It has been an interesting few days on this expedition, I'll give Bostock that. In a matter of two days, I've inoculated a Dee-bee, conversed with gargoyles (briefly), and helped fight off an incursion from the Fae. It is this most recent occurrence, however, that is most troubling. There is a soldier here... Leonard Couldn't. He is medically interesting, certainly, but my interest in him lies firmly within the realms of my duty as Pastor. He is a man of contradictions. He is firm in his narcissism, yet goes out of his way to help others. He has shown himself capable of extreme daring, but also of friendly fire and extreme idiocy, and in that idiocy the man was fool enough to make a deal with the Fae. For his insubordination and pride, he now awaits judgement in a locked cell, in magnetized cuffs. My own interest is, I will also admit, compounded by the symbiote's urgings. Something about him bespeaks conflict, and that thought entices Sin's black, inky heart all too readily. Now, the fool is about to throw away all his potential. All of his emotion. Shut up, Sin. This is my log. The fool is about to throw away all of his potential over petty pride and vanity. Still... I will admit this only in private, but his actions saved us all. This is a fact, but it means nothing in the face of the rules and regulations that seem to be the food stuff of this expedition, as surely as I feel even now my emotional agitation feeding Sin. Delicious, delicious agitation. Continue, Damian. Tell us more of this irritating man. These rules are a footnote in the reason for Leonard's current incarceration, though. For some reason beyond me (for who am I to make judgements on the state of technology, being as I am so much more intimately familiar with biology?) the higher ups of this ill-fated and ill-managed foray have taken an interest in Leonard's use of Glitter Boy armaments on a scrap heap suit of power armor. I worry for what this means for Leonard, for though he is a fool, he is a likeable one... I worry that they will make me violate what little honor I still have; That in the coming interrogation my doctoral vows will be void. I... I worry that- No. That is not why we worry. You're right, Sin... I worry. We worry. We worry what their interest in something as trivial as a gun might compare... To the secrets of an alien consciousness... And what chemicals they may choose next, were our skin at the point of the needle, and their thumbs the ones pushing down upon the syringe... |