ATROPHY

20th November, 1923 (I guess)
Hey,

feels a bit weird to greet a piece of paper, actually. Guess I'm just relieved that they finally managed to get me a notebook. A few more days and I would have started scribbling on the walls out of desperation.

I have to externalize my thoughts, somehow. And I can't talk to any of the people here. No matter what happens - or whatever they do to me - I mustn't tell them. If that means that I'll have to eat my way through hundreds of pages - so be it. I will get through this.

Three years, he said. That's all it takes to bring Ionia down. And boy, do I hope he's right.

I'm still trying to pinpoint where I am, exactly. There's a mountain range outside, and the air feels comparably thin. Probably some place in Struma. Greg told me that EnKAD liked to ship rogue agents there. Or maybe they're keeping me close to home. Who knows.

The entire thing is a huge gamble, anyway. But if it works, we might just be able to change history. And besides, I'd probably be bored to death in Trachi, anyway. I'm a bit sad I missed the revolution and all that. But I'm sure they've got it all under control over there.

As for me, I get to take a little vacation. To be blunt, I've grown incredibly tired of people, anyway. Ever since I got that particular feeling, right after we arrived in Trachi. It's like, someone was watching us. And not only a single entity - but hundreds and hundreds of them. Something must've clicked in me. Because from that point onwards, I couldn't care less about what happened in this world. As long as this presence was with me, I'd do anything.

I hoped that I could take it away with me. To this place, where no one would be smart enough to figure out who I was really talking to. But so far, I haven't felt it again. Ever since Ari got shot, it's like "it" doesn't really care about me, anymore. There was a hint of a glimpse when they were working me with picanas, a few days ago. But that might just as well have been my imagination. Or them trying to pull some weird shit on me.

In any case, it was a cute little trick. But it takes much more than that to get through to me. The harder they push, the more I retreat. And I have more than enough material to feed them half-truths for the next few months. At the very least until Daph gets here. If Atlas hasn't killed her, that is.

Oh well, I guess we'll just have to see how it pans out. For now, I should probably close here. After all, I have way more days than pages ahead of me.

God, I've never eaten actual paper before, I think. How do you even do that? With a glass or water, or what?

Heh. I'm stalling, I think. Let's get it over with.

22nd November, 1923 (I think)
Hey again.

I wanted to save these, so they'd last me for a while. But my sitters took me out for a stroll, yesterday.

And then they put a gun to my head.

It's a weird feeling. I was so sure that they wouldn't pull the trigger. That didn't really help, though. Because even if you're almost 100% certain, there's always a chance you might be wrong. And if you being wrong means that you'll do die, it's enough to put the gears in your mind to work.

I could never stop thinking about the how, where and when I'd die. In my thoughts, I always wanted to leave this world with grace. But when I couldn't even see the person that's holding my life in their hands, it really got to me.

Killing someone can be a very intimate thing. You get to know each other in ways that cannot possibly be described. I saw the fire in little Apo's eyes crackle and flicker, just before it went out, forever. At that moment, there was nothing else in the world that mattered. Just him, and me. The person who died, and the person who killed.

Sometimes when I was walking through the streets, I looked at other people and thought to myself: "What if that person over there was the one to kill me?" Because with one single action, that person could become one of the most important people in my life.

What hurts the most is the sheer audacity of it. Because the least they could do is to know your story, before they put it to a close. But not everyone gets that privilege. People lose their life to the most ridiculous things. My uncle contracted an infection, when I was four. It turned into a sepsis.

And just like that, he was gone.

It's pathetic, isn't it? Dying to something that doesn't even care about you. Then again, does it really matter? If I told you I'm sorry for killing you, would that make it better, or worse? If my guess is true, and there's no life after death, there's no reason to care, right? I always felt leaving was easier than being left. Because in the end, you can always come back. But not from this. It's a one way trip. And the only thing you can do is to find solace that you, at least, won't have to grief over your own remains.

I want to live forever. There are so many things I want to see. I want to go home. To the place where me and Greg grew up. I want to go back, and burn that entire village to the ground.

Because they had a chance, you see. A chance to make something better. But they didn't. They just carried on with their lives, while I sat in a corner and cried. No one ever cared to see me for what I was. No one, but Greg. I can't let him carry it alone. Not after everything he sacrificed to keep us safe.

We've got to make it worth. Otherwise, we're just another page in a brief history of people who did a lot, but never made something. And if this world won't allow it, we'll just go somewhere else.

Another road, another town, another city. Another world, untouched by fire.

We'll go there, and we'll bring the flame to them.

23rd November, 1923 (I reckon)
Here we go again.

You know, I almost drowned, when I was eight. I was playing with Anton close to a small river next to the place I grew up. But I slipped, (for real, that time!) I don't know how long I was underwater. Probably not more than a few seconds. But believe me, those can feel like an eternity when they could be your last.

And worst of it all, there's this internal fight going on inside you. One part wants to desperately breathe, the other one prefers not to fill your lungs with water. It's like a dance that goes on inside your mind, while you slowly exhaust yourself. And finally accept the water as your home.

Suddenly, there was a flash. I don't remember much, but my brother must've saved me. Because ever since then, it's feels like I owe my life to him. And I'd do anything to make him happy.

Until I met you.

That's right. I know you're reading this. Back when I wrote the first entry, I wasn't sure. But I noticed that feeling again. Just like I did when I fell into Trachi's sewer system. Thankfully, Atlas was there.

But neither he nor my brother could save me from what these people did to me, yesterday. They waterboarded me. Or at the very least, they tried to. Something pulled me out, every time I was about to break.

And I'm thinking it was you. It has to be. The more I think about it, the more certain I become of that. You know, my brother told me something, once. Back when it was part of Ionia, they used to call Trachi "city of bridges". And I have a feeling it's not only referring to physical objects.

In any case, guess the two of us will have to wait a little longer for answers. Maybe - or rather hopefully - you'll be with me next time I get sweated. I'm really sorry you have to see all of this, of course. But every time you're with me, it feels like I can bear the world on my shoulders.

Can you guess who said that to me? Hehe. If he knew I'm telling you this, he'd probably kill me.

In all seriousness, though: I appreciate you sharing the burden with me. And I'm looking forward to feel your presence, again.