow dull to you. Still, no relapses, so my therapist is happy. I know this whole thing started out as an idea by him, but I've kinda grown to like it. It's nice to have a form of expression that isn't either an explosive shell or immediately censored by some whackjob spooks determined to sniff out "rebellion" wherever it might be. If you ask me, they're the ones that need to go see a therapist or something, not me. Not that I don't get the odd message from some asshole official in a variety of governments that tries to label me a war criminal, walking abomination, blah blah blah, idiots trying to remain in the good graces of their voters or slaves or whatever. They're out of their fucking gourds, if you ask me. I kill on average about fifty to a hundred and twenty people on a good day, and all of them immediately get back up afterwards. You want to arrest someone? Go get those jackoffs in the spaceships.

If you can, that is.