Summer, 1980. California.
After twelve years of dedication to my job as a mercenary, I had lost it. Apparently I was growing old and had lost my kick; but I am only thirty three years old physically, but mentally I'm really fourty-one.
You see at the place I used to work, no one ages because of the respawn machine, the thing that pieces us back together time after time after time, bringing us back to life, that machine can fix just about anything and everything, unfortunately not our minds, the kinda shit we've seen and our memories cannot be erased, they're ours to keep with us for life.
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I spent most of my time indoors; in an apartment I could barely afford, summer in California is hot as fuck, it's nothing like it was in New Zealand, the country I was born in. The air here is hot and humid and that doesn't help whatsoever when you start sweating, meanwhile in my home country it's hot and dry but at least it had wind and wasn't humid, damn I miss home sometimes..
Here in California I couldn't find work and I had little to no money to spend on food and all the stress of my financial problems was starting to show; this morning I found a grey hair in the jet black beard on my chin. I don't want to get old, I still have so much to do with my life, like marrying a beautiful girl, settling down in a house with a white pickett fence and having many children, I reckon I'd make a good father, I have many stories of the the great war to share and I can handle all the responsibilities thrown at me. But these are just my hopes and wishes for my future, what girl would want a man who can't even afford to live in a small apartment, its only a matter of days before I'm kicked back out onto the street again.
I've spent days in this hot and stuffy house, not leaving it once, just sitting on the couch in front of the television and masturbating around six to eight times a day, the only pleasure that I could find in life, but already it was beginning to lose it's fun and its taking longer and longer to get the short bursts of pleasure that I crave, where the hell has my motivation gone to, I can't even bring myself to get out.
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I woke up that evening to a loud banging at my door, growling and getting up, I already knew who it was, who else would come to visit me, I have no friends. I picked up my bag that held all that I owned, exiting through the back door, jumping the fence and making a run for it. They wanted the money that I didn't even have.
I had no records in the states, I didn't even belong here with no passport or form of identification. Except for I go by the name 'Jingo,' but that's not even my real name but it's what my mates in the war called me, named for my ferocity and lust for fighting and killing, but they're all dead now, lost to a landmine, directed under my hand, that's a secret that I've never told anyone and its an enormous weight that I can hardly carry all by myself, I know that one day I'm bound to cave in to it but now's not the day, I'm a strong-minded man.
As for my real name, I would tell you but honestly I do not remember and nor do I care, I like my new name, it suits my personality so much better than whatever my old one was, it represents my accomplishments and backstory and brings me back to the times I actually had a future to look forwards to and was surrounded by men that I was so close to that I considered them to be my brothers.
I could hear the police sirens, fuck, they must've called the coppers on me, I only ran faster, cutting down a side alley, reaching the other end to where there was already a cop car waiting for me, I turned to run back, snarling in frustration, another cop car, I'm trapped.
...I'm proud to say that I did not go down without a fight, it seriously took about six cops to hold me down while they handcuffed me, and around eight to just drag me into the back of the truck. Jeez, all of this just for a man who didn't pay his rent, not much must happen here for them to be so concerned about a lowlife like me... I sat quietly in my jail cell, my arms crossed, according to the chief officer I was well known to them. Ok I lied to you earlier, I'm definitely a well known criminal, wanted for sexual assault, armed robbery, starting fights, dealing drugs and for injuring a cop. But there is one thing they don't have right about me, I'm not some bloody gang leader, I'm a loner, I can't trust anyone else to properly handle my affairs for me, it's a one man job.
