I once thought I knew who I was, a man dedicated to the cause. I fought for my brothers beside me, I fought for my country. I Always believed in right and wrong, and had faith I would never lose the knowledge in distinguishing one from another. With that said, today, I’m not so sure I know who I am anymore. The living world shaped me and morphed me in ways I never saw coming. I had seen things, done thing…terrible things. I’ve seen so much death, caused so much death. I thought the death of the world wouldn’t be anything terribly unfamiliar and for the most part, it wasn’t. I was alone for a long time, and when I finally found Arklay, when I found The Eights, I started to feel comfortable, safe, maybe even a bit happy. So in my foolish desire to help those in need, I returned home. What was waiting for me at home? Chaos, pure fucking chaos. The last thing I needed was to fight a private war on the behalf of the people back home who just wanted to stay alive. Was my decision to fight a good one, no, but it was the right one, despite the toll it took on what I now consider to be my humanity. I fought for days, not against just the undead, but the living that were herding the undead at us like cattle in attempts to destroy us all, steal our supplies, and claim the places we then called home. I returned back here, to Arklay, but now I’m on edge all the time, I stare at rooftops and windows because I think someone is there, watching…waiting. I haven’t been back to The Eights in what seems like forever. I’ve been taking shelter at the carnival, sleeping in what looks like an old restaurant or something, it ain’t luxury, but it’s isolated, people don’t bother me, and I don’t have to be around others.

Trust used to be something I had enough of and was able to give it to people within reasonable circumstances. I guess seeing your friends piled up, dead, changes how you look at people. So here I am, in this damn carnival, a walker comes around every now and then but nothing I can’t handle. Not sure how long I’ll stay here, and how long I’ll keep avoiding the others, but at this moment, I don’t really care, their world spins with or without me. The Eights was getting too crowded anyway. All in all, the man I once knew who cared about saving all those lives, the one who wanted to help where he could, the one who made trouble for those making trouble…he’s dead, and as for right and wrong, I can’t tell the difference anymore. Scariest part about it, I don’t feel either which way about that fact.