11042057 EOD B-Yankee

*Sitting alone in a windowsill in a 20th-floor hotel room is a Korean-American man, black hair and blue eyes. His posture is laid back and shallow, expression of defeat and lethargy as he pointlessly stares out of the window and at the thinning city nightlife below the later into the night it gets. He sits there quietly before raising his left arm up to show an archaic wrist-mounted touchscreen device, a remnant of several decades ago that would be forgotten if not for Aaron keeping his as well. With his right hand he touches a button on-screen and digital interfaces begin to appear that make it seem it is prepared to record audio. He begins to speak, gaze never leaving the general exterior out the window.*

[NH]: Log number, uh, two hundred seventy...something. I forget, but what difference does it make. November 4th, 2057. It's a quarter past 1 in the morning and then some, cloudy.

I think I've hit a moral rock bottom today, I, uh, I now find myself telling others to shut up and to go away when asked about my military service given I still wear this thing. I don't answer any calls for help. I only find food and find shelter for the night, then move on to some other city. This hotel room is shown as booked by someone that's not me so that they don't get suspicious, but what are the staff going to do if they do find me. Arrest me? Wouldn't get the chance to. I don't live for the next meal or housing anymore, I live because there's a supposed worth to it over being dead. I'm not depressed, just pointless.

I should stop wearing this thing, there's no use to other than it being a glowing beacon of attention drawn to me needlessly. I seek no one, and I seek nothing. To be honest, what is the point in living? And, Aaron just made it harder because I can't wait out life to wither and die like the rest of the population unless I go out by someone else's hand. It's pain, really. Not that I'd commit suicide, though maybe in another half century I'd probably try at least once. I don't see a point in living but I consider it better than death, damn what am I even saying?

*Nate doesn't do much other than be lost in thoughts alone for quite some time, staring out the window even still. At first it's unclear if he simply forgot to stop recording, but he continues.*

[NH]: I guess it's just my flaw. A hole in my soul I'm trying to fulfill. Something that I don't want to confront others with, because I've never had anyone to call my own. For a long while I considered Aaron to be the one person in my life I could finally seek camaraderie in. One way or another, he betrayed that trust. Maybe my rough life has pushed me to be strict with that kind of thing, or maybe I'm just an asshole, it doesn't really matter.

It's very easy to take things for granted when you get comfortable with them, goes with anything. I suppose that's how I feel about that issue. Trust is a fickle thing, but there are more shaky things out there to regret and forsake. Love is usually the big one in that. Those two women would be alive if not for Aaron and I, though who am I kidding. We were all military, all four of us. People died every day, it was war back then. Yet, we still mourn the fallen either it be respectfully or personally.

Sometimes you get what you are handed, and I suppose I'm being ungrateful about a lot of things. Pain makes you do a lot of things you didn't think you would before you were hurt. You in turn cause pain and deceit, and it spreads like a virus. The trick is whether you still have anything left in you to fix that, or if there is no hope left in you. I am the latter. I wander and take any lead on anything I can get just to have a sense of purpose in my life, maybe even to be happy again.

On a lighter note, I thought about dyeing my hair though I didn't even know why or what color to choose. Maybe I'll do it much later, maybe when I've found a purpose again. Driving and drifting in the streets with that one gang for a while was about as much purpose as I'd ever had in recent years, until even then I found my past creep up on me and I couldn't stand being there anymore.

Just another chapter in the series of Nate Hamilton, a series that has gone on longer than it should, and I don't say that out of a lack of purpose more than really I can't die unless I'm murdered. I guess I should just stop caring, maybe that would at least make me sound less upset about everything. I guess I'm just apathetic. Maybe that's what life is telling me now, to get a purpose or wallow as you are. Well, I'm in a grey area right in the middle. To another day, though at this point I've forgotten what day of the week it is. I'd probably forget the date and time if it wasn't for this thing.

*Nate unfastens the device from his left arm and peers at it for a long time. A flash of spite falls on his face, but after a few minutes of pondering he just sets it aside on the windowsill and looks back out the window.*

[NH]: No. The past is already written. There's no point in trying to forget it any more, no point in destroying it.

*Nate gets up from the windowsill and heads towards the bed with the device in his left hand, then raises it to his face one last time before shutting it off.*

[NH]: Colonel Nate Hamilton, signing off for the last time. At least, the last of making these logs. I'll keep looking for that purpose I lost.

**End**