Captain Alenko’s Log: 2216
Sometimes I wonder what it was like for my Dad at my age… the skull-splitting headaches. Every now and then it feels like my head is cleaved open; on other days it’s more like an icy spike is jammed in the back of my eye socket. In a bizarre way I’ve become accustomed to it, expect it even. When I don’t get a headache it makes me wonder if something’s off.
The nosebleeds are the part that I hide. I’ve noticed that others react much worse when you’re bleeding than when you’re simply holding your head… wouldn’t do me any good to have a crew concerned about things out of their control, so I’d like to keep it that way.
But I’m the only surviving L-X7 implant user to date, so maybe that says something. …Maybe that also says I could die in complete agony someday, but let’s take things one step at a time. I’d like to think I’m an optimist.
…Most of the time.
Then again, I’m not kidding myself either. I’m no civilian. I know what the stakes are. I know what I’ve given up to walk this path. I chose this arm, I sacrificed my ability to touch and feel with it, to wield this big, biotics-enhancing hunk of durasteel rather than some fleshy replacement. I push my biotics harder and faster than most, not because I can take it, but because I have to. I am my Mother’s son.
I have vivid dreams once in a while. They’re not pleasant. The doc thinks they may be stress-induced from the headaches, but I’m not sure. All I know is I die in them, and they are brutal, short, and… very painful. I don’t believe in precognition, but I have to admit it makes me think. We’re always going to be facing down something dangerous.
When I die, I doubt it’ll be in a bed. I guess I’ll have to live with that.
Rem kissed me today.
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