Journal #6
Who: Higgs When: Writing year unknown Where: Unknown
A Bridges waystation out west just got taken out by terrorists. Used a voidout to do it. They dumped a corpse nearby and let it go necro, dropping BTs right in people's laps. Word is Demens heard that Bridges was sending an expeditionary force out west to "facilitate the reconstruction of America", or some such. Guess they didn't take kindly to that.
Terrorists, separatists, isolationists— all these folks claim "America" is coming for their freedom. That the old guard wants to put them in chains, make the individual subservient to the collective. They ask what's it all for in a post-Stranding world, when today's triumph is tomorrow's crater.
Daddy used to spout the same tired lines. Said America never did nothing for nobody. That's why we took to living in a shelter. "Better down in the hole than out there under their thumb." Yeah, he was a real saint, my daddy. Tried to run a few times, but he'd just drag me back inside, kicking and screaming, where he'd put those heavy hands of his to work and remind me what'd happen if I disrespected his authority. But that's love, isn't it? His way of looking after an orphan child he raised as his own. He was only trying to protect me from the evils of the outside world.
I owe him my life— and my powers, too. First time I ever sensed a BT was when I held him, moments before he went necro. Just like when I dumped that prepper's body. My daddy showed me that corpses are precious, powerful things. They're so much more than bombs. Terrorists ought to treat them with proper respect.
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