FissionMailed

[The screech of the P.A. system was harsh and violent. A young man's voice, tired from having recently come back from the dead, rang out in the halls as the whining noise of the microphone died out.]

They say that the first people to inhabit the USA came over 15,000 years ago, across the Beringia. That means that the first inhabitants of what is now the USA were likely from Siberia. That might mean nothing to most of you. Many of the people here came from other countries. But it does bring up an interesting point. The United States were formed by foreigners. Why, then, I wonder, do people hate us collectively. Calling us Americans is an interesting notion. The civilians of the country have no say in anything, no matter what they think. Soldiers too have little say - they go where directed, and follow orders. But what does that mean for the people who give those orders? The politicians, tiny-minded men sitting behind their desks. They know nothing of the real world. The only "real" politicians are those who have left and experienced the true horrors of life. Those who know how bad things can get, how little people can take. I've heard that people are holding elections here. What a foolish thing to do. Tell me, people who hate us for our nationality. Who is truly at fault for your rage? The civilians, who live their idle, happy lives ignorant of your pain? The soldiers, who actively strike out at you? Or the politicians, who take those tools and direct them at you? Think on this a little further. Tools are not without blame, but neither are they the target of rage. You don't smash a sword before someone stabbed you in the eye. You smash the wielder.

[A pause.]

I'm looking for my son.

He's ten years old with white-blond hair. He answers to the name of Jack. It's important that I find him soon. Time is running short.

We're all born with an expiration date. It may be extended, if proper care is taken, but it cannot be postponed for long. Minutes, hours, days. The purpose of our lives is not to extend that date, but to prepare for the future, for the next generation. We do not merely pass a torch to the next generation when our own flame goes out. We pass on far more than that. The proof of my existence, the body I left. If it remains where it lies, I want it destroyed. If anyone finds it, destroy it. Tools do not deserve to be remembered, or take up space at the end of their time.

[A heavy sigh echoes in the quiet halls.]

Jack. If you're out there, find your way to this room. Consider it a training exercise. Track me down. It should not be hard.

[The feedback ends.]