Fourteen Months of Memories

There was something to be said about being lonely. Especially, there was something to be said about being lonely for months on end. One year today, actually. There was a lot to be said about that. And frankly, Church was getting fucking sick having no one to say it to.

It started out a little wonky, sure- he'd expected someone to join him at the empty base. Here he was, stationed here, without a red in sight. Or a blue, for that matter. Everyone was just... gone. And like, that can get on a guy's nerves after a while.

And in the beginning it was a little nice, he had to admit. Caboose and the rest of the Blood Gulch crew had been driving him nuts. Well, Caboose specifically, the rest of the guys just sort of... fueled it. But after all that time, it was almost like he was missing them.

Almost.

Either way. He woke up on the day of a year here, alone, feeling like his eyes were anvils. He shuffled a little in the bed, his armor clacking against the frame. Man, did he miss not having to sleep in armor. But that was back when nothing chafed like hell and he was still, you know, alive. With a groggy grunt he sat up, glancing at the calendar he'd hung up by his bed. March 14. One year. Each day was exed out before that, an angry scribble in blue pen. He crossed the new day off, starting his morning ritual, if you could call it that.

Church had sort of set his day into a routine, just something to keep himself from going crazy. First thing was cross of the calendar. Second was an attempt to contact command.

They stopped picking up his calls after about a week. Now that Church really understood the whole meaning of "simulation troopers," it kind of made sense that they'd ignore the fuck out of him when he kept asking for more and more information. He just wanted to know if someone would be out here. Like, jesus, drop a guy in the middle of nowhere, stranded, with cameras in weird locations and food and supply drops once a month. Not that he could eat it. Were they trying to protect him, or did they just put him somewhere to get rid of him? It beat Church.

Then he'd patrol the barrier. It was really unusual for Church to do anything willingly for this goddamn military, but it was less for them and more for him. He wanted to know who was out there. Call it paranoia, but he always had the strangest feeling that someone was watching him. And more than just the cameras.

On those long walks, he'd had a lot of time to think. Some days he'd think about tiny things– how he missed food, how he wasn't sure if he actually had to sleep (but it would drive him crazy without his schedule if he didn't,) how he wished someone else was here. But usually he'd think about memories.

Maybe it was a characteristic of being a ghost, Church didn't know, but he had a really uncannily good memory. That is, he had a good memory of everything since he started at Blood Gulch. Anything before that was a mystery.

On this particular day, Church let his mind wander back to Blood Gulch, sitting in the shade under a rock. Sure, there were a lot of annoying assholes there, but at least they made good company.

Actually, that day he was thinking of was kind of a weird one. He didn't know the date exactly, but it had to have been some time after Doc arrived, considering. He was sitting under the boulder, minding his own damned business, when a bizarre, loud, scream/laugh overtook his ears.

"You motherfuckers have got to be kidding me," he'd said, slowly standing up. Maybe it was another so-called-attack from the reds, before they negotiated a mutual surrender and just wound up going home. Who cared, honestly.

When he stood up though, he could tell that the voice was coming from further into the canyon. He squinted, trying to see who was out there. He'd pull out the sniper rifle, but he'd left it at the base and that was so like, far...