The fourth short.
Looking back all these years later there was a time when what I did was kept in the shadows. A time when what I did mattered on a global level. The morning of, I woke up, looked out the window and it had all changed. I recall picking up my sat phone and trying my commanding officer and nothing. It was five minutes before I tried the one thing you're never supposed to do in this line of work; I called home.
I packed my bags and headed for the airport, all I could think to do was to get my feet on home soil. If I can get there then it would all be safe…
Panic is something they teach you to control and so I didn't panic; I made a plan, I executed the plan and the thing that disrupted it was:
A lack of pilots
A lack of staff
A lack of people.
I was isolated in a foreign country under a name that wasn't my own.
A life that had been constructed for me to gain information to bring home; of course contingency plans were made to get me out and I was halfway there when all of this happened. I'd left one country and had a short stopover in this country but the one thing they didn't account for was the wealth of the population not waking up…
Without people, I was a one-man show and I had no idea how to get to where I needed to.
I spent six months readjusting, finding who was left, what was left, and how people were living and moving forward. I spent six months figuring out who I was in this new world, I constructed a new life for my old name. Overnight my purpose died and was reanimated to another and yet in many ways I find myself doing the same job. I carry information from one place to another, but this time it's letters, it's messages…
It's hope in a way.
I set out across this country in search of finding people, specifically a pilot with a plane, but along the way, I found a way to be useful in carrying these letters to and from; letting them know that someone out there is looking for them. I think that's why I began these journals writing out this same message, we're trained to leave no trace, to adopt an identity and then to abandon that identity just as quickly as we inhabited it.
So this is me, breaking the rules, changing things because overnight we lost memories, we lost relationships…
First entries in new journals are always the hardest, starting fresh. So, let me describe where I am right now, I'm sitting on a metal barrel at a bar that's been constructed from old white goods, there's a washing machine on one end and a dryer on the other holding in place an ironing board that acts as a bar. The sun is setting, and there are maybe two people I can see in the vicinity; one of which being the wonderful barkeep who set up this place. There's no name for it because names of places no longer matter, where there are so few of us we all know what's what, there's no branding or marketing to be had. No expansion…
It's just small clusters of those of us who are left.
I can hear the sea in the distance.
I'm waiting for information, heard of a potential client that needs some help. I've been told it's a delivery of sorts, it's never just a delivery…
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