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"This is who we are, a product of war"
𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, twisted shadows over the military base, an eerie prelude to the night's coming darkness. The air was thick with a suffocating silence, broken only by the distant hum of machinery and the occasional barked order that echoed through the compound. Life here had become a cold and colorless march, a reflection of the Reestablishment's iron grip.
Where once there was camaraderie among the soldiers, now there was only a bleak uniformity. The barracks, once filled with laughter and whispered secrets, had been stripped of personality. Walls that had once held personal mementos were now barren, scrubbed clean of any trace of individuality. The regime demanded sameness, the kind that crushed every hint of rebellion before it could even spark.
Orders, once given with a shared understanding of the hardship and sacrifice, were now delivered with a voice devoid of warmth—mechanical, unyielding. The Reestablishment had no use for the human touch; it thrived on fear and enforced obedience, ensuring that no one dared step out of line.
Training exercises had become a test of submission, where any sign of creativity or independent thought was swiftly punished. We were no longer soldiers; we were tools, each honed for a single purpose: to serve the regime's insatiable hunger for control. Our lives, our dreams, our very souls were sacrificed on the altar of their twisted ideals.
Though my generation never knew of these times of past peace that everyone argue they we're the best. We only got our imagination, and even that is being taken from us.
As I walked through the base, an overwhelming sense of despair clawed at my insides. We were all shadows, hollowed out and filled with the darkness of this new world. The Reestablishment had taken everything that once made us human and ground it into dust beneath its boot. We were no longer people—we were pawns in a cruel game, manipulated by unseen hands.
The specter of death seemed woven into the fabric of this place, a silent whisper beneath every footstep. It lingered in the hollow eyes of the soldiers, clung to the cold steel walls, and seeped into the very air we breathed. Here, death wasn’t a mere eventuality; it was a constant, a shadow that stretched long and dark over us all. The Reestablishment had built its empire on the bones of the fallen, and every breath we took was laced with the inevitability of the grave. This place wasn’t just a fortress—it was a mausoleum, a monument to the slow, suffocating death of all that we once were.
Death and blood and murderers are the only things here. The only things I'm familiar with.
The night fell heavy, and with it, a silence that stifled any hope of resistance. I glanced around at the faces of the soldiers, their expressions blank, their eyes empty. Despair had become our common language, spoken in every gaze, every sigh. We had been beaten into submission, our spirits as broken as the world we now served.
