Since I started to work as a medic I noticed that fights I take part in are starting to grow increasingly dangerous with each passing day, which made me start to write my own journal. I don't know if I'm doing this because of fear that I can die and this might be the last thing that stays after my death, or it's because here I can express myself on how I view this war that was happening here for so long... Anyway.
I should start with introducing myself... My name is William Parker, I was born as "Neutral" as my parents liked to call it. In this world where I live, there is war that lasts over 100 years. No one remembers why or how it started, all they know is that Wardens and Colonials are fighting each other till one of the factions dies. Surrender is not considered by any of the military leaders. Who knows why but I think its because they don't know how to. They know only how to fight and kill. I don't blame them, this is all we do from the day we are born. We learn how to fight so we can go and start fighting for sake of what our grand-grand-grand-fathers did. Which was starting this whole mess.
My parents were from opposing sides, which was strange considering what I learned. It's unusual to see that people from both sides falling in love with each other, but perhaps that's a part of humanity we have that shows from time to time. Both my parents were medics during their time of service, though none of the ever admitted on which side they were. but thay agree that thay ware from opposing sides, so I don't know if my mother was a Warden medic, or was it my father who served under the Blue flag? Despite this, they managed to give birth and raise me away from this war, so I could learn something not related to killing. We lived somewhere in the North, a place that surely saw a major battles that lasted over the years. We lived with other people who too were seeking a place to live far from this madness. It was small town but we had everything we needed to sustain ourselves and even more. We had peace.
Now when I remind myself of those times i wish... I wish I could go back to live those times again... But I know it's impossible...
When i was 20 years old, our little town was visited by few wounded soldiers. They were a mixed group of Colonials and Wardens, seeking someplace to get themselves patched up before returning to their respectable sides. Sadly, people of our town weren't too keen on having to house combatants from both sides, because they thought that war would come with them. Since my parents taught me how to cure others, and I was unable to simply sit and watch how these men suffered, I decided to help them in their time of need, so they could come back to their full strength. They used to tell stories of what was happening at the frontlines when I tended to their injuries, hours of administering medication and sewing up cuts were always accompanied by tales of the same old thing my parents witnessed during their time.
After about two weeks, the soldiers were ready to return to combat. Despite me knowing that there were more people who could use my help, I couldn't pick a side as all of their leaders were too focused on pointless slaughter to notice that medics were a necessity.
But that wasn't the only problem.
My parents didn't want me to taste the rotten part of humanity that would await me, yet despite their protests and pleas, I was unable to sit by, knowing that somewhere in the world people needed help and I could give it to them.
That day I decided what my life would be. I went with the soldiers, the people who raised me all my life doing nothing to stop the young idealist from going, especially after I found an old Colonial uniform in the attic. A part of me knew it belonged to my father, it simply fit to well not to, but I hadn't bothered with asking knowing full well that I would find no answer.
So there I was, a young boy with an old uniform, a bag of supplies and a purpose.
After days of walking we finally made it to frontlines. It was on that day that I first noticed the surrounding ground to be soaked with blood, the ground almost glowing due to rich amount of crimson that covered it. No one bothered to clean up the rotting corpses that bled out everywhere. One of the soldiers said to me "Get used to it." like it was something normal for him.
As I'm writing this entry, I still cannot make peace with the thought of leaving people like that.
When we made it to the town that Colonials used as a base, I noticed how things changed when compared to the quiet settlement I grew up in. Whole town that Colonials controled looked like a fotress. High walls, bunkers all around it, soldiers patrolling the area outside, trucks moving in full of supplies and driving out without anything inside of them. Men I came here with decided to take care of me before seeing me going to the frontlines where killings were happening, so that I could survive at least few minutes out there.
I spent most of my time being trained in many ways of inflicting the very thing I came here to expunge, all under the premise of protecting myself with it. When I wasn't either shooting, stabbing or bludgeoning my way out of the training yard, I went to the hospital to tend the people that needed help, honing my skills in the process.
Weeks went by, and I finally knew how to act and survive in a combat situation, my mentors decided to give me the green light to go with them to the frontlines. We embarked on a truck that was moving to the thick of battle, and after hours of driving we finally made it. I knew that things will change heavily but didn't knew that it would be so much of a difference. I was greeted with sounds of howitzers firing, the deafening blasts making my ears blood and malfunction, officers and NCO's yelling commands at the top of their lungs, hoping that their subordinates would hear over the sound of distant explosions that peppered enemy positions not so far away. I moved with my mentors on foot towards those explosions and sound of war, ready to cross the gates of hell.
In first few minutes of the advance we got struck by a stray mortar shell, all the people I learned to know and care about turning into chunks off flesh in one moment. I was shocked and didn't knew what to do 'till my instincts kicked in. "Run!" my mind told me, and I complied, hiding behind the nearest cover, before running out to save those who were unfortunate enough to feel the deadly shrapnel cutting into their bodies.
From that day forward, I helped people wherever I went, time and conditions mattering little to me. From Red cliffs and waters in Coast to Red Fields painted with blood to Snow valley's painted white, black and red.
This is how it all started, how I became a medic you see in front of you. So please...
...do cooperate when I'm healing you. It's for your own good.
