From the private diaries of Father Xavier Perez
March 22, 2074
Nina,
I keep writing these letters knowing they’ll die with me, but I can’t stop. You’re the one to whom I always told my secrets. Now I have another one: I spoke to a man in the bar five minutes ago.
Not a man. A soldier. A Psy.
Like the ones who came to our village, came to annihilate because we refused to allow them to strangle all trade in the region, cutting us off from our livelihoods. The only difference is that this Psy looks even more dangerous. I drank tequila and I told him about the murderous evil of his people.
He thought I was drunk, that I didn’t know to whom I spoke.
He was wrong.
I can see him still from my new position in the very back of the bar. He’s waiting for whoever it is he’s come to see. Dressed in civilian clothing, he’s trying to blend in, is fooling most people, but I know the way Psy soldiers walk and I know the way their eyes scan a room.
I’m going to kill him.
I can hear you in my head, telling me not to commit this mortal sin, but the drink and the blood and the grief have washed away my faith. All I want is vengeance. If I can’t get the men and women who took you from me, took everyone I ever loved away from me, then I’ll take their brethren.
Xavier