Rehab & the Klaive

Healing is a bitch. Rehab is even more of a bitch. It has taken me all the past three months to stretch, heal, work out damaged muscle and strained joints. The headaches still come now and then, but less often now. I am not pretty. I am not even Joe-average anymore. But close enough to Joe-average if I don’t expose too much.

Months of exer4cise and private training. Months of visiting the Schmidt shooting range to get back to passable with the gun. Months of meditating and martial arts. Months of re-acquainting myself with blades and blade work.

And months to stare at this klaive as I am sure it mocks my lack of ability to know where to go with it. I add it to the blade I train with. It is comfortable in my hands. Really really comfortable. Ok, I have a fetish for blades. And this is a real sweet blade. It has symbols on it that translate to it being a spirit bound blade. Fahr calls it a fetish. I need to keep reminding myself of the different definition… and that he is dead and gone forever.

I work on all my skills till I am almost at par with how I was before I took out GorraPawz.

January has come and is slipping away. We have entered 2012. The governments have stuck to their word and the major cities have electricity once more, but only the major cities. Costs for anything has sky rocketed.

Marchettus has popped up in news several times buying up land, fixing things, re-establishing economy in some areas almost single-handedly. No one ever gets a picture of him. Says it is for religious reasons. I know some Islamic cultures are like that, as well as some voodoo people. But Marchettus sounds on the radio like a heavily accepted Scotsman.

My comm came alive with new orders. I did not respond. They left me to die! Then I think about it and having nearly failed that mission, they should have left me to die there. So why retrieve me at all?

Many a night I have knelt in meditation on some mats in my den, the klaive across my lap reviewing all that has happened. Patrick said it was not healthy to live in that moment so much. But I can’t help it. I feel like I missed something. Something important. The nightmares help not at all. And on the dark moon… they are debilitating. I know I would not pass a psych eval.

I ignore the orders. They must know I am alive or they would not have sent a mission command. I screwed up somewhere. Got scene somehow. Probably been noticed on one of the freelance missions I picked up in the black market. I am beginning to really like this klaive.

The questions though, pile up. So I put my training to use… against my own government. Bit by bit, I dig out their dark secrets. Bit by bit, this klaive helps me end the tainted lives of those I have encountered. Taint. A bane I can hardly abide. Not anymore. And it has seeped into every faction of the world. I understand now why the garou say they are at war. They are. They have been for a long time. My digging has not gone unnoticed. The cost of gathering the secrets of corrupt people, organizations, and government offices. The cost… enemies.

Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I am seeking to avenge the deaths of the Silent Strider pack that welcomed a cat to their tribe. Maybe it was my fault all along. I will try to make it right. I will continue Fahr’s fight.

I pat the klaive. It has become my only trusted companion. I want to reach out and trust someone else, to not be alone. But every time I do, they die. I am a walking risk.