There are those of us that have chosen to go by titles.
Pretty things, these labels that allow us to identify each other in a sentence or two.
In a world of hollows, traitors, and information leaks, these labels don't do shit for you.
I'd like to introduce myself. Not that my name really matters in the grand scheme of things.
It's as fake as some of your alliances.
I'm Sam.
I'm a Survivor.
I'm twenty seven years old.
The only reason I don't kick the bucket today is, well, I'm not allowed to.
You see, if I do, some very nice people will die. Or get ammo in a war I fucking hate.
I live in a world where the boogeymen are real. Where kid's fantasy has a greater chance of coming true than the white picket fence and 2.5 kids we were all taught was supposed to be our dream.
I'm here to be honest, or as honest as it gets, in this crapsack timeline.
See, the thing I've noticed lately is that as soon as some of you find "peace.."
You start getting weak-willed. And lazy. Start letting the snakes into the garden, so to speak.
That's when kids start getting taken, castles fall, and your 'best friends' get comfortable with stabbing you in the back. Sometimes literally! Everyone carries a blade these times, and gosh, that steel between the fourth and fifth rib slanted upwards tends to make even the strongest juggernauts fall.
There are those that would label me a Runner. Scorn me for the choices I turned down.
Once upon a time, I had a chance to choose an alliance.
The so called 'good guys,' the Runners.
The constantly shifting traitors to the humans, the Proxies.
Or, as my sisters have deemed it, the 'grey hats.' The Neutrals.
I'm all for peace and love and rainbow hippie shit, but I've seen a bit too much in my time to feel comfortable calling anyone an ally. Let alone giving away the information that matters.
In this shitfuck war you guys have been calling 'the Great Game,' no alliance is safe.
Right around the time I was supposed to be my decision, I saw behind the curtain.
Oh, you know the one. From that singing movie in the 30's, with the yapping dog and the really, really stupid heroine that gets in a land dispute over some freaking shoes?
Yeah. Remember the part where the country girl trips and pulls the curtain to the side, revealing that the big Hero of the story was no more than a sham with some pretty little baubles, speaking into a megaphone? I had that moment in my life. But instead of some old man in weird robes, I found something worse. Much fucking worse. A negotiation, years ago, between all the clans.
I'm not shitting you. I mean what I say.
One of the 'paragons of light,' a 'higher up' of the Board, and a neutral mercenary.
All discussing which way the coming years would shape the 'Great Game.'
Who needed to die. Who needed to be kept calm. Who needed to be paid to look the other way.
It disgusted me.
What's fucked up about it is that I found out what all this shit is really being fought for.
This 'Great Game' is a fucking distraction.
From the worst of the worst.
There exists a greater evil than the shit we've been fighting, the Fears, that makes them look like saints marching down Main Street twirling white flags of peace.
And we, the humans, are the lambs to the slaughter. The sacrifices. The distractions.
To appease this nasty motherfucker into not destroying us all.
And if we don't play this lovely 'Game,' we're all likely to fucking die.
Easier for us to believe the Fears are the bad guys.
Easier for us to fight, and run, and cry amongst ourselves on these online forums.
What a waste. And what a fucking joke.
I chose to Run that day. Not for an alliance. Not to spite them. But to save my own freaking hide.
I come from what you all would call a loosely-knit 'family' of women, that just so happen to almost look identical. This family doesn't exist across one timeline. It exists across twenty one of them.
One of our leaders, a woman by the name of Demi, had tried to approach me about 'being one of hers.' What she hadn't realized was that I had already discretely learned about who I was supposed to be, and hunted down which of the rumors about my 'sisters' were true.
It was the next day that I saw her in that clearing in the woods.
I wish I hadn't.
All I'd really wanted to do that day was forage for some fucking food and water.
My dad had just passed away, and unlike the others, I had nowhere to go after his death.
I'd been doing my best to pretend everything was okay.
Keep going to school. Keep my head up. Pretend I didn't live in a tent in the woods.
I had refused to live with the shitty people I unfortunately shared blood with.
Would you want to live with a rapist, a drug prince, and abusive fuckheads?
No wonder I chose a tent.
But, there for a while, I made it. Not even my counselors or closest friends realized what I had chosen to do. Make the rest of my seventeenth year my own, by my terms. Even if it meant starving.
Well, after that day in the woods.. you could say I got much better at learning to survive.
I had to.
These sisters of mine?
You won't see me calling myself by their nickname. D.I.A.
An absurd joke of an acronym, a twisted set of initials based off of our real names.
Each of us carries the same true name, beginning to end.
Walking down different paths that've branched a thousand times, like a fucked up broken tree.
I don't believe in being one of them.
Just because we share a name does not make one of them.
I've seen what my sisters have done in the name of love, nobility, and selfishness.
And for most of them, it simply got them killed.
So I left my entire life, and took to the streets.
Chose to abandon my dreams of college, of marriage, of children.
All to avoid a choice I didn't fucking want to make.
Pretty things, these labels that allow us to identify each other in a sentence or two.
In a world of hollows, traitors, and information leaks, these labels don't do shit for you.
I'd like to introduce myself. Not that my name really matters in the grand scheme of things.
It's as fake as some of your alliances.
I'm Sam.
I'm a Survivor.
I'm twenty seven years old.
The only reason I don't kick the bucket today is, well, I'm not allowed to.
You see, if I do, some very nice people will die. Or get ammo in a war I fucking hate.
I live in a world where the boogeymen are real. Where kid's fantasy has a greater chance of coming true than the white picket fence and 2.5 kids we were all taught was supposed to be our dream.
I'm here to be honest, or as honest as it gets, in this crapsack timeline.
See, the thing I've noticed lately is that as soon as some of you find "peace.."
You start getting weak-willed. And lazy. Start letting the snakes into the garden, so to speak.
That's when kids start getting taken, castles fall, and your 'best friends' get comfortable with stabbing you in the back. Sometimes literally! Everyone carries a blade these times, and gosh, that steel between the fourth and fifth rib slanted upwards tends to make even the strongest juggernauts fall.
There are those that would label me a Runner. Scorn me for the choices I turned down.
Once upon a time, I had a chance to choose an alliance.
The so called 'good guys,' the Runners.
The constantly shifting traitors to the humans, the Proxies.
Or, as my sisters have deemed it, the 'grey hats.' The Neutrals.
I'm all for peace and love and rainbow hippie shit, but I've seen a bit too much in my time to feel comfortable calling anyone an ally. Let alone giving away the information that matters.
In this shitfuck war you guys have been calling 'the Great Game,' no alliance is safe.
Right around the time I was supposed to be my decision, I saw behind the curtain.
Oh, you know the one. From that singing movie in the 30's, with the yapping dog and the really, really stupid heroine that gets in a land dispute over some freaking shoes?
Yeah. Remember the part where the country girl trips and pulls the curtain to the side, revealing that the big Hero of the story was no more than a sham with some pretty little baubles, speaking into a megaphone? I had that moment in my life. But instead of some old man in weird robes, I found something worse. Much fucking worse. A negotiation, years ago, between all the clans.
I'm not shitting you. I mean what I say.
One of the 'paragons of light,' a 'higher up' of the Board, and a neutral mercenary.
All discussing which way the coming years would shape the 'Great Game.'
Who needed to die. Who needed to be kept calm. Who needed to be paid to look the other way.
It disgusted me.
What's fucked up about it is that I found out what all this shit is really being fought for.
This 'Great Game' is a fucking distraction.
From the worst of the worst.
There exists a greater evil than the shit we've been fighting, the Fears, that makes them look like saints marching down Main Street twirling white flags of peace.
And we, the humans, are the lambs to the slaughter. The sacrifices. The distractions.
To appease this nasty motherfucker into not destroying us all.
And if we don't play this lovely 'Game,' we're all likely to fucking die.
Easier for us to believe the Fears are the bad guys.
Easier for us to fight, and run, and cry amongst ourselves on these online forums.
What a waste. And what a fucking joke.
I chose to Run that day. Not for an alliance. Not to spite them. But to save my own freaking hide.
I come from what you all would call a loosely-knit 'family' of women, that just so happen to almost look identical. This family doesn't exist across one timeline. It exists across twenty one of them.
One of our leaders, a woman by the name of Demi, had tried to approach me about 'being one of hers.' What she hadn't realized was that I had already discretely learned about who I was supposed to be, and hunted down which of the rumors about my 'sisters' were true.
It was the next day that I saw her in that clearing in the woods.
I wish I hadn't.
All I'd really wanted to do that day was forage for some fucking food and water.
My dad had just passed away, and unlike the others, I had nowhere to go after his death.
I'd been doing my best to pretend everything was okay.
Keep going to school. Keep my head up. Pretend I didn't live in a tent in the woods.
I had refused to live with the shitty people I unfortunately shared blood with.
Would you want to live with a rapist, a drug prince, and abusive fuckheads?
No wonder I chose a tent.
But, there for a while, I made it. Not even my counselors or closest friends realized what I had chosen to do. Make the rest of my seventeenth year my own, by my terms. Even if it meant starving.
Well, after that day in the woods.. you could say I got much better at learning to survive.
I had to.
These sisters of mine?
You won't see me calling myself by their nickname. D.I.A.
An absurd joke of an acronym, a twisted set of initials based off of our real names.
Each of us carries the same true name, beginning to end.
Walking down different paths that've branched a thousand times, like a fucked up broken tree.
I don't believe in being one of them.
Just because we share a name does not make one of them.
I've seen what my sisters have done in the name of love, nobility, and selfishness.
And for most of them, it simply got them killed.
So I left my entire life, and took to the streets.
Chose to abandon my dreams of college, of marriage, of children.
All to avoid a choice I didn't fucking want to make.
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