Part I
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Offset 0
Name: Only A Mirror: Intro
Offset 1
Name: Only A Mirror: Page 1
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Name: Only A Mirror: Page 2
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Name: Only A Mirror: Page 3
⚠️ Content Warnings ⤴
Info
Content Warning
This is Part I of a highly-coded, metaphorical tale about colonialism. It's a deconstruction of a familiar story, and an attempt to explore both the consequences of losing one's ancestral culture, and the origins of colonial violence.
If reading about these things causes you unmanageable grief, shame and/or anger, skip this tale, or make sure you have a support system you can talk to. (A support system that doesn't rely on denying the problem or preaching hate.) Violence is never the right way to deal with pain; there's been enough violence already.
endless_waters
I’m going to have to go back, aren’t I?
How am I possibly going to go back? Even if you forgave me- which you wont- how would I make you understand? None of you will want to listen.
I woke up this morning with the wind on my face. A beam of bright sunlight, falling through the open window on my eyelids. There was the faintest scent of autumn leaves on the air. Not quite like real autumn- the wet earth-smell, that wasn’t there. No matter how much I tried to sense it. But just for a moment there was a hint of leaves, and I loved it. It brought all my childhood memories back, of walking to school in the fall- even as it sent wave after wave of aching through me.
Stop, and appreciate that. I’ve been outside reality for nine years, and six of those were spent working for you. Six years of smelling dust, mouldering drywall, damp concrete and synthetic carpets. Six years cramped up in the dark without real sun, without real sky, without the colours and smells of the seasons. And then to finally have something close to it again, and really appreciate just how valuable it is…how could I keep working with you? When all you'll see is an "asset"?
I can’t go back. You can’t be… I don’t know. “De-educated”? “Re-ignorant”? Short of a brain injury, anyways. Knowing things is a one-way trip. I wont ever be the same, now that I’ve lived here. And talked to him.
You’ll want my report. Cause that’s what we do, right? We share everything we find. And I’m afraid. I’m genuinely afraid of what will happen if I tell you about this level. I’m genuinely afraid of what you’ll try to do to this place, in the name of “controlling the world.”
You think I’m dead. You think the Wild Hunt are enemies. Honestly, it would be so much better just to keep things that way.
What the fuck am I going to do?
from: tsol.liamkcab.gtnb|4.dnammoc.eibbor#tsol.liamkcab.gtnb|4.dnammoc.eibbor
to: tsol.liamkcab.gtnb|rotanidrooc.mij#tsol.liamkcab.gtnb|rotanidrooc.mij
Subject: Urgent- Operation Suspension
Hey Jim,
You might want to take a look at this. It concerns Level 398.
Do you remember our girl who went missing, in 807 two years ago? From Jason’s team? Guess what- she’s still alive.
We sent Aaron's team out to 398 last week, to begin the initial assessments like you asked. And they brought back this- the contents of the .zip attached here. It's 2 years worth of voice recordings and field notes. From none other than our own Alicia B, M.I.A. She’s been living in Level 398 this whole time.
I immediately confiscated the materials for safekeeping, upon Aaron's return. No one currently has access to them, except for me and Carlos. We've been going through it all.
Jim, it's absolutely imperative that you read this stuff, before we make any further decisions on 398. We have no idea what we're dealing with, here. We've halted all operations in the level for now, until we can properly re-assess the situation. Also, we have a defector on our hands. Alicia's been keeping this information from us on purpose.
Please read the attached files (new password). It's not everything, but for the sake of time I threw in what's most relevant.
Let me know when you get through this. We need to discuss how to proceed.
Robbie
Operations Commander
Depot 4 - B.N.T.G
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