Source of version: 3 (current)
''Some times it feels like you're a thousand years old, and if you listen to the ship's crew, that might even be true. They talk about time dilation and relativity and how a week passing shipboard might be a year back home, but you don't know how long you've been on board or how far you've traveled. You know you've been awake for about sixteen weeks total (that's nearly a war a week) but how long do you sleep on the ride between apocalypses?''
''Not that it matters. Your wife could still be waiting for you or she could be a thousand years dead, but either way you'll never see her again. Odds of surviving any given drop are about three to two. You can't do the math, but you know that sixteen times over those odds are pretty short. Better to think of her dead than waiting.''
''And so you shrug off time and space and love and odds as you are birthed anew for another war. Even as you cough up lungfuls of hyperoxygenated purple goo, you are marching naked in lockstep with the rest of the brigade towards the weapons lockers. The armourers are ready for you. Your helmet still bears its message, painted in blood a thousand light-years ago. FRONT TOWARDS ENEMY.''
''You don't even remember why it's funny, but you laugh.''
((September 29 2009 First Contact)) -- our first session of 3:16, which sadly was not recorded. Brad, Toph, and JB playing with Toph running the show.
91 online users