Vietnam

Vietnam

I have a story to tell. It may not be easy to hear. It involves death, power, fear, and, surprisingly, compassion.

As I write this, it is the year 1999 AD The month is unimportant, as is the day. Only the year is important. It is only a very short time till the millennium, a time of new beginnings. But this story starts with something very old, Hate.

I am only in my twenties, but I have experienced a great deal of Hate, so much Hate, more Hate than I thought possible for one human to contain. It has been an almost overwhelming Hate, a Hate that I thought I would carry till I died. It permeated much of who I was. Yes...was.

My Hate gave me a degree of strength, but It was not enough. I could only go so far with It. It got me through many a difficult time, but It only got me to the Wall. Past that Wall, Hate would not...could not, operate.

The first time I ran into the Wall, it was 1969 AD The place...Vietnam. I was a US Army grunt, a private.

I had been taught years earlier that anyone I was told to fight was the enemy. Simple enough...I know. But the underlying attitude that was there, that was prevalent, was that The Enemy was a monster, a subhuman creature, not worthy of breathing the same air as me.

"We want a warrior who will kill without having to touch the enemy. We have developed drugs that will give you the ability to affect anything with your mind."

I had been angry all my life. I started out with nothing. And now I had a chance to be Something. So I volunteered for their experiment, this pet project of the D.I.A. They pumped me so full of chemicals, I didn't know What I was anymore, let alone Who I was.

The first time I was let out into the field, I was successful...of a sort. Oh, the V.C. General died, not by my hands, but by my mind. There was one problem. Maybe my, ha!, superiors didn't know...maybe they did. I don't know. When I killed the V.C., I felt every instant of his death. Every last bit of pain he was feeling. It was torture, for both of us, but I couldn't stop. My abilities wouldn't let me stop until he was dead.

I started by crushing his vocal cords, so he could not call for help. The grisly crunching sound was nowhere near as strong as the Fear that took hold of his heart. I could feel our heart almost jump from our chest, and it was only the beginning. I had no choice but to continue to subject us to the worst pain imaginable. My mind wouldn't let him slip into unconsciousness, so he would feel every instant of suffering until his body gave out and died. He died after just two hours.

The details of the rest of my victims' deaths aren't important. Except for one.

It wasn't until my 204th victim that I hit The Wall. All of my victims gave some kind of resistance to what I did to them, but this one was different. He accepted what was happening to him. He didn't put up any struggle, no matter what organs I burst, what pain I dealt him. His mind remained calm and at...peace. His body stayed alive for ten hours, while I continued to pummel every cell within him, his serenity never wavering in the slightest. When he finally died, The Wall fell on top of me, and I've never been the same since.

It took me time to come to grips with what I now was. The D.I.A. tried to get me to kill again, but I couldn't. Needless to say, they were not pleased. When they tried to contain me, I had no choice but to bring the house down, literally. That was the last time that I used my power, for it was like an addiction. I couldn't use it for fear of letting loose the Hate.

I found out, after a few years of running, that the drugs changed me in other ways. As far as I can tell, I haven't aged a day since the drugs began coursing through my veins.

Who knows? Maybe, I'm standing right next to you and you don't even know it? I've never met another like me, but knowing the military as I do, you can bet there are a lot more like me out there. And...many, much, much worse. Think about. I know I do.