Peering Out from Under the Carts

Aggrieved, saddened, and stoic: my family watches as I destroy our lives.

I am living at the grocery store, under the lean-to for the carts. Jilm says it's safe there and I have to trust him. My only connection is online here. My corps unit broke away and we are each surviving independently until the commander calls us back to duty--our mission was dissolved after our unit's integrity was compromised. I feel awful, I believe it was an old school friend who used the information against us.

I'm not concerned about giving away my location. In a way I wish someone would capture me. I can't go home.

This is only a short update since the conditions under which I can communicate are obviously limited. I feel like the things I once knew are slipping away. I once knew how to file Corp-S tax returns on behalf of mid-sized companies under ERISA; at least I remember who I once was. Now, parachuting from the sky in the dark night among a group of soulless survivors in pursuit of a mission that hasn't been communicated is supposed to provide me with enough to go on. It isn't. I crouch under the carts on cold, wet nights, holding still not to move a muscle until daylight so that they won't hear or see me.

I still seek that meaningful escape.