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|Sometimes, I wonder what happened to him. He wasn't always this way, was he? Cold, unfeeling...numb? Indifferent to the lives of others; even his own life matters little to him.
There must've been better times, once. Happier times. Could he ever have laughed? Loved? Cared for someone? When I look at him now, I can't imagine this man ever doing any of those things. But sometimes, if I look hard enough, I catch glimpses of the man he used to be. No matter how hard he tries, he can't bury the past completely.
Even now, after all these years of bitterness, he slips occasionally and some of the other man, the one Before, comes through. But not often. Besides, it's not good for his image. He's got a reputation to maintain. And signs of weakness simply aren't tolerated.
After all, that's their motto: "From strength to unity." If the weak fall by the way, it's not his concern. "Survival of the fittest;" I think that's what they used to say. And he's a staunch believer in it. A good example, too.
Not many men would have survived what he did. Loss of his eye, his arm. But he's a stubborn fighter. He's turned his handicaps into strengths. Cosmetic surgery?! He scoffs at the idea. He is, after all, a soldier. Besides, his scars are more than physical. The mental ones are greater still.
I suppose that's when the real changes occurred. When the dedicated officer became the obsessed madman. When the soldier doing his duty became a 'savage, unthinking animal.' When the loyal supporter became a renegade.
I wonder if there's any hope for him? It's hard for a man to survive on hatred alone. How much longer can he do it? I don't know.
But, sometimes, it's hard to look this man in the eye.
This man I see.
In the mirror.
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