That damned Forean kid really set me off. The military "only sees him as a weapon." Welcome to my world, kid. Only reason I exist is my lunatic Original, Jeri, isn't satisfied shooting crusties herself, she wants to clone a whole squad to do it with her.
But you know what? I fight. Shot a couple dozen crusties today, as a matter of fact. I don't hate them - not the way Jeri does, anyway - but they'd shoot me where I stood in a heartbeat, so I shoot first. (They do have hearts, did you know that? Found that out the messy way. Man, Foreans are weird.) Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, that kid. Hauled him back to face the music. There's a war on, after all.
And that sanctimonious prick Rogers. "Could've handled it better." Fuck him. What am I gonna do, tell our ally to go screw? What's the difference between collecting bloody bits of dead Thrax and picking up some scared kid and hustling him back to base? I do what I'm told. Until they pin a few more bits of shiny metal on me, I ain't gonna think about this shit that hard. End up crazy as Jeri, if I do.
Jesus. What a cluster.
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