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Philip Moore

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1 Philip Moore on Tue Nov 05, 2013 10:20 am

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Name:
Philip Moore

Model:
Richard Armitage

AKA:
Phil or Phelps (family & friends)
Major Moore (military)
Stingray (codename)

Quote:
“They raised me, and loved me. They’ve given me weapons, taught me techniques and endowed me with knowledge. There’s nothing more for them to give me. And all they took in return was my life”

“Building the future and keeping the past alive are one in the same thing”


Relatives/family:
Eden York – Fiancé
Jefferson Moore – Father
Prudence Moore - Mother

Gender:
Male

Species:
Bio-Engineered Human

Social Status:
Gun for Hire

Sexuality:
Straight

Relationship Status:
Engaged

Age - Looks:
Late twenties

Age - Actual:
23

Birthplace:
Phoenix, Arizona

Date of birth:
February 20th

Current residence:
En route to Hollows

Other residences before hollows:
Phoenix, Arizona
Fort Bragg in North Carolina
Classified locations in the Middle-East

Hair Color:
Jet Black

Eye Color:
Steely blue

Height:
6ft3

Weight:
141lbs

Skin tone:
Caucasian

Blood Type:
AB negative

Male at minimum
• Chest Size: 39 inches
• Waist Size: 27 inches
• Hip Size: 33 inches
• Bicep Size: 14 inches
• Forearm Size: 11 inches
• Thigh Size: 20 inches
• Calve Size: 13 inches
• Neck Size: 14 inches

Physical Appearance:
The boy that left his girlfriend at the peer on the day he shipped out is no more as the man that returned from the Middle East was an entirely different person; the acne that came from puberty cleared up beneath the scorch of the desert sun, the wiry body bulked up significantly as Philip can now be best described as a true veteran super-soldier. Shoulders broad and buff allow him stand tall versus even the toughest of opponents as his arms and legs are now thick muscular limbs broad like a grown tree and full with potentially deathly force. Ripped abs and powerful muscle definitions are chiseled now all throughout his body, fighting for a spot on his skin with the many scars that riddle his body. Bullet holes, cuts, puncture wounds and torture wounds have written a grim story in his flesh while an array of military tattoos are found all over his body. Every detail of his physical appearance is now evidence to a classified past in the cutthroat business of black ops warfare, tactical assaults and heavy gunfire standoffs against outnumbering majorities that include several of the most deathly guerrilla groups, rebels and usurper dictatorships found all throughout the world. The horrors he witnessed have marked his face, having made time slip by leaving him aged beyond his actual years. His eyes have lost that happy sparkle they once showed and on his lips no smile has stood since the day he left for service; that youthful vibrant energy also faded only to be replaced with a dominant and aggressive attitude…

Next to having undergone a serious course of physical training that have added a dozen pounds of pure muscle on his bones, Philip only changed just a little bit on his facial expression; the same jet black hair still features on that handsome head though now its also found in that rugged three-day stubble. His nose got broken a couple of times and it shows as the bridge is a hint swollen and crooked by the repetitive fractures it had to endure in the past years. His left eyebrow is split in half by the poorly healed scar that resulted from a bare knuckle fight with an African warlord while one of his right back molars got chipped by an interrogation gone physical.

Powers:
Gyrokinesis
Philip has developed the rare gift of Gyrokinesis, the ability to manipulate gravitational fields in direct and close proximity of him. For this strange talent the military recruited him to further investigate the possibilities of the ability leaving him with several applications to use on the field and in everyday life. By reducing gravity beneath him he’s able of jumping and leaping higher and wider distances as well as safely landing from great heights. Another use to Gyrokinesis by Philip is shifting the point of gravity letting him stand on vertical surfaces or even hang to the ceilings like a spider. There were distinct limitations identified to his ability, the range being the most important as his gravitational ability is only wieldable within handful feet…

Cybernetic Enhancement
After the feigned military raid gone wrong in Iraq, Philip underwent cybernetic modifications on behalf of the Delta Force Unit; experimental medical care was provided replacing the damaged internal organs with auxiliary organs and an artificial nerve system. This lead to Philip performances being at a Peak Human State; increased reflexes, enhanced endurance and sensory augmentation are but a few adaptions the Cybernetic Enhancements introduced in his life though at a steep price. Becoming vulnerable to electromagnetic pulses, his life is in grave danger with the auxiliary organs failing when exposed to powerful magnetic fields; he’s also dependant on his daily dose of AT Security SOP injections to keep himself mobile and operational…

Scanner Vision
Where many in his family were capable of picking up on emotions and thoughts, Philip from an early age could sense who had dark and evil intensions that popped out the crowd through his eyes; included in his Cybernetic Enhancement was an amplification of his pre-existing talent as they’d installed a scanning vision system behind his right eye. Instead of now feeling who had crime and evil written all over them, Philip has direct access into international databases housing criminal and classified records including IAFIS, NICS, ICPO and CODIS. The information of a scanned person includes age, name, known aliases, criminal history and other classified intelligence the CIA and secret service has collected over the years…

Cyber Lingualism
Part of AT Security’s project that integrated the cybernetic enhancements within his body, the scanner vision they’ve injected Philip with a third generation nanomachines that link him to the SOP system; SOP or Sons of the Patriots is a high-tech classified project implemented within 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta soldiers that makes them the next generation of soldiers serving the flag. Through the nanomachines in his blood he’s synchronized with his squadron 1st SFOD-D allowing through short wave communication, letting him see, hear and communicate with his comrades in action without the need of any additional training or operational support. It permits him to speak to the members of his squadron, exchanging thoughts, ideas and tactics through a system that is the technological equivalent of combat-oriented telepathy…

Battle Precognition
Due to excessive training as a Delta Force operative and his natural adaptive abilities to other individuals’ emotions and thoughts Philip Wyatt has developed an acute form of Battle Precognition that allows him to read others' body language and anticipate their actions. When used in physical combat it gives an incredible advantage over most opponents, usually by either messing with them psychologically or predicting their movements. Combined with the Cyber Lingualism that enabled communication to all SOP system integrated soldiers, Philip can exchange and receive the information from his fellow operative giving them a perfect synchronized superior combat performance capability. As a solo unit it doesn’t offer a flawless precognition of enemy movements but still gives him a certain amount of combat anticipation predicting opponent movements in certain extend…

Birth Marks:
Four freckles on the right side of his nose bridge
Two freckles along his left inner thigh

Scars/Marks:
Too many to describe, but here’s a brief summary of the whereabouts of the different scars:
• Bottom lip: laceration scar
• Right ear: damaged cartilage
• Left collar bone: double tap bullet scars
• Right chest: electrocution burns
• Lower abdomen: burns, cuts and bullet scars
• Right upper arm: double laceration scar
• Left upper thigh: three bullet wounds
• Right knee: cartilage build-up
• Shoulder blades: burns and cut marks
• Entire back: electrocution burns
• Left foot: shrapnel damage
• Back of the neck: burns and cuts

Tattoo's/Piercings:
One old military tattoo the right shoulder, completely hidden beneath scar tissue from a torture burn.

Scent:
Philip’s cologne of preference is a signature scent exuding luxury and freedom all in a single whiff of this rich “Bambu” perfume by Adolfo Dominguez. It’s a lively energetic scent containing notes of bamboo, amber, cotton in combination with fresh aromas of jasmine and marine salts. Most days however Philip goes around all-natural, meaning with a dense natural manly musk that comes from too many hours spend in the gym and at the gun range. Most of the time he’ll smell like a goon returning from the battlefield, with a cold hint of iron from blood and filth.

Voice:


Fashion & Makeup:
There’s a distinct line between the two characters Philip pretends to be at all time, each with its own personalized wardrobe. One side has never changed since the day he signed his name on that enlistment form as Philip’s soldier side never faded. Comfortable cloths chosen for durability and strategic efficacy make up for the majority of that part of his life; combat pants with plenty of pockets for spare ammo clips, knives and other useful equipment for emergency situations make up for the bottom half of his personal uniform while plain T’s make for the other half. On the other side there is the mercenary business side of his identity; clean formal wear with a nonchalant business chic make up for that persona he plays all cleanly dressed in slick suits and designer shirts.

Sociability & Emotionality:
Sociability
Philip Moore may have left a boy but the man that came back is but a vague shadow of his former self. PTSD the military called it, but their fondness of abbreviations cannot grasp the severity of his social and mental conflict. Something has changed, something inside of him was broken and as an immediate result his heart grew cold towards the world. Mercy, compassion and forgiveness, things people take for granted have long slipped beyond his understanding. He views the world as a dead place beyond repair, just a gray mass of people going through life unaware of what happens beyond the comfort of their own doorstep. It’s that knowledge that fuels a hatred for the world that blazes inside his soul leaving him to resent everyone and everything for that one event in his past he could never let go. When he sees other’s happiness flaunted so casually in the streets, he’s forced to remember that which he left behind in his own pursuit of happiness, now forever leaving it beyond his grasp. Somehow envy and appall go hand in hand with him, making him short tempered and angry at the world; sometimes it’s expressed in violent outbursts where he ends up knocking out a random stranger’s teeth simply too dull the inner conflict within him. On other occasions he’ll simply display antisocial behavior pushing everyone in his surroundings further away, be it clients or colleagues. The most drastic change in social interaction comes in Philip’s relations with women; once he was a romantic soul devoted to a single girl who meant the world to him. Her smile, the phantom that stalks him every night gave reason to his life but now it’s just a mocking reminder of what he abandoned. In response he’s taken out his frustrations through an endless string of random hook-ups and professional escorts taken to his bed yet none somehow could fill that empty gap in his heart. Women have become a sore thorn in his side, and because of it Philip can’t help but objectifying them in his own feeble attempt to take away that what made Eden York his ‘one’. There are even occasions where he raised his hand against women, hitting them just to compensate for his own inadequacy.

Emotionality
While his PTSD mainly influences his social life, its effects on his own emotional state cannot be denied. On the verge between depression and paranoia the inner turmoil inside his head has brought him to the brink of madness on many different occasions; sometimes the flashbacks from the war make the thin line between reality and fiction slip beyond his grasp, resulting in stages of anger and upset binge drinking in a feeble attempt to drown away his past. It’s like the war never ended inside his head, the nightmares at night never letting his find any peace while his days are spend in the same violent conflict he left Africa for.

Strengths & Weaknesses:
Strengths
Uncle Sam transformed the college boy he once was into a cold blooded killer and unfortunately enough for the world they did a damn good job at it. Emotionally numbed by his PTSD and years of intensive training Philip nowadays takes a human life with the same ease as others stomp a big into the ground and in the process he even learnt to love the thrill of that kill. Most of the time he’d work up close and person, the knife to a man’s throat, the snapping of their necks, even the ice cold grip on their throats as he choked the life out of his latest victim. Those who said murder gets easier through the frequency of the act weren’t lying for today Philip has bloody homicide written in his most basic of instincts, turning each sudden move against him in potentially your last.

In addition to the cold heart of a killer, Philip was entrusted with a set of skills that makes even the most vicious of psychopaths look like kids playing their messy video games. He can breach a building, sweep each room and have time to spare to get rid of the evidence of his presence there in a matter of seconds while getting past some of today’s most advanced security measures. Still it does help to be cold enough to pry the eye out of a security guard’s skill while he’s still alive to open a retina lock. Explosives today have earned a special place in his heart for nothing gets his heart racing as fast as a clever car bomb obliterating his enemies with one big bang. Well one thing could get his heart racing like that again, though he’d be damned to admit those ancient feelings from his past.

Weaknesses
The rigorous training and the events he witnessed have broken Philip’s spirit in such a fashion that he’s deemed beyond fixing by both the government that made him and the clandestine organizations that otherwise use men with his particular skill set. The PTSD does strange things to him, from emotional outbursts that makes paranoia dance with suicidal depression Philip is an unpredictable menace about to explode. Nothing is set in stone with him, nothing can be expected of what he’ll do next for Philip is a dead man walking weither he knows it or not. Most of the time he’s a ticking time bomb about to blow with a temper so violent that Philip is most likely to throw himself into a premature grave rather than returning to the only safe haven he know he still has in this life.

The second weakness is of a technical nature, a malfunction in the intricate military workings the SOP program integrated in his body. The Battle Precognition installed courtesy of Uncle Sam is damaged, resulting in a series of mind tormenting and system overwriting glitches that brings him to his knees. Flashbacks resulted from one particular event of his past keep returning to him over and over again, ancient murders and sentiments all coming to him at once in one paralyzing wave that only strengthens his PTSD. Nausea, disorientation and crippling agony tortures Philip on a daily basis, turning him even more desperate for the sweet release of death or until madness guides him back home.

Interests & Hobbies:
• Killing
• Shooting
• Extorting
• Sabotaging

Likes:
• Eden
• Violence
• Combat highs

Dislikes:
• Eden
• Torture
• Sons of the Patriot

Attitude:
“A boy went to war, a man fought the battles and now a monster returns”, by that definition one can best describe what’s left of Philip Moore, if one even could call him that any longer. Today he’s an empty shell failing to understand he should have died back in that bunker below the desert sands of some shitty conflict they had no reason to interfere in. But he didn’t die and for that he walks through the world a mere ghost of his former self. Anger, sorrow and regrets hold him captive forcing his hand to act against his own intuition and better knowledge. There’s a home waiting for him out there but his past prevents him from going there for each time facing the mirror, Philip is reminded of who he once was and who he is today. Filled to the brim with regrets and self-loathing he’ll serve till the end of his days in the foulness Uncle Sam introduced him to. Call it self punishment or retribution for his crimes but Philip bears his sins like scars eternally tainting his features.

Song and or Playlist:




Weapons:
Like all SOP soldiers, Philip Moore was educated into wielding a vast arsenal of weapons with deathly precision and unstoppable efficacy. When the general training was over, they were each permitted to assemble their personal outfit including his choice in arms. Today his preferences from his past life as a soldier still return in his current day profession as a gun for hire. Below you’ll find the fully detailed exposition of his personal choice of equipment:

The LaRue OBR (Optimized Battle Rifle) was built from the ground up, using a newly designed upper-receiver platform, combined with a lower, inspired from our successful 5.56 MM lower. Both the upper and lower are CNC-machined from billet, for the optimum fit and consistency. Machined from billet 7075-T6, the receiver components are designed with more material in critical areas to alleviate known issues of weakness in 7.62 platforms and to stiffen the receiver....translating into maximum accuracy. The Bolts and Bolt Carriers are hand-polished hard-chrome with max-staked carrier keys. The carrier key contact areas are designed for zero gas leakage. The trigger group is the excellent Geissele SSA Combat Trigger. The SSA provides an average 4.5lb pull weight.

The general differences between the basic Operators and a standard M1911A1 are: an enlarged and beveled ejection port; extended beavertail; ambidextrous thumb safety; a long, skeletonized trigger (similar in length to the M1911); a skeletonized hammer; flat main spring cover; and combat sights (either BoMar-style adjustable or Novak's low profile). Operators come with 7-round .45 ACP mags. The slide and frame can be made of aluminum alloy or steel (forged or stainless), the frame has an integral rail system and various different grips are available to suit the user. Springfield also allows for a wide array of customizations for their standard models, including tighter tolerances between parts and specialized barrels, grips, finishes and sights

The knife’s blade features draw-cut edge angles. Edges are angled into the cut relative to the normal anatomical arrangement of the hand/wrist. This allows normal cutting actions to generate considerably more force into the medium being cut, due to the orientation of the blade to the motion. The knife features a wide blade design to create large, gaping (i.e. noticeable) wounds to quickly disable someone, as in a weapon retention engagement. The double-edges give the knife twice the cutting perimeter/potential with no unusable/wasted space on the blade periphery. Blade cutouts reduce weight and serves various utility functions such as a Nail Puller, Bottle Opener, or other prying tasks.

Background:
Soldier Log: Introduction
Keeping this soldier log in hindsight seemed like a decent way to tell the people I harmed, hurt or wronged about the truth being my actions. Nowadays it’s just a reminder of what I’ve done and what I’ll have to be accountable for when death comes. I’m beyond fixing, beyond forgiving and beyond saving, all I hope is that when you read these pages, you know why I cannot return to you. Knowing what I know, having done what I’ve done if they’d ask me if I’d do it again, not hair on my head would have put my name at the bottom of the page. But that’s hindsight talking I’m afraid for I put my signature on that paper. I did sign that contract that ended my life and began another. Now when I look in the mirror I no longer recognize the person looking back at me. When I look at those pictures, think back to those moments we spend together, I wished I could take it all back. Don’t waste your tears on me, dear Eden. I’m not worthy of them…

Yours truly,
Philip


Soldier Log - October 9th 2003
I’d want to tell you the whole story but there are some who’d want this chapter of history left untold. For your safety and those who’d set hands on this not allowed..


Soldier Log - April 11th 2011

*nine chapters burnt*


Soldier Log - May 23th 2011
Darkness was all around him. The air thick with dust and heavy with a stench he knew all too well. Piss, shit, blood and vomit aged for weeks now clung to the air like some sickening cloud holding him captive. Restraints kept him in place, they’d done so since the first day they dragged him in this wretched place. Bound by ankles and wrists he just sat there on his knees, the blindfold leaving him with only darkness and fear as his companion. Curious how in silence everything seemed louder; he could still hear the rats scurrying somewhere near the corner at his back, still hear the steady pacing back and forth of the man tasked to guard his door. In the past days he’d learnt a whole lot about this hell, the broken pipework in the eastern wall, the fellow named Azad getting caught six inches deep in some cheap lay from the nearby village. The whole facility they had him trapped in had become a place he’d grown too familiar with. Guards would change every 14.400 seconds, the only way of telling what time it actually was outside this walls. Sometimes they’d play cards outside his door, other times they joked and jested about the ‘bitches’ they’d banged back at the base but today he’d been there again. The sweeting fellow nearly three hundred pounds large with the stench of reefer and rum on his breath stood watch and that could only mean one thing: He’d come for him again. For the past weeks, six the last time he’d bothered keeping track of the seconds passed every Monday after the muttered announcements had been made from the minarets a man had come down the ninety eight steps it took to reach the surface. He’d carried a bag with him, though its contents differed each time depending on the mood he was in and the success he’d booked during their previous ‘interview’. That’s what the sick fuck called it, ‘Interviews’, but the reality was a far grimmer story than Philip cared to disclose. Each time Philip endured, not because of loyalty, not because of heroics but because SOP prevented him from turning on the men that had abandoned him in this hell hole. That time had arrived again for the soft echoes of metal tools in that bag could be heard like bleak omens beyond that steel door keeping him locked up here. More talk in a foreign tongue he’d never understood, probably Saudi or an Arabian dialect he was unfamiliar with but always the same message in the end. “أنا هنا لصديقنا” And then the door rattled, a latch heavy and rusty pulled aside, the pins in the lock turned around and light once more spilled into the room painfully bright even if it was just entering through the narrow gap between the blindfold and the bridge of his broken nose…

“Good day my friend, have you reconsidered my offer? Death in exchange for answers for you know they ain’t coming to save you. They’ve abandoned you, left you in enemy hands to rot and still you refuse to tell me what I want to hear?” The accent in the man’s voice was thick, the words in English curious from his tongue but regardless Philip had come to hold onto that sadistic note. It reminded him he was still alive for despite the torment he’d inflict in the moments to come, all he had was the voice of his judge, jury and executioner coming together in that single man standing before him. The blindfold was pulled away and all Philip could see at first was a light that felt like staring into the sun. His eyes burned in agony but then SOP kicked in. It always kicked in for that’s what he’d singed up with. Swordfish, Stingray, Starfish, Barracuda, Piranha and Poseidon that was all he knew about the participants of the SOP project. Sons of the Patriots, or SOP was a twisted version of their own government designing the next generation of super soldiers in their fight against terrorism. Only codenames and assignments, that’s how they received the tasks Uncle Sam had given them. Each member of the SOP was kept away from the other, anonymity required for the shady business they were in for some might call it patriotism, but to Philip it had always been cold-blooded murder. He’d signed up out of love for his country, out of the duty he owned to his family and friends to keep them from harm but the glorified image quickly faded when faced with the reality. Wars of contingency, battles by proxy and revolution for profit had been the true motivations of his country and SOP stood on the vanguard of that new way of ‘diplomacy’. Swordfish had been a kid from New Jersey, that much he did know for one mission had demanded the attention of two SOP agents. Barracuda and Piranha operated in Central America, dealing with the drug cartels that threatened the USA’s safety. And at the head of that monster sat Poseidon, the faceless commander of their unit barking the orders over codec. “Now my American friend, how about those answers?” And Philip just closed his eyes and gritted his teeth to endure the events that always came with his silence. Today his interviewer had fire in mind, an acetylene torch that licked his flesh and melted away part of the skin on his back though Philip didn’t give a peep. He endured it silently and quietly, not by his own choice by SOP’s assistance. Pain inhibition was activated, nerve suppression was in place and his memory was locked like some fancy hard drive getting remotely unplugged. So Philip remained silent and added more scars to his flesh to show for as reward of his loyalty and proud service to his country…

Soldier Log - July 29th 2011
Eight more weeks of this gruesome torture continued, and each week the man with the questions grew more impatient and more eager to inflict harm. After the fire came water, drowning having always been a mighty tool of the torturer’s trade but not with Philip. After water came electricity and other than a permanent twitch holding him captive he survived. Then knives painful and effective if it hadn’t been for millions of dollars of equipment and nanomachines integrated in his body, then sleep deprivation and yet again the return of the flames as his ‘friend’ started to lack imagination which was compensated by the increased effort to break a man programmed to die rather than admit defeat. Then a week of nothing but silence almost as if they’d given up on him ever breaking but that was a dream not about to come true. The silence was more terrifying than the echoes of his own screams in torment for in times of need SOP took over. Without a threat, no SOP and without that system all Philip had left were his own thoughts, fears and nightmares. His imagination played tricks on him, the silence driving him towards certain madness but in the end even silence hides a sound. At first Philip hadn’t recognized it but that distinct plopping sound was something he was all too familiar with. Twice quickly back to back it came and then silence again. Another time, twice that same duo of death reaching his over-sensitive ears but this type it was closer by. Something, no someone dropped down along the wall housing his steel door that kept him trapped in this heinous place but the fellow hadn’t gone quietly. The gargling with blood and gasping for air where there’s no air to be found told Philip of his guard dying at his doorstep before the light of his freedom poured in once more. Then silence again, nothing but the sound of his own breath and even that sound was only audible to his ears. Maybe the one that had come in with deathly firepower was blessed the same way, perhaps they’d come after all. Then that click, not just a click but that cold metallic screech of metal against metal, drawing back a complex mechanism within. A spring moved into place, a bullet pushed to the chamber and the hammer reaching its furthest point in that endless second prior to the shot. Then the gun went off, no plopping sound this time but the loud echo like thunder echoing through the claustrophobic quarters of his cell. SOP repressed the pain from the bullet’s impact but Philip still endured the sting as lead carved its path through flesh and bone in the right half of his chest. “Your contract is hereby terminated, Poseidon bids you farewell. May you find better fortune in death, Stingray…” And that was it, those were the last words he remembered before darkness fell like a curtain over him with the pain throbbing in his chest…

Soldier Log – August 4th 2011
The pain woke him when he broke into a mean cough, there was something horribly wrong. Philip could feel it in his bones when his lungs seemed to burn. How could he be alive but better yet how come he was able of experiencing pain if SOP was tasked with the suppression of all functions that would hinder him as a soldier. Pain, fear, anger and love were all inhibited by the nanomachines in his blood and still he’d never experienced a torment so horrible. The wound in his chest burned and stung like a million needles buried in his flesh all at once. The stench crept in his nostrils, a scent of decay and corruption strong but Philip couldn’t make himself look at the wound. Something kept him tied in place, something binding his chest and limbs leaving only his head to slowly titled upward. The room had changed, the cell having turned to what resembled the mud huts he’d seen in the tribal communities of central Africa. Dried leaves hung in bundles at the wall, the fragrance of rich incense failing to mask the foul air of a festering wound. And then he heard breathing, Philip turned his head as far as he could, his eyes adjusted to his new surroundings only to find a familiar face sitting at the fireplace. Another burst of agonizing coughs drew the man’s attention and soon his initial guess proved correct for there on a wicker chair by the fireplace sat the young lad he knew only by the codename Swordfish. That dirty blonde hair, looks that women would easily consider as handsome and a smile that leaned curiously close to being a cocky smirk had always been the traits of that SOP agent he’d once worked together with. Swordfish was younger than him, a year maybe two but somehow it didn’t show; somehow the lad had moved past the atrocities committed in service of his country. Philip tried his voice, first finding only a raw dry heave crossing his lips but soon enough he rediscovered his ability to speak. “You shot me? Killed me remaining loyal?” Swordfish answered his accusations with a smile, that same smile the lad carried when they’d first met in the guerrilla camp at the Congolese border. “You’d be dead if I was holding that gun, friend so no I didn’t attempt to kill you. Starfish did, luckily of all SOP agents he’d the poorest aim of the lot and you’ve got a strange heart. Cardio Dysplasia is what the doctor called it. For us grunts it means you’ve got a heart sitting in a different spot from where it’s supposed to be. About an inch further down to be more exact and that’s why we’re still having this conversation.” Philip listened and found that the soldier in front of him was showing no distinct signs of lying to him. Not something to put too much faith in, since SOP were taught how to beat the test but regardless his gut feeling told him the kid was honest. “Why didn’t he take another shot, finish the job?” Again a question answered by a smile and then that arrogant young reply. “Because I was an instance quicker on the trigger than he was and his heart wasn’t the target of my bullet. Got him in the head, clean and quick. Guess that’s all us sorry lot could ask for, eh? A quick painless death? Guess you’ll just have to meet your Maker another day…” And Swordfish got up from his seat, his gun lifted back on his shoulder as he made his final salute. “Hope I’ll never see you again Stingray. Duty calls and there’s another war needing a ghost to tip the scales. The doctor will take care of you but should you survive. I’d suggest going home and leaving this shit behind you brother. Too many deaths already added to our name. So you hang in there…” And so Swordfish walked out of the hut leaving Philip behind with a festering wound and no way of freeing himself of the bonds that tied him to this stretcher. Once more left at the mercy of that cursed silence…

Soldier Log - June 22nd 2011

*fifteen chapters burnt*


Soldier Log - Epilogue
To my dearest Eden,

For all the shit I put you through, the heartache, the uncertainty and the grief, I apologize though by the time you’ll be reading this, forgiveness will already come too late. A true soldier log was denied us at SOP, a liability they couldn’t permit to exist though I felt it my solemn duty to let you know I’ve not forgotten you. I may never return to you and you may never understand why I couldn’t but know that you’ve never lost that place in my heart that I’d promised you since I joined the army. I don’t need forgiveness, hell I don’t deserve forgiveness for what I’ve done but even evil men have a conscious to bear and mine weighs heavy like a cross on my shoulders. I’ve killed too many and without distinctions. I’ve killed men, women and even children. I’ve burnt, tortured and plundered. I’ve looted, threatened and blackmailed people regardless of what side they were on. Money had been my solace in this world of sorrow and pain but while the cash made some things endurable, some things I’m afraid were not for sale. My honor, loyalty and my name, all broken pieces of a past I’ve abandoned and for what? For fame or glory that none will every accredit me? For patriotism and nation that left me to rot in a cell? For friends and family people who’d moved on with their lives once I enlisted? I fought for something I didn’t understand, all SOP members did when we signed on for a project led by some stranger only identified the name ‘Poseidon’. They pumped millions of dollars in me, made me a monster too destructive to be allowed back in the civilized world and in doing so I found myself standing alone. The man you’ll deliver you this is a ‘friend’ though I’m expecting his loyalties will keep you from knowing certain parts I entrusted to these pages. Don’t hold it against him, too much of my atrocities had been confided in these pages already. Just know you can trust him, hell in the whole world he might be the only one worth trusting. Burn this after reading and never speak of it to anyone.

Yours truly,

Philip


Soldier Log – FINAL TRANSMISSION
STINGRAY: Swordfish, do you copy? Swordfish, do you copy?
SWORDFISH:This line isn’t secure. Poseidon may monitor.
STINGRAY: Fuck Poseidon, this is my final transmission
SWORDFISH: Copy, what’s the message
STINGRAY: Stop the military bullshit kid, just shut up and listen.
SWORDFISH: Alright, seems the months away from the sun didn’t better your temper there. So what’s up dead man?
STINGRAY: Not funny, kid. There’s something I need you to do. Remember the place we first met? Don’t stay it, just keep it to yourself alright! Remember the redhead? Her desk, bottom drawer taped to the back. You got that?
SWORDFISH: I got it. Who’s the recipient?
STINGRAY: Remember that night at Mozambique? The one I told you about at the place you’re going.
SWORDFISH: She shouldn’t have to know that shit!
STINGRAY: She should…
SWORDFISH:
STINGRAY: Alright maybe she shouldn’t know all of it. Burn the pages you think she couldn’t understand…
SWORDFISH:So burn the thing?
STINGRAY: Just make sure she gets it. It’s all I have left for her…
SWORDFISH:I doubt it…
STINGRAY: She deserves better…
SWORDFISH: No argument here. So just hand it to her, making sure the demons are all gone?
STINGRAY: Thanks…
SWORDFISH: You owe me a drink and a bullet
STINGRAY: Take your own advice, not too late for you.
SWORDFISH: Copy that.
STINGRAY: Terminate transmission

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