Zedrick's Datapad

First Entry: The Endless Venting




The log begins to emit a beeping noise, followed by a quick and sharp high pitch as Zedrick begins to talk, his voice is merged and cluttered with the audio's over-sensitive output, making him loud.

This is private Zedrick P. Edwards...and I've gotten myself into some deep shit. The only reason I'm doing this because I'm bored and I need something to do on my free time. I guess before all of this, I had a bright attitude. Shook hands and kiss asses to get my way up to the top but I'm still a Pv2...fun. I remember when I joined the Alliance Marines, my father was a Staff Sergeant while my mother was a Quartermaster, don't remember her rank, though.

I didn't think this was hard but I'm done with this shit. I remember when I first came here and went on my first campaign/operation. I did my best, got into some deep shit and tried to stand out and for what?! To get put down by this officers, these fuckers who think they're better than me because they have rank. I'm getting tired of this posting, war is hell but believe me when I say: "This is hell".

Today, I also fucking yelled at an officer, I left the camp and I was in "Reaper territory". Which...they had a point, but I'm a grown ass man, I also know how to trek the land while they'll run through like they can't hide in the goddamned trees to cover our escape. Thatcher is one of these people, can't stand him, and Vicky is starting to get on my nerves. Thatcher makes me run 100 laps after I basically helped take down a Marauder but he blames them being spotted on me...bullshit.

Vicky is also trying to test me, I can feel it. If we all had the time to fight, I'd challenge these people to a fighting ring so we could throw down, but they'd probably put me in a cell...even if it was a legal fight. We're also their grunts, of course, we basically are but they need to have some more respect. "Well, respect is not given, it's earned" We're told to respect them, but they'll order us around like fucking kids and "protect" us. We're grown ass men and women, we can fend for ourselves.

But still, they want us to either die like grunts, or be cared for like grunts. Sometimes, I wish we were like Krogan, it's all about war to them, and victory. Strength and valor, guts and gibs, war. Instead, I have some slack jaw faggots who want peace and love instead of showing the true gritty reality, I'm tired of being restrained.

I've probably been venting at this thing for hours now, so I'm gonna leave on today's note. If things ever go haywire -- and Zed, I mean this, keep yourself and your wishes alive. Stay sharp when needed and be yourself when you want. I'm done pursuing rank, I'm fighting for superiority now.