Monday, 15 June 2015

The SPLATOON War Journal

DAY 29

Report filed by 1LT Crawfish 'Craig Macd' MacMackerel

Two rooks fresh out of selection

War.  War has changed after all.

Used to be, I could tell who the enemy was just by looking at their eyes, their flags, their tentacles.  And you knew what you were fighting for.  All those long, sticky days trudging through hostile ink down in the valley, gradually wearing down strongholds until we could take out the Octarians' weapons of mass stainage - oh, they were real.  Very real.  Don't let the limp-suckered media types tell you different.  I lost 3 good men to the Octomaw.  Watched them get swallowed up, struggling to reach past its reinforced teeth before it bit down and, splat.  Gone forever.  Nobody came out of that valley unmarked, but we never doubted the mission.  We were keeping people safe.

These days?  These days I see the same faces on the other side of the field as I do among my own squad.  There are no superweapons to secure, no evil mastermind waiting to be toppled.  Just endless proxy battles between factions, with no high goal than keeping YOUR colour more prosperous than THEIR colour.  All happening out in the streets of our own city.  Somehow I doubt anyone feels 'safe' anymore.

But, I'm a soldier, and this is still a war.  A turf war.  And I'm going to fight.