Bald Bill's Questionnaire

I live in “The City”.  A terrible place. More specifically within the confines of a branch facility within L corp. This place manages abnormalities and extracts energy from them, called “Enkephalin”.

Its probably better than the outskirts. Hopefully. Back then I would have never imagined living alongside such creatures. But what can I do? I signed the contract and made the choice. No backing out now. It’s a very, technical, cutthroat environment. Events that would’ve scarred me years ago happen frequently and commonplace. The very familiar smell of death envelops this place. Lots of strange creatures, lots of strange people. 

But at least once this is over I wouldn’t have to work an office job.

The contractual agreement states that we’d get the payment once fifty days are up. I personally find it very suspicious. But I ended up signing the contract anyways. I can’t live the way I lived anymore. I won’t. The money I’d receive would net me a very comfortable residence somewhere within the confines of a wing. Maybe I’ll apply for a place somewhere in L corp. Who knows. But once I get that money, I’ll be a step closer to living stress free. 

I’d have to save up way more though, the battle isn’t done yet. I’d need so much more Ahn if I wanted to get The Thumb out of my a*s. Then I can live stress-free. Soon. I just have to bear with it for now.

Stress. Free. Everyday I’d have clients ranting about crap I could give less of a damn to. The room smelled like rotting paper due to the amount of work they’d give us. This is not the life I wish to live. And those pompous pricks of the thumb… Do your own work damn it! I need to show respect to them for what? Giving their task-loads to us? Doing nothing? 

No more of that. If they saw me journaling this they’d tear me apart. More the reason why I push through with what I’m doing right now. I’d bear all the insanity if it meant I could live comfortably, where not even the thumb could reach me. Where not even the head could reach me. 

It was either joining The Thumb, or leaving it. I figured I’d be going up the ranks rapidly. Boy, was I naive. They keep you down, they make it very clear the gaps they set between us and them. Hierarchy is what defines the Thumb. A mere Soldato rising up the ranks is something they wouldn’t stand for. Paperwork, fieldwork, endless days chasing an impossible dream. 

In a way, I am grateful for them changing my views into something more realistic. But for everything else? They’ll rue it all. Everything they’ve put me through. I don’t even feel alive anymore. I just want them gone. I just want to leave everything behind and live in peace. But that would never happen unless I take action myself. 

Three people? Well, I’ve never really been close with anyone. My mother perhaps? Never knew my father, always somewhere in another nest, I received letters from him from time to time. With money inside, good to knew he was still supporting me and my mother. I never wrote back. One day I received a letter, his last. He died in some conflict, it was never stated what kind. He just died. The news didn’t really shock me. Even till now, I don’t know what he worked as. 

Now, my mother, I never knew her that much either. She was mute, at least, I think so? We never spoke. She passed away as well. Natural causes. A very rare death in the city. She was just, there. She was present but not fully involved in my life. 

A third person would be another soldata I worked with. I don’t remember his name that much. Thinking about it now, I don’t remember any of their names. Paperwork really takes a toll on your memory huh? I was never suited for that technical stuff anyways. He wasn’t either. I helped him at times, and he’d treat me to some food. He died on a field job. 

I was a rather reserved person. So my childhood was nothing special. I formed no close bonds with my peers. It was easier that way. My father taught me to never get too close to people, as those in The City would take advantage of every little thing they can utilize against you. He was a Class 3 wing employee. I don’t know which wing. He never told me. Even when he passed I knew nothing about him despite all the letters he sent to me. My mother worked as a fixer I think? I’m not sure either.

I attended class. In a way, I fit in by not drawing attention to myself, it’s too much of a hassle to be noticed. It’s better to lay low and keep to yourself. My father also taught me that. But because of that, I never made any meaningful relationships. So I guess I didn’t really fit in. Doesn’t matter.

Love is an afterthought. It’s a foreign concept to me. How can I have love in my life when I have work? I’d waste away my morning in the mounds of paperwork at my desk. Do field work accompanied by the Capos during the afternoon. Work again on paperwork during the night. Sleep for thirty minutes, maybe even an hour if I was lucky. Then work the nightshift guarding a Thumb encampment or managing warehouse items.

I had no free time, so I found entertainment through other means. Like counting the ammunition we have in stock before listing and liquidation. Shooting as much backstreet rats who sneak in the base with my rifle. Finding ways to efficiently discuss with multiple clients at once through the phone. 

I fear of my past relationships with the Thumb souring my efforts of achieving my goals. They are a tenacious bunch, perhaps that’s why I was drawn to them in the first place. But their attitudes and practices were simply at odds with mine. If I were to encounter them again, blood will be spilt wastefully. I wish not to mention their names any longer, moving on.

If anything else, I fear of not being able to live a stable and comfortable life. Who doesn’t want to live as such? Perhaps my days of working tirelessly showed me the horrors of instability. The life of backstreet rats, those who couldn’t afford to defend themselves against the Syndicates of the city. It’s a horrible thing really. At the end of the day, all we want is to live.

Let me tell you something, they used to call me “The Pawn”, not because my head was smooth and round like one (that’s part of the reason), but because I’d simply enact on orders when asked. Did I like doing it? No. But it was the easiest course of action. No unnecessary drama, no retribution from the higher ups. Perhaps, and just perhaps, my third fear would be having to act like someone’s puppet for much longer. But I’ve assured myself, the moment I get that money and step out of this place, I’ll be free. 

Though I do think of myself as a sentimental person, there are few things I hold dearly close. One was a pack of premium scalp treatment ointment given to me by a Soldato I was rather close with. I was quite stressed during that time, and the sight of me waking up to a majority of my hair still stuck on the pillow made the feeling even worse. So the gesture of this was something I wholly appreciated. Unfortunately, his efforts were for naught.

Second, is this “Bullet Star”. There was a shootout in one of the Thumb’s warehouses. We successfully managed to suppress the intruders, when I noticed something glimmering in the ground. Five bullets. Five. All hit together at some point midair and fused due to the force. I didn’t even think that was possible. I displayed it off to my fellow Soldatos in the barracks. Then one day, a Capo came in and took the item for himself.

And the most recent addition to my collection, this coupon. It belonged to someone who reminded me of a feeling I’d have almost forgotten. I wanted to forget, really. But in the end, it’s better this way. My battle isn’t over yet, so I ought to work harder. Only then can I finally…

Nothing much. There is no issue with my quality of life. Everything that needed to be resolved has already been taken care of. Though, I would be lying if I said I’m felt fulfilled or satisfied with how things have been. Currently, I worry that these moments of reprise are just some build up for something much, much more sinister. I’ve witnessed a lot of horrible things in the surface, this place is also pretty awful in its own right. Nothing much I can do about that, though it would be nice if I had the power to just leave this cycle of hurt. 

At times, a problem arises, one so entirely dreadful that it makes someone give, that’s when they call quits. I can’t blame them, I would too if I were them. Well, would want to, but I realize that leaving right then and there may not be… the best course of action. It depends. Its important to have a lot of nuance in- ah, apologies, almost went on a tangent there.