I’ve heard that insanity and depression are happy playmates, more than happy to hold hands while tearing apart your mind, driving you beyond the depths of despair.

I exhaled. I couldn’t recall a time in my life I had ever been happy.

Through therapy, I’d recollected several random childhood memories, though without context or continuity their meaning and import has always remained a mystery eluding my grasp. It didn’t’ matter anymore.

Conversely, each moment of my enslavement, whether drug-ridden or free-minded, was permanently etched into my neurons; the core fuel source for my never-ending rage and hatred of all things Amarr. I exhaled again.

But I was a one trick pony. I unleashed pent up rage, lashing out as an immature child, attempting to destroy everything that caused me anger and pain. That is all I was to others. I had always been a pathetic fool. I could never defeat the Amarr. It was a pipe dream. Honest self-realization was truly humbling.

Every day of my service in the Tribal Liberation Force had been a complete and utter waste. Public denouncement, dishonourable discharge, accusations of slavery and treason; had I never bothered to care in the first place, my existence would’ve been far less complicated, far less overwhelming. I had only ever fooled myself into thinking I was important, or had influence on the galaxy. I should have just been a civilian garbage hauler.

I exhaled more weakly. I was starting to feel dizzy.

Love. Romance. What illusions were they? Did it ever work out with Mynxee? Of course not. She never had any intention of loving me, merely using me as another resource to her advantage when and how it suited her needs best. And when I was no longer of use to her? I was discarded like the trash all men are to her; consumed and put out as garbage. But had I been any better to her? I was always up on my soapbox, preaching my own morality at her, cramming it down her throat. No wonder she was repulsed by me. I was a hypocrite.

Was there hate inside of me? Yes. Was there hope? No.

The corners of my vision began to darken and I could feel a tingling begin in my limbs. It would be over soon.

I had thought about writing a suicide note, cliched as that was. I had thought about leaving behind some type of epic prose detailing the angst of my fate, the tragic irony of the life I had been dealt. I had considered sharing my dreams, my visions, my hopes for a brighter future.

Then I realized it didn’t matter. Who would care? And even if a few took on the pretense of caring at the news of my death, would it really have any importance hundreds of years from now? Or even a few decades? I was nothing but dust, and the universe would give me as much attention as we would to dust. I wouldn’t even be a name.

Shakor could do what he wanted to with the Republic. I had no more delusions of grandeur. The veil had been lifted from my eyes, and for the first time, I knew the only release from all the pain of my life, all the misery I experienced with every moment of my continued living, was permanent death.

I could breath no longer. My body began to go limp, hanging from my leather belt, tied one end around my neck, the other looped around a pipe running the length of the cell ceiling. Convenient, if not poorly designed.

It would be nice to have a day off, I thought to myself, as my body succumbed to the warm embrace of the darkness, no longer feeling the pressure around my throat. My natural survival instincts surrendered. There was no more fight left in me.

No Aura to transfer my mind to a waiting body. No heroic and epic tale of my overcoming adversity. I had never been a hero, why start then?

This was the end of my story. And how else could it have ended? New Eden is a vast universe, with trillions of stories to be told. I was but a footnote in the grand scheme of themes. Maybe not even that.

Never start a fight you can win. I had lived my lives by it. Perhaps I would adhere to it in the afterlife, if there was such a thing. Part of me hoped there wasn’t, as it was clear God had always hated me.

Fly safe. And happy April Fool’s. Like I’d ever quit. Really.