August 1997

I caught up to the Evos.

I've been with them now for a month. They accepted me. I was honest. I told them I'd been hunting them since the war started. I told them I wasn't even an Evo. I told them I probably had danger on my tail. They didn't care. They told me I was in the same boat as them. Being hunted not because of anything I'd done, but because of who I was…

They're not evil at all. All the propaganda that flooded the media said they were trying to take over. Said they were trying to snuff out humanity and take our place. Said they were killing normal human babies if they had them.

None of that's true.

They're just looking for their place in this world and there's not one for them. I understand that. That was me before Gallant. Hell… that's me now.

They haven't made me fight yet. I've mostly been using my training in field tactics and survival to help them to get to New Babel alive.

I hope they'll be safe there. I hope I'll be safe there. I've been able to help them avoid traps I knew that my old comrades were setting for them. Clue them in on new weaponry that was being brought out for this war.

That's all I've become, huh? A fucking turncoat. I deserve to be strung up by both sides of this fight. Let's see who realizes that and gets to me first. Not sure if I'll be able to write again. If anyone finds this on my dead body, try not to hate me. I hate myself enough.

A Turncoat