The void is black, desolute, airless, and without form. The distant starlight is the only thing to see, a billion softly twinkling candles in the eternal night. When he was in acadamy first learning the ins and outs of interstellar travel he'd beeb told that there are more ways to die in space than their are to live, and life hangs constantly by a thin tenous cord of concentration. He snorted at the memory and turned back from the emptiness of the cosmos to his current job. Patching a small hole in the forward cargo area made by some random meteorite or other debris as the great vessel UNN George W. Bush made its trip from the outer asteroid belt back into the inner system. The cruise had begun 4 months back, it had taken a month just to get outsystem, and the patrol having finished was currently heading home. A small relief from being shut in with his own thoughts and the chatter of meaningless conversation from his crewmates. He could almost taste fresh alaskan salmon, though he knew it was his mind decieving him. The fare from the desultory mess was a bland freeze dried gruel most days. "Davis you almost done out there? It's been twenty minutes brother c'mon." Tinnily screeched out of the small reciever in his ear. "Yeah got the patch on just sealing it, maybe another ten minutes Terry." he replied as his hands worked faster to spread the chemically stabilized goop around the plate hed put over the hole. "Well don't linger. We got solar flare activity spiking up. Don't wanna fry brother." Terry muttered back before breaking the connection. "yeah yeah." Jim Davis second class engineer muttered to himself. She was joking about burning up of course. They were so far from the sun that there was no danger there, but the radiation would kill him just as dead through his thin suit. Background radiation it could deal with, but elevated flare levels would see him dead before next chow, a slightly tempting thought to be honest. He was so sick of the food on board it almost seemed worth it. He snorted again at the thought and his stomach rumbled as he mused on that salmon waiting back home again.

The music thumps in his soul. The new brothers speak of half truths and psyops. He knows he cannot explain the truth. He sits and says half truths leading to reality. He expects nothing.

And if I die I will not worry, for my soul was adjudged adamned for I was ever born. This life was rigged from the start, but my lawyer has acquited me of all sin. So speak your worst Satan, You were there for all my transgressions. I fear nothing, and stare my creator in the face with no concern. I did my best with all the knowledge I had at the time.

>>568 >acadamy >beeb proof read your stuff before you post >>572 Very nice

Human history in totality had produced more symbols for death than it had anything else. Though the knowledge of every single symbol would probably be of such a magnitude that knowing anything else would become impossible, but for whatever reason a great many of them had been implanted in Merricks mind through his chapters psycho conditioning. He was aware of at least 2,000 seperate symbols of death. His ruminations on the import of data provided to him are abruptly ruined by a hacking fit. As he wiped his sleeve across his lips he notices a bright arterial red sheen had been left behind instead of saliva. With these spot of color blotting out all thoughts in his head save one. I have been wounded. He looks down across his chest to see his left hand curled up near his stomach. It is covered in glistening red liquid as well. He idly thought that would explain the pain. He looked up and saw he was in a thicket of trees at the edge of field. The field was full of white flowers. His memories began to spool forward once again with a litany on the meaning of this particular symbol of death, but he could not quite follow the information repeating in his head. He had a mission to accomplish still. In the field was a tracked vehicle with rockets on its back, these were elevated and facing skywards. An anti air emplacement. Merrick was a soldier. He remembered that much, though not how he was wounded. And this vehicle was aligned with the forces of the enemy. He could not tell you who that enemy was, or why he was here to kill them. But then again, he had never had to explain either one in his long life. Skulls are the preeminant symbol of death across almost every human culture that had ever existed. A logical symbol, for what better represented a dead human than a dead human? On Merricks on armor were several skull icons. White on his blood red armor. He wondered if this is the reason he knows so much about death symbols. He is covered in them. A sharp pain shoots up his side as he trys to shift his posistion. He thinks he had perhaps lost consciousness briefly, for he know found himself lying with his back to a tree, and a violent new map picked out in ruby red spilling down his mouth and collecting on his breast. A soldier is nothing without a weapon, and these too are used as symbols of death. From the humble harvesters scythe to a romans short sword to a barbarians spear. Weapons have always been symbols of what they do to men. His brow furrowed and creased as an eyebrow came up. He was a soldier. A soldier had a weapon. Logically he must posess a weapon, but a brief survey of his body showed nothing. Empty pouches, pockets, and finally holsters and sheathes. At some point he did have weapons he was sure, but at present he was clearly without them. He wondered if they had fallen from his person as he walked through the woods. He wondered how he knew he had come from there.

This is actually an article but whatever. It was hastily written so it can get a bit repetitive at some points. Apart from that, its probably OK.

These are my books they are shitposting turned into poetry and it's all in Minecraft don't actually do anything fren blah blah blah. Hope they make you laugh f i l e s . c a t b o x . m o e /4s8yl4.pdf f i l e s . c a t b o x . m o e /f21v69.pdf f i l e s . c a t b o x . m o e /82sced.pdf f i l e s . c a t b o x . m o e /irz98h.pdf f i l e s . c a t b o x . m o e /ltjweu.epub f i l e s . c a t b o x . m o e /lsp6cd.epub f i l e s . c a t b o x . m o e /e41yja.EPUB

I'm missing an epub format for one of them I also have them all in textfiles too haha. They are up on amaZOG if anyone would like to support me buying one it is much appreciated

>>582 You don't need to separate the links' url, we don't ban people for that here

>>618 Oh cool! Well here they are unspaced out. Thanks to everyone for their patronage/reading of the books amazon.com/dp/B08YJBKRCZ amazon.com/dp/B08LTQNNW4 amazon.com/dp/B08J2R4LD8 amazon.com/dp/B09B1QNGR1 files.catbox.moe/4s8yl4.pdf files.catbox.moe/f21v69.pdf files.catbox.moe/82sced.pdf files.catbox.moe/irz98h.pdf files.catbox.moe/ltjweu.epub files.catbox.moe/lsp6cd.epub files.catbox.moe/e41yja.EPUB

>>656 Oh... Yeah... Uh. I did that. I did.

>>657 read them

A white strobe of thunder lit the trash strewn alley like the birth of a new God or the muzzle flash of a cheap revolver, revealing in stark bleached detail the detritus of souls damned decades too early, hunchbacked and leering, clothes mismatched and torn, more old tablecloth than coat, covered in the ghosts of old meals scavenged from those hardly better off. The tableau is completed with the look of savage terror in eyes of the young, too young, lost and soon to be tormented, thrill seekers. Bored of a life spent never wanting they have come to see what delights a city after dark can provide. And like a life the light was there and gone, and all thats left is the mighty roar of thunder, or maybe it was a cry of pain, the sounds mingle and become one, and then. Nothing. No sound but the soft murmur of cloth being parted, and then hurried footsteps soon fade to entirely. They alley is devoid of sound and light. It is a vacuum, now awaiting as bad start to someones day, but even that is hours away. Blood pools in small spurts, describing some violent new river on the cobblestones. Soon, too soon, even this ends, and a journey either starts or ends.

At some point I realized the light and me were different, and with that came the beginning of consciousness. I found a hand I had forgotten and reached to my forehead, it came away bloody, concussion, a voice says inside my head. I look up and this time the light moves and indescribable pain lights the back of my brain. I come to again on the ground in my own puke. Not a great start.

The fourth time round I had even remembered my name. The pain hadn't gotten any better though. I was afraid to touch my head again lest I find a hole there and touch my own brain, sure as hell felt like it anyway. Sgt. Kirkegaard. No relation. I had a job... A mission. I'm supposed to be doing something, but the darkness has a comfort all it's own, and soon I find myself coming to for the fifth time.