I Don't Feel Welcome Here or Anywhere

[Berlioz Lamond]

The ceiling above Berlioz was both familiar to him, while also being totally new. He'd spent a fairly large amount of time, compared to your average person, in medical wards and hospital beds. But the Medical Bay of the Dauntless Fury was a new one for him. The worst part was that he wasn't even here for combat injuries, he couldn't even say that he was there because he'd been doing his job. No he was there, because he finally crossed the line.

Turning his head in the bed, ever so slightly, he could see the door to his room, the back of a soldier's head could be seen in the small reinforced window. He knew that there was a rotation of armed guards outside, Berlioz had seen them change over little more than 30 minutes ago. The current one had peered in, like a child looking at a wild animal in a zoo. Because that's what I've become.

A wild animal.

It was actually a rather accurate description of how he'd been barely two days ago. Dangerous, uncontrolled, a threat to everyone. He wanted to curse Victor Reinhardt into whatever hell there maybe for finally tipping him over the edge, but Berlioz knew that at the end of it all, this was all his fault. He'd pushed, and pushed, and pushed himself, trying so hard to run from his failures, to make himself useful. To rinse himself of his history. In the end he pushed himself to the breaking point, and Victor Reinhardt was the man that broke him.

Even just two days later he could barely remember what actually happened, but the few fractured memories that were clear as crystal in his mind made him sick to his core. The gun at Reinhardt's head, the sickening noise of that trooper's arm and knee coming apart as Berlioz had broken him like a dry twig, just for trying to stop him. Then his immortalized, personal, hell. The look on everyone's face as they saw him fall apart before them, his own gun at his head.

It was everything Berlioz had spent so long trying to avoid. Attention, opinion, conflict of interests, investigation, tribunals, court-martial. It was all happening or would be coming soon. Coming before the killing blow that was sure to occur after everything. Dishonorable Discharge. Likely with time in military prison.

It was only a matter of time now before he was walked with armed guards at each shoulder before a judge, who would strip him of his rifle, his uniform, his life.

Berlioz rolled over, dragging the thin sheets up to his neck, facing away from the door now. He'd spent years running, but he couldn't hide from the fact anymore. Not now that every single person on that flight deck had seen it. Gun to his head, tears streaming down his face.

I'm broken.

[Jorge Silva]

Silva stopped at the medical center and headed for the desk. A few nurses were on duty with only one person asking questions. Going up to a pretty nurse he said “I’d like to see PFC Lamond? I’m Staff Sergeant Silva, the Sergeant of his platoon.” The nurse asked for all the identification and then also looked up where Lamond was. “He is over in the physchetratic ward Staff Sergeant. Please take this when you arrive at the desk. “Thank you.” After a short walk down some halls that he was supposed to go down he came upon another desk with only one nurse. “Hello I’m-“ he started to say but he was stopped by the nurse. “I know, your Staff Sergeant Silva. Lamond is in room 303.” She said and pushed a button. Behind her were two large doors that suddenly opened up. Silva walked through and as he walked inside he noticed every now and then a guard with a electric baton walking up and down the halls. He hoped they hadn’t used force on Lamond.

Finding the room wasn’t too hard. A guard walked up to Silva. “I need to see your clearance papers.” The guard said. “Of course.” He said. The guard took the paper and nodded. “Opening 303.” He announced and two more guards arrived near the door. The door suddenly slid open and Silva went inside the guards then stayed outside until the door fully closed. The lights were turned off. “Lights.” He said in a low voice and he saw Lamond on the bed. Slowly he walked over to lamond and said. "How you holding up Lamond?"

[Berlioz Lamond]

Visitors were the last thing Berlioz was expecting. Perhaps a military lawyer, maybe even Lieutenant Hobbar coming to chew him out over this whole thing. How he'd shamed his platoon, maybe how he'd let Hobbar down personally or something. He'd heard it before, directed at other soldier's back in the Army. It'd never been pretty, some cried, some just stared through them. None of them were cut out for the military, perhaps that spoke volumes about him, not that his years of survival and rather horrific list of confirmed kills had anything to do with it.

But Staff Sergeant Silva walking in, asking how he was could probably be counted among some of the least expected events, considering the current situation.

Berlioz just stared wide eyed, almost in shock as he struggled to process the change in the atmosphere. He'd been sitting alone in the dark for at least 3 hours now, the nurse had turned the light out as he'd said he was tired but in the end he hadn't slept, just sat upright in the bed trying to piece together the unrelenting thoughts racing around his head every second he was awake.

But right now the Sergeant was expecting a coherent answer.

"I'm..."

The truth was impossible to say, so another version of it would have to do.

"I don't know, Sir"

[Jorge Silva]

Going to see him hopefully would cheer Lamond up. But Silva didn’t think it’d do much good, but at least he wouldn’t feel abandoned by anyone. Jorge slowly nodded and grabbed the only chair that was present. Sitting down he smiled a little bit. “I heard what happened down in the launch bay. And I can’t say that I’m not that surprised. Well except for pointing the gun at yourself. Everyone knows Reinhardt is an asshole and one day he’s going to make someone in the wrong position upset. I wanna be there when he’s crucified. But what I have been wondering as I came over here, is where did all of this……anger come from? Was there something else wrong that caused you to snap?”

He knew asking these questions might be embarrassing for him but Silva decided better he ask him then some doctor who would then just pump him full with pills. “I can’t really seeing or hearing anyone else doing what you did back there. Those SS goons think they run the place. Well maybe next time they won’t be so quick next time huh? Anything I can do for you?”

[Berlioz Lamond]

Berlioz sat, not saying a word nor looking at the Sergeant as he spoke. He wanted to know where the anger came from, whether there was anything he could do. Empty questions, expecting an empty answer. Silva clearly was pushing himself here. Berlioz turned his head back to stare at the Sergeant, their eyes now level as he'd taken a chair next to his bed.

"Where does the anger come from?" Berlioz paused, almost asking for permission to speak freely but at this point and in this situation, it was somewhat redundant. "It comes from nearly 7 years of watching friends die in the most meaningless and poorly thought out military operations that the brass can think up. Nearly 7 years of having other members of humanity trying to kill you or break you for their own ends. Nearly 7, fucking, years of killing and murdering because somebody else told me to."

Berlioz didn't break eye contact with Silva the entire time but he wasn't done just yet. "Honestly I don't know why I hadn't tried to shoot myself earlier. I lost faith in everything years ago, even before the ARM showed up and started blowing up goddamn civilian populations. So what's the response to that? More violence. I've watched, entire towns wiped off maps via kinetic weapon strikes because the higher ups didn't want to risk a search for enemy personnel, I've seen lies, broadcast to every system about how we're doing 'good' work, that we're doing the right thing."

He knew that the Sergeant would try and pick his words apart or simply leave, he didn't care at this point. "We are not doing good work. We are not doing the right thing. We destroy lives because someone else tells us to. We steal away the loved ones of others because we don't agree on something. We kill, because to us, it's just a job. We're worse than animals, we're monsters, thieves, liars and murderers. I became a monster that did nothing but kill because it is all I have left. I have nothing left but my capacity for violence."

With that he looked away from the Sergeant, staring back down at his hands in his lap. Because the rest of it wasn't for Silva to hear. The image of his bloodied mother in his head. Monster was the right word.

"The universe could do with one less monster, don't you think?"

He let his words hang in the air, before saying with an edge of harshness that could be felt almost physically, "So I'll tell you what you can do for me, Sir. You can retrieve my sidearm from the Armoury. I can handle the rest."

[Jorge Silva]

“Fuck Lamond.” Silva said and slowly shook his head. “You can’t be so damned guilty about this. It’s not your fault. The higher ups aren’t always so cynical. Yeah we have some who think sending in light units without any armor is a good idea, and yeah we have some admirals who decide to bombard a city or two because of only three ARM members in those places. But not everyone is like that. Most of them have common sense and try to do anything they can to limit civilian causalities. And what’s the alternative? Letting the ARM kill everyone because they hate Human Corporation? Is that the answer? There is never a clear answer. And war has never been pretty. It never will be pretty.” Silva sighed and looked at Lamond. “Nothing in life is ever pretty. Your forgetting that there are good people out there. People who care and help one another. If someone’s had a car break down someone else will go to help them. There are decent honest hard working people.” He said to him.

When Lamond asked about the gun, Silva was shocked. “You do realize your in a hospital right? If you keep saying stuff like this you’ll never get out. Don’t give them a reason to keep you here forever. Do me a favor and get better. I don’t care how long it is, get better. The platoon needs you back.”

[Berlioz Lamond]

Sergeant Silva was missing the point entirely. Berlioz didn't care about those that did good, those that cared. His anger wasn't directed at them. A few rotten, diseased apples will spoil a crop. The few good men in this army were spoiled and diseased by the rotten men they served under.

"Sergeant, I'll be out whenever they decide it's time for me to leave. My words have no meaning here, no weight to carry them. I could ask you to shoot me yourself and it wouldn't mean anything. I can rage against life and the choices I've made but it won't matter. Because at the end of the day, when I leave here, I get put back in that armour, have a gun shoved in my hands and a target put in front of my because that is all I am now. I have no home to go back to. No family waiting for a safe return. I am no one, and I am nothing. Nothing but a gear in this dying and bleeding machine we call the UCHD."

Berlioz laid back down, back to staring at the ceiling. He didn't feel better for saying those things, but it was a change from keeping it all in. "Don't worry Sergeant, the platoon will get me back. I'll be back to being just another soul to get lost on the frontlines."

[Jorge Silva]

“Your someone Lamond. Don’t you forget it. What about your friend…..what’s his name again? Reeve? Reed…that’s it Reed. You have a friend in the platoon. Why do you think your just one more number in the Corps? When it comes straight down to it Lamond we’re all numbers. Don’t let it get to you. Everyone has shit going on in their lives that they wish they could go back into time and change the outcome. Well you can’t…..unless you have invented a time machine then let me know.” He said.

Something was going on with Lamond and it went further then the initial reason for him being sent here. Then he remembered something, “And don’t let Reinhardt get to you. I know he is a real prick, and trust me Lamond, I don’t like him. He really cannot take any action against you within the SDC unless. One there is evidence and the Corps will launch a internal investigation of the claim and Two, the Corps will defend you we don’t abandon anyone, ever Lamond and we never will that you can take to the planetary bank.“ He was sure that Lamond would once again find every fault with the world and exploit that. The kid needed some sort of hobby to keep it in check whatever that hobby was was just find with him.

[Berlioz Lamond]

Berlioz rapidly came to the conclusion that Sergeant Silva's loyalty to the Corps was unwavering. The conversation wasn't going anywhere. He wasn't willing to go as far as to say that Silva didn't care about him, but Silva was handwaving almost everything Berlioz was saying, trying to get him to focus on recovery. It was typical but he wished that perhaps someone else had chosen to visit. That said, visitors might be infrequent, the chance to talk to people could be rare.

"Sergeant, it's been... a long day, I appreciate you visiting but it's probably about time I got some rest."

[Jorge Silva]

Jorge nodded. “You get better, I don’t want to hear how they had to extend your stay because you didn’t get any rest. It’s been a long day for you I can imagine, I mean what a few hours ago you were on an asteroid being shot at that’s not the kind of day anyone wants to have, much less you.” He told him and slowly got up out of the chair. “The talk we had…..it’d be best not to say this kind of stuff in front of the medical staff, they’d find something else wrong with you and keep you here even longer. You can say it in front of me though I don’t mind.” He said and smiled a little at him.

The guy had a lot on his mind so he was not blaming him for being so happy today, but then again some of his points were correct. But Silva would never tell anyone what had happened during this conversation. “Have a nice day Lamond, and try to find yourself a nice pretty nurse.” He smiled as he said that and chuckled a little. “See ya later.” He then slowly turned and walked out of the door.

[Berlioz Lamond]

Berlioz didn't say a word as the Sergeant left, he just stared at the ceiling. He felt drained, like the only thing he wanted was just to sleep, to stay in bed till he wasted away. But perhaps just sleep for now would be acceptable. Looking to his left there was a small buzzer on a cable for getting someone's attention, he wouldn't have had it were he being charged under standard military law, but as he was being treated as a patient here, for now he had some comforts.

Reaching over he pushed the button briefly and then laid back and waited. Only a moment later a nurse came in along with an armed guard. Clearly as much as he was a patient, he was still considered dangerous, which wasn't exactly surprising considering...

The nurse sounded tense but he got to the point, "What do you need Lamond?" Berlioz tried to sound as calm as possible, getting knocked out by a rifle butt in bed was the last thing he wanted today, "I wanted to sleep, but I've left my sleeping medication in the Infantry Berth, it's sort of important that I have it, could someone get it for me? You can clear it with Dr. Baker if need be, he's the one that prescribed them for me."

The nurse nodded before he continued, "I'll speak to Dr. Baker first, then I'll send someone to grab them if he okays it."

Berlioz relaxed slightly, "Thank you."

He didn't know how long he was going to be here, but he the feeling things weren't going to be the same regardless of what happened from now on.