Dear Nathaniel,
This is your father, Alexander J. Crow.
I'm writing this letter to you, 22nd of February 2067, as the winter rolls by in an endless sea of white that falls on the ground and sticks to our footprints, as we leave our mark on the trail of cold spots. That was pretty good, right?
I like to get into poetry a few times, you know? Although your mother keeps reminding me that I write to you a lot since you've left, I'm sure I've never told you about my poetry. Let me try you a hand, you're gonna like this one, I'm telling you. It comes straight from the heart.
Do not go
Where did you leave to be seen,
by god's grace and grand routine,
We will miss your siege.
Through the fire and the flames peeked,
A curious eyes for the weak,
You protect our reach
Your departure weakens us,
We return to soil and dust,
In god we should trust.
Where did you leave to be judged,
Is it conquest or the lust,
for the unknown love.
I am quite proud of this one. Not sure about the word "judged" to be fair and the last verse in general do lack a bit of "oomph" to it, but with a bit of polish, this easily triumphs my other poems!
It's a good Segway to a question I wanted to ask you: did you ever loved someone, Nathaniel?
This is not a front against you, it's just that you never quite loved the way other boys learned to love. At your age, you should hold yourself accountable. You saved us, our city, our hometown. You say you love the institution, the culture that Vancarther represents. Yet, you went above and beyond to deny your son and the woman who beared the boy!
I'm still shocked by the revelation myself! It's as if my whole body couldn't take it! I have a grandson!? That's incredible!
But, alas, you thought me meeting him would cause me and your mother more trouble than you could handle. It's not fair to yourself, you know. You have all these associates and your immediate family, but you pretend dealing with outsiders, dealing with Vancarther's politics, is a one man's job.
It's not a job, my son. It's a career. It will last for as long as you live. There's no end.
You're putting so much emphasis on working that you've lost what you were working on. I believe that's why you've let yourself get caught this easily by promises.
Promises of love
Promises of sacrifice
Promises of an open heart,
at the bottom of the pit.
You have numbed yourself, diluted into this wretched world and ignored what you needed the most: connection with other people. I know you're craving that kind of intimacy so much it kills you. I was the same as you before I met your mother. We're not so different you and I. The second you got a child, your fears kicked in and you ran away, thinking that they would get in the way of your responsibilities.
I almost did that to your mother. I too had this undermining illusion that I should have abandoned you to focus on the mission.
I was part of a joint venture with an expedition team from a European country. I think it was Belgium, but I'm not sure. I met this man there named Anthony Smith. He had a son too back home, a son he abandoned the day he perished.
We went with the hopes of getting inside the Bottomless Pit. Somebody, a spy from another PMC, shot him, and his dying body fell into the pit. He was a good man. That pit however will turn anyone into maniacs, and then into mincemeat. I couldn't do it. I couldn't do that to my wife. I resigned and lived with your mother, birthing you.
My boy, you have to return! You will understand your mistakes and come back to Vancarther! You will accept your boy and wife in your life! Please!
Please come back.
I met him, your son!
He's the reason I am writing this letter to you. He's a spitting image of us. He's the extreme, a murderer, an assassin for hire! Some would consider him a monster! I had to shelter him. It was a day your mother was out of town for something important regarding her side of her family. Don't remember, probably the funeral of her older brother.
Anyway, for the whole weekend, your boy stayed hidden in my house from guards that we're looking for him. he apparently had a contract to kill a high demand soldier, who did some heavy work outside of Vancarther. That's the most he felt like telling me at least.
I had never seen a man so dangerous, possessing such a charismatic way of crushing his opponents, because yes, I observed some of his methods and he's very brutal, like I was back in my younger day. He's also brutal like you! He's the embodiment of you and I, if we would have went too far into the darkness! I would have become nothing more than a bottomless freak just like you! Maybe... Maybe he did too, and he will never see the vision.
It's like an alcoholic trying to find god at the end of the bottle. We tried to find love, acceptance, truth, by jumping into this unknown world, this damned Bottomless Pit!
I know his name.
Even you don't know your son's name.
Alister Crow.
And he's just like you, Nathaniel. He's just like me.
He's family.
Come back and stop denying what you created. You have to save him, before the darkness he adopted consumes him and the people he loves. That is, if like you, he even learned how to love.
Your father, who loves you.
Alexander B. Crow
#
THIS LETTER WAS WRITTEN BY ALISTER CROW'S GRANDFATHER.
HOW CUTE.
KNOWING WHAT WE KNOW, THIS LETTER WAS NEVER GOING TO REACH HIS PROGENITURE. WE UNCOVERED IT AT ALEXANDER'S HOME DIRECTLY, THE DAY HE WAS GOING TO SEND IT TO NATANIEL'S HEADQUARTERS. FOR AN OLD MAN, HE WAS EAGER TO DEFEND HIMSELF. DISPOSING OF HIM WAS NO ISSUE. APPARENTLY, THE GRANDMOTHER IS STILL AWAY. HER WEARABOUTS ARE UNDISCLOSED, AND MATTERS LITTLE TO THE CHANCELOR'S GOALS.
STILL, FOR MY INTEREST, I CHECKED HIS VITALS WITH THE EQUIPMENT I HAD. SIGNIFICANT BRAIN DAMAGE CAME UP. MAYBE HIS WIFE IS DEAD, AND HE LIVES IN DENIAL? I DON'T KNOW. TRIED SHOWING THIS TO THE CHANCELOR TO SEE IF HE WOULD CHUCKLE. HE DIDN'T. MR. CHANCE HAS A WORSE SENSE OF HUMOR THEN I THOUGHT.
THAT ASIDE, WE WILL KEEP WRITING NOTES LIKE THESE FOR NOW, FOR THE SAKE OF KEEPING TABS ON THE ISSUE. REPORTING BACK TO THE GUARDIAN WILL BE FOR AFTER.