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Report # 378-J18, Section 7-32

Invicta Office of Naval Affairs, Intelligence Division 7
Security Clearance: RED
Unlock Hex Key: CRIMSON TOY
Date Sent: June 23rd, 2567

From: Lance Major Tylen Liberius Yelsen, Head of Division 7

Intelligence Inquiries, Planet Invicta ICD

To: Jonathan James Ralter, Professor of History of New Victoria

University, New Victoria

<Message Begins>

In response to your query of military records on the famous fleet Commander Mark
Myushin, I have completed my investigation into his recently declassified files. There is a
lot to fill in the back story of his promotions, interviews, and battles. As for your request
for his personal information files, I’m afraid I cannot divulge the fact from fiction.

As such, I’ve created a formal report that will answer your questions. I have no interest in
debunking myths on what commander Myushin did. I only wish to tell you a complete
and accurate story. Included here is the final draft of the report I’ve prepared to close the
matter. Inside is the basic info you’ve asked for, laced with some narrative. I hope I will
not bore you by restating general information.

Report #378-J18: “Re-investigation of Mark Myushin”

Mark Myushin was born on adjusted date March 23rd, 2248 (I will stick to the old ICD
standard) on Planet Tiberia to James and Sarah Invicta in the city of Tyles, near the Tyles
Strait on the Alten Sea.

Records indicate that he was an only child, and did extremely well in school. He passed
through with an average of 990/1000 score index for Tiberia educational standards. He is
still the current holder for the 5th highest score. He was rated at an index of Intelligence
Quota 132, Emotional Quota 117 at age fifteen.

His opening steps to fame cultivated early:

Tyles Municipal High School Evaluation/Progress Report

May 22nd, 2265
Teacher: Tim O’ Hale, Advanced Honors History

To: James/Sarah Myushin

As you know, Mark is a quiet, hardworking student. I have

tried repeatedly to have him work with others in the
classroom, but he is adamant on staying alone. He barely
speaks in class, and never raises his hand to answer a
question. To reflect, I don’t think I’ve heard him say a
single word in my class.

He seems to have entered my course with much knowledge on

the history of the Invicta Federation. I can sense his
boredom, but this does not mar his diligence or his
impressive work ethic.

I have never seen him slack off. He is without a doubt the

ace student, and has held a perfect grade since the start
of the course. He has never went past a deadline or
forgotten to turn in an assignment. I have absolutely no
suggestions on what he could do better course-wise. I’d
hate to admit it, but I think he works harder than I do,
and I’m the teacher.

I worry about his quiet and introverted self, which might

prove detrimental to his adult career. I will endorse him
for any university.

I also respectfully ask that he be visited by the local

consoler to keep tabs on his mental health.

Final Grade: 100/100

Recommendations: Support network to monitor mental

We cannot see where his motivation came from, but we can infer by 23rd century strife
that he was suffering from a block of depression and loneliness. This was not uncommon
back in the 2200’s, before the use of the mental emulation we have today.

We may never conclusively know why he was a recluse. We can speculate that he might
have been suffering from a metal complex as an only child. This was a rare occurrence in
his time, and is generally unheard of today. We may never know the challenges he faced,
and we cannot even begin to imagine living in that time period.

However, we cannot deny that this attitude was an important factor to help him achieve
the hero status we associate with him today.

In 2270, Mark finished his prerequisite schooling and left his family to study at the
infamous Invicta War Academy on Halcyon. This is the prestigious school of military
warfare that continues to produce battle ready cadets for the Invictan fleet.

Based on what little information historians have, there seems to be little compromise on
why Mark wanted to join the military. This shy recluse from Tyles does not seem to fit
the accurate description of the adventure seeking youth.

This is the lost gap that many have been trying to figure out for years. There are
unconfirmed hints of an event that might have triggered his military patriotism, but like
many other aspects of his life, we may simply never know. Our descriptions of him are
most likely inaccurate. The declassified dossier mentions nothing of his childhood.

Nevertheless, Mark excelled in his studies, graduating the academy in 2275 as senior
valedictorian, with a degree in the close ship combat (CSC) discipline. He was assigned a
position aboard the IFPC Amatile, a patrol corvette that ran rounds between the planets
Retra Tal and Aura. He was second ensign for combat operations as a bridge officer.

With the invention of the faster than light engines drive decades earlier, colonization of
planets beyond the local Terra Solar System became a possibility. However, the
increasing borders became a strain on the Invicta Federation. The new colonies slowly
became dissenting powers that protested the influence of their home planet, rife with
political instability and a crumbling taxation bureau.

This saw the emergence of a galactic insurgency. Over several decades, every outer
colony became a safe haven for pirates and black market economies that grew stronger
day by day. As a result, the Federation restructured their fleet to patrol these outer
fringes, including the planets Retra Tal and Aura.

This was where Mark’s prestigious military career began, if not for a massive streak of
luck on his part.

Retra Tal-Aura Keltsin Asteroid Belt, Pegasus System

Command Bridge, IFPC Amatile
January 18th, 2276, 23:18PM

Mark cleanly wiped off the dust that had stained his synthetic battle shirt. He
cursed himself for forgetting to clean his uniform before the shift.
“Status?” The captain asked.
The console lieutenants each sounded off, stating reports that had been the same
fifteen minutes ago.
Mark couldn’t complain. This is what he had signed up for.
The status diagnostics Mark had run earlier were coming back as green blips on
his console. The pointless task occupied the time of the five-hour shift. They wouldn’t

run into enemies, but you could never be too careful. As expected, the results came back
normal, all stations running at 100%. Mark shifted in his unpadded seat.
They were riding the infamous Retra-Aura line, as nicknamed by the senior
officers. The patrol was a waste of time and resources. The distance between the planets
was dense with the heavy rocks of the Keltsin asteroid field, stretching thousands of
kilometers long in all directions. The asteroids were constantly shifting and moving at
random due to the gravity distortions in the area. Any ship, friend or pirate, would need a
very lucky pilot and several feet of hull armor to make it out of the field alive.
Mark looked around to the other sixty people on bridge. To his left was the
console for main combat ops, controlled by Lieutenant Jagan. He didn’t know the man at
all, and they’d been serving together for months. The lieutenant was a ragged shell, more
than forty years old and laced with a scar running between his left eye and cheek. It was
apparent why this veteran wasn’t commanding the Amatile.
The man’s facial hair was gray and loose, trimmed barely to requirement. He
slouched at the station, uninterested and distant. The man’s eyes displayed a personality
of constant apathy. Mark had always believed in souls, only because Lieutenant Jagan
didn’t have one.
Perhaps that was the biggest fear Mark held in his heart: turning into the tired
lieutenant that sat next to him. He would shine in one battle, flow through a dozen
captains and ships, and then be old enough to retire. That wasn’t what he wanted. He was
here to make a difference.
Behind them was the command chair, seating the admirable Captain James
Hannon. He was the most experienced officer when it came to fending off pirates. The
man rivaled Lieutenant Jagan in age, and had a service record ten times longer. Mark
sensed that the two were embarrassed to see each other on the same bridge.
“Subspace rupture, 6000 kilometers, port side. Heading 87, Mark 75!” Lieutenant
Jagan said. “Definitely a ship!”
Mark straightened immediately to attention. The radar spike was on his console as
well, a white blip labeled ‘BOGEY’. It was just inside the asteroid belt, accelerating
toward them at an astounding 6000 meters a second.
Captain Hannon stood up from his chair and strolled to the large tactical screen in
front of him. The white dot was magnified and pulsing. “Red alert! Seal bulkheads and
evacuate all unnecessary personal.” He turned toward Lieutenant Jagan. “Arm all
weapons. One Kronos Missile.”
Mark started to fell adrenaline. A Kronos missile was a tactical nuclear weapon.
How did the captain know this was a hostile? Did this bogey even have weapons?
The communications lieutenant panicked as well. “Sir, I’m not reading an IFF.
Should we hail them?”
Through the clear bridge window, the crew watched as the incoming ship dived
toward them, sides flaring with red. They were firing.
“There’s your answer lieutenant.” Captain Hannon growled. “Counter measures,
now! Wait for them to close the distance.”
Hundreds of red tipped missiles crossed the expanse, all diverted by counters the
Amatile was firing. Explosions bloomed into large fireballs between the two ships.

Mark could feel himself sweating. He typed furiously at his console, trying to
track the incoming ship, now traveling at missile speed. The distance between them was
closing fast. Mark turned to his left.
Lieutenant Jagan was also typing, passive as ever. His fingers were laced with
determination and caution, amazing clam and deliberate. It was clear that he had done
this before.
Jagan turned toward the captain. “They’re blitzing. 8000 meters per second and
closing. Collision in 15 seconds.”
“Fire the Kronos! Now!” The captain yelled.
The single missile from the Amatile flew toward the charging enemy. The nuke
flew half the distance, and then detonated prematurely, a bright light blossoming in the
view screen.
The Captain ran toward the operations console. “What happened?”
“Enemy is jamming! Targeting scrambled!” a lieutenant yelled.
The Captain yelled into the ship broadcast channel. “All hands, brace!”
Mark felt a sharp pain as his right arm slammed into the equipment in front of
him. His head hit the console, and he blacked out.

Get up.
Get up.
Get up. It’s not over yet.
Mark opened his eyes, seeing only blood splattered in front of him. His head
continued to bleed as a weary hand came up to touch the wound.
That’s going to leave a scar.
The console in front of him was cracked glass, the distorted image flickering
underneath. The two ships were now next to each other. The pirate ship had charged a
glancing blow, and was now attempting to board the Amatile.
Mark got up, only to realize that the artificial gravity had failed. He carelessly
flew upward, and slammed into the dead body of Lieutenant Jagan. The man’s head had
caved in, suffering from a direct impact to the bulkhead above.
All the main lights had blown out, and the dark red hue of the emergency neon
settled over everything. The bridge crew floated in grotesque positions, thrown free from
the collision. They drifted softly in the air, unconscious. Most were still bleeding, filling
the air with floating blobs of blood. It looked like an artist’s scene from a museum.
Don’t look. Don’t look.
The first officer and Captain Hannon were dead, bodies smashed into the tactical
screen. The cracked glass was still operating, illuminating the blood with eerie flickers of
green light. He stared at the screen for a full minute until he spotted the blip on the port
side of the triangular icon representing the Amatile.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic. You’re still alive. Remember the training.
The weightlessness carried Mark to the coms console, where the screen displayed
a communications transfer. He clicked and read, wiping blood from his eyes.


Mark transferred the ship’s command functions to his station. He opened the files
and started typing in the basic hex code to bypass the command password. His cold
fingers were slow and clumsy. He also typed in a short message on the ship’s log:

> Second Corporal Mark Myushin takes control of IFPS

Amatile. Command crew incapacitated. Will assume
responsibility for actions. Directive Alpha-Romero Six One.
Initiating Protocol 9, Section 7.

Mark looked around.

Nobody’s alive enough to protest.
The console in front of him turned free of its firewall, and accepted his code.
Directive AR61: “In the event of command crew incapacitation…”
He was in the control databanks now. The lower sections of the ship were still
active with crewmembers, all pinging the bridge for orders. He struggled to think.
The enemy was already pumping out the airlocks to board. The pirate ship’s close
cannon was aimed at the Amatile’s bridge.



Mark’s hands danced across the keyboard, directing the crewmen to evacuate the
boarding area to a safe distance. Next to the status manifest was a red beacon, beckoning
The CSC training kicked in, so now he had a plan. He hoped it would work. If it
didn’t, they’d be dead anyway. The stories they told at the academy made it clear that
pirates didn’t take prisoners. He made the calculations in his head and made sure that the
Amatile would not be blown in half by the explosion. He over pressurized all responding


IFPC Amatile > BRING IT.

He made sure the boarding area was evacuated, and then shut down all available
plasma conduits. Only three responded. It would have to be enough. If the explosion
wouldn’t kill them, the massive radiation dose would. The Geiger counter next to the
warning alert was already starting to rise, and there was no power available for radiation
Mark activated the spare Kronos nuclear missile that had been dislodged a deck
above the boarding airlock. The collision had thrown the missile from the launch bay,
lodging itself into a nearby bulkhead. The casing on the warhead had cracked open.
It was pure luck that the weapon had not prematurely detonated. It was fate that
the enemy had picked that exact spot to board the Amalite.
They haven’t picked up the radiation. Yet.

Mark made sure the area was completely evacuated, and then hit the activation
button. The display went blank for a moment, and then showed a command screen. The
nuke was armed.


Mark gripped his chair, and then pressed the “Y” button.
Both ships shuddered as metal fused and melted to hyper condense the atomic
core. Mark hung on. The bulkheads below began to buckle.
Both ships blew away from each other as the explosion severed the docking
connection. The pirate ship imploded from the inside as the heat from the weapon melted
the hull, digging into the decks, fusing men and metal together.
Both ships were now disabled.
The Amatile sheared in half, thrown toward the asteroid field as Mark struggled to
gain control. The floating crew on the bridge smashed into each other.
The front piece of the ship slowed, colliding into an asteroid three times its size.
Mark was dizzy again, almost delirious from vertigo. The console in front of him
was sticky with blood. He typed in one more message:

IFPC Amatile > BANG.

Mark’s immediate superiors were aghast after the incident. Although the enemy ship had
been destroyed, multiple sanctions against Mark were filed for the complete disregard for
standard operating procedures. Close detonation of a nuclear weapon was not regulation.

For one, he had not properly checked the status of the entire command crew of the ship.
Below decks, in the engineering section of the Amatile, Chief Engineer Oscar Mendez
had been the designated commander in the event, leading to an improper use of Directive

More complex was the question of why a pirate ship had suddenly appeared from inside
an asteroid field between systems. A follow-up investigation found a weapons
organization in the field, quickly dispersing after the incident. The Amatile’s flight path
had accidentally veered into a pirate cruiser.

In order to keep the matter classified and the public calm, the Invicta Office of Naval
Affairs dismissed the case against Myushin entirely, giving him a promotion and
reassigning him to permanent duty station on Yelchunka ODS (Telton System), as a
planetary defense armaments officer.

Never before had a confrontation with a pirate ship ended in an actual battle. Simple
exchanges of fire gave way to single salvos, and then one side would simply retreat out of
the system. No ships had ever been seriously damaged or destroyed.

The IFPC Amatile was listed as missing in action. A cleanup team was sent to scuttle all
remains of the ship, and the area was sealed off from all travel. The official report listed it
as: “Primary Systems loss due to asteroid collision.”

Relations were already tense between Federation Command and the public. They needed
to maintain the illusion of government control. They were barely holding on.

With all the surviving crew reassigned, and threats of information divulgence at court-
marshal, few were to dispute the command and authority of the Invicta Armed forces.

That is, until civil war broke out.

Planet Yelchunka, Telton System

Central Command Center, Orbital Defense Station
June 14th, 2277, 12:39PM - 06:13 (Orbital Shift)

The dust outside the nearby window would not settle, continuing to swirl in
random arcs, pulled by invisible strings into beautiful vectors. Such was the nature of ion
storms in the upper atmosphere of Yelchunka.
This was due to the planet’s surface anomalies, ranging from gravitational warps
to time dilation. Mark, once again, had to plug in the appropriate station coordinates so
that they wouldn’t fall out of sync with the time horizon. They were a full six minutes
The station shuddered as it responded to the new commands, turning counter
clockwise toward the local twin suns, Remus and Romulus.
They were two large egg shaped balls of fire, the gravitational pull of either star
pulling against each other. Both shined a bright hue, coating the system in an aura of blue
The junior officers around him were in a relaxed state of laziness. None of them
were seriously on task to worry, so the majority was half asleep. Most of them had been
transferred straight out of Luna academy on Terra, and had not adjusted properly to
Yelchunka’s 67 hour day. They were here to fulfill the experience prerequisite before
leaping onto their first deep space mission.
“In system jump detected.”
Mark went to the younger ensign’s ops console. He felt like he was on the
Amatile again. Bogeys still scared the hell out of him.
He pulled up the day schedule next to him. “Not on the schedule.”
A bright light appeared in-system, a flash that warped space around it. From it
emerged a large cruiser.
The 1000-meter ship accelerated toward the station with cannons charged,
lightening flowing from its cannons.
Mark looked at the radar screen. The friend or foe indicator read blank. The
computer classified it as an Minshara-Class battle cruiser .
The younger crew were alert now. The junior com officer turned to Mark.
“Should we hail them?”

Mark nodded, and stared at the clear glass screen in front of them. The ship
wasn’t leaking, showed no signs of battle damage, and wasn’t scheduled. Why would a
Minshara class battle cruiser come to Yelchunka? Hijacked by pirates?
But again, Mark’s sharp mind betrayed him.
Awww Shit.
The ship fired its cannons, lance blots of plasma that impacted the station with
full force. Everyone was knocked off their feet as the lights went out.
The familiar red hue of the emergency lights brought back bad memories.
Shit Shit Shit Shit. This is not happening to me.
The younger officers sat stunned, not knowing what to do. Mark jumped over his
console to the weapons station. “Open up fire, and polarize the station armor plates!”
The man failed to respond. Mark shook him.
“Any day now ensign! They don’t kill us in ten minutes, I’ll make sure you die in
the next ten seconds. Now, OPEN FIRE!”
The ensign nodded, sluggishly typing in the controls.
He turned toward the station crew. They were all staring at the main view screen,
waiting for death like mannequins.
“Get a message out to FleetCOM before they destroy our transceiver array.” Mark
talked louder now, adrenaline pumping through his veins. “Bring us into low orbit. We
need to make ourselves the smallest target possible.”
The crew snapped into action, furiously typing on their keyboards. They were just
coming out of the daze. “Sir, that’s one of our ships!”
“I know.”
Mark sat in the observer’s console, feeling like a captain now. He keyed in the
station mike as the firing ship pulsed on the holographic screen. “All hands, battle ready.
We are under attack! This is not a drill. Ready the Mass Accelerator.”
The station’s main defense was the Mass Accelerator Cannon, or MAC. He
understood now why the ship was attacking, why it was charging straight at them. They
had to take out their cannon before it was warmed up, which also meant that this was a
pre-emptive strike. A main force was right behind this cruiser.
“Distress sent!” The ensign turned towards Mark. “Estimated help in thirty
We’ll be dead in three.
The weapons ensign’s voice was filled with fear. “Coming in fast! MAC’s not
going to warm up in time!”
Mark looked at the screen. He tried to do the math in his head. “Intercept?”
“Point blank in twenty-two seconds. MAC charge at thirty one p’s.”
“Get us out of here. Follow Yelchunka’s orbit, and do not stop station movement
no matter what.”
The cannon’s power was based entirely on how much charge it had. Even at one
hundred percent charge, Mark wasn’t sure whether it would be enough to take out the
cruiser. He had to buy as much time as possible. They might not win, but they could slow
them down enough to prevent another pass.
The cruiser was tracking them, continuing its sustained fire. Hundreds of missiles
now streaked toward the station.
“Point-D online. Transferring to Manual.”

The defense crew on the manual point blank cannons started firing at the missiles.
Streaks of light met the smoke trails, causing some of them to explode. The station
shuddered as the guns recoiled.
The station was in the planet’s orbit now, traveling at nearly one-third the speed
of the cruiser. Several missiles smacked against the station.
A single cannon shot barely missed the bridge, impacting right above them. An
ensign screamed as they were thrown into the floor. The front view glass cracked.
Mark was bleeding now, stumbling to get onto a weapons console.
“Charge at seventy three percent!”
It would have to do. They wouldn’t survive another pass. Mark aimed the MAC at
the cruiser’s engines, and slammed down on the fire button.
The station flew back several hundred meters as it shuddered from the recoil. He
got up in time to see the shot impact the rear, a bright explosion tearing through the
cruiser’s engine. It went straight through, coming out the other side and continuing to
travel. The ship stalled as its lights flickered out.
“Scanning…” The man’s voice was shaken. “That shot took out their weapons
and engines.”
The barrage of fire stopped, and the station stabilized. The crew breathed a
collective sigh of relief.
After what seemed like an eternity of silence, the operations ensign turned. “Nice
shot, sir.”
Mark nodded. “Stay sharp. We’re not out of this yet.”
Something was terribly wrong. Beside the fact that an unidentified vessel had
opened fire on the defense station, Mark had a sinking feeling this battle was part of
something bigger.
He was right.

It is estimated that more than twenty eight-thousand died on the very first day of the war.
More than forty-eight divisions of the Invictan Fleet had defected, attacking various
strategic targets in systems throughout the Federation. With internal FleetCOM in chaos,
the defense of these targets was left to the local militia, many of whom were unprepared
for the sudden strike.

This first day is referred to as the “Traitor’s Blitz.” This is the origin behind the modern
Armed Services Remembrance Day, in honor of the many that died within the first
twenty-four hours.

After the initial stages of the defection, the remaining government forces reformed the
loyal fleets, reorganizing the command structure from scratch. The defecting forces did
the same, comprised mostly of military personnel and the populations of rebelling
planets. With forces scattered within systems, many died as allegiances came into
question. Planets unfortunate enough to have split populations delved into pure anarchy.

Defecting forces became known as the People’s Coalition, and the loyalist government
reorganized into the Invicta Federation of Planets.

With the opening stages of the war passing, Mark Myushin suddenly found himself at the
crux of the danger. With most of the experienced military leadership on the Coalition
side, Mark’s defense of Yelchunka distinguished him as an asset. He was immediately
given a promotion to First Commander, where he earned his first commission of service
as captain of the IBC Atlas, a seven-hundred ton battle cruiser. It was the same class of
ship as the one that had attacked the Yelchunka Orbital Station.

>To: Captain Ronald Myers

>From: First Commander Mark Myushin
>Sent: November 1, 2278

I never stopped thinking you of as my teacher. You taught me

everything I know about combat. About being a good soldier. If
anything, you taught me too well.

I am a soldier. Nothing more, nothing less. I will never support a

traitorous organization. It goes against everything you ever taught me.

Nobody wants this war. I’m just picking the side I started with to end
this as quickly as possible. They gave me command of the IBC Atlas. I
can’t leave now.

That doesn’t mean I don’t understand why you’re doing this. I urge you
to reconsider.

I will always be your student. Pray we never meet on the fields of



This tumultuous period was also when the Federation launched their first propaganda
program, created under the special intelligence branch called Section Delta. Their main
mission being to minimize rebellious mindsets, millions of credits were poured into
keeping the remaining population loyal.

Being one of the early “Heroes” of the war, Mark was an early focal point for Section
Delta, appearing in more than several dozen interviews. His name became popularized,
part of a specialized legion of soldiers who had stayed loyal to the Federation. Almost
overnight, Mark was thrown into the galactic spotlight.

It is through Section Delta’s interviews that we come to know who Mark was as a soldier
and as a person. However, the declassified attaches suggest he may have been reading off
a script:

Section Delta: Interview 097-C

Subject: Mark Myushin
Interviewer: CLASSIFIED
Date: December 1, 2279 (ICD Standard)

Please state general CSR for the record.

Lance Commander Mark Myushin, One hundred eighty-seventh

fleet, ninety-eighth battalion, second division, forty-
eighth section. Current Captain of IBC Atlas. (MID: 187-98-

Black Katanas?

That’s it. Everybody claims their fleet is the best, but

nobody’s seen what we have. They don’t hand out Legion of
Honor Citations for free.

You earned one for the 2nd defense of Tiberia didn’t you?

I did. Only three hundred and fifty two survived that

battle, and only that many ever received this ribbon. As of
two months ago, only sixty-one of those survivors were
still alive.

Tell me about that defense.

What’s there to tell? You know the story. The rest is just
spilled blood. Images of people dying, ships torn apart.
Everything you already know about the war is in the news.

Then are the rumors about the ICS Lexington true?

Yes. I saw it happen. Was engaged in combat at the time.

Goddamn heroes. Admiral Buckwell ran a kamikaze to save the
rest of the fleet. Self-destructed at point blank. He even
turned his ship horizontally so that the explosion debris
would shield us from enemy fire. It’s the bravest thing I
ever saw anyone do.

And how about you? What did you do in that battle?

My job. My duty. What else can you call it? I provided
flanking fire for the Federation Fleet.

You know what I’m referring to.

Yes, I personally took control of Dark Moon and Sword of



There were no other options. Both Captains were dead from

direct bridge shots, and both cruisers were still
operational. It would’ve been a tactical waste not to use
them. The crews were still alive. After the battle, they
took my advice not to build any command decks on a hull

And you used them to rout the enemy.

They contained the newest Mark 7 fusion energy reactors.

The shielding for the cores had fried from a nearby nuke,
and the reactor was about to go critical. All I did was
drive the ships into the enemy.

They died heroes.

Yes, they did.

Some claim you’re always in the right place in the right

time. A guardian angel that brings victory. What’s your
response to that?

I’d be a fool not to realize how extremely lucky I’ve been

in engaging the enemy. As for guardian angel, I’d never
want to claim that victory is assured. Yes, I have won
every battle I’ve been in, but never without tremendous

What do you continue to fight for? What drives you?

I want to bring peace to this shattered union. Most

importantly, I want to stop the endless waste of lives. If
I could kill myself right now to stop this war, I would.

Strong words from a strong man.

What more is a soldier?

It appears that Section Delta kept close tabs on Mark, making sure he was not seen by the
public in a bad light. As a hero and morale booster, his battle records were required study
for all graduating recruits at Luna Academy’s ship tactics class. Mark’s former schools
were all marked as historical places of interest by the Federation Council of Affairs.

There is little dispute that many people looked up to him for inspiration and hope in that
tumultuous period. No war of this magnitude had been fought before, and it seemed as if
Armageddon was truly at hand. People continued to die by the hundreds on a daily basis,
and there seemed to be no other option but continuous warfare to determine the victor.

The war was starting to take its toll on Mark, who began to exhibit signs of mental
instability. His new rank of First Admiral forced upon unimaginable stress. His
declassified files show multiple visits to psychiatric help, of increasing frequency as he
continued to rank up. Afraid of exposure and dissention in their most valued prize,
Section Delta scaled back their interviews and press appearances. Federation FleetCOM
could not afford to self-destruct one of their most valuable assets.

>To: First Admiral Mark Myushin

>From: Field Marshal Thomas Deryal

We both know there’s a reason for this. I refuse to believe they would
send the thirteenth fleet on a suicide mission to defend Ricaris System.

Did you see the casualty reports for that campaign? Cannon fodder. I
can’t even count that high.

You can’t join them in Valhalla. You know that. The people need you in
this war.

Don’t do this. There’s too much at stake. Don’t you remember why you
signed up?

There was little time for Mark to rest. The war grew larger every day, and his presence
was requested on the battlefront everywhere. He traveled light years, jumping from
system to system where his leadership was needed the most. Those under his rank were
turning to him for tactical advice, pinging him while he was asleep. And when he woke,
there would be another battle waiting for him.

It is unfathomable to most people what Mark had to endure in those tough times. Trapped
by his obligation of service and bound by his now wavering conviction to bring peace, it
is a wonder how he did not just quit and run, fleeing at the first opportunity.

But as time wore on, he found another reason to stay.

Tauran Orbital, Vega Nu System

Officer’s Club, Taurus Station
March 10th, 2283, 05:34AM

Mark was tired. Like most of the free time they gave him these days, it was spent
mostly sleeping or drinking. This time, he had chosen the alcohol.
The club was mostly empty, filled only by the one or two officers who had just
come off from the graveyard shift. They grabbed a quick beer from the bartender, and
then slinked away at a seat near the clear window, staring as a thousand ships moved
within the crisscross maze of docking platforms and resupply stations. It was a chaotic
flurry of movement, never stopping for a minute in the never ending cycle of activity that
was Taurus Station.
Mark had chosen to stay at the bar, keeping his head down to avoid being
recognized by anybody. He was tired of putting up the cheery façade everybody had
known him for on the videos. He didn’t know if they truly believed the nationalist
bullshit he was spewing, and for the moment, he really didn’t care.
At least Mark was glad they given him a glorious fifty hours to rest. He doubted it
was intentional. It was just another stopping point to wait for the flagship running late.
He had given them the usual speech, the one about being faithful to the
Federation, to continue fighting for the glorious victory at hand. They had, of course,
clapped and cheered him all the way down from the podium. Some even tried to break
the circle of body guards to get his autograph. He had given a few, and then shut himself
in the command suite, normally reserved for the station chief.
Mark had finally decided to emerge from his room, after a nice fifteen hour
slumber. He had taken a quick shower, read through the newest battle reports, drew up
some fleet instructions for the incompetent officers below him. He had picked the right
moment to stop and walk out, threatening the bodyguards at the door to leave him alone
for twenty minutes to grab a drink. He cursed the station chief for being a non-alcoholic,
or otherwise he would’ve never left the suite.
And so the First Admiral wasted away at the bar, finishing his third glass of
bourbon and starting on the forth. He was thankful that the bartender had left him alone
with his drinks. The young twenty-five year old behind the bar had sensed the weariness
in Mark’s eyes, and decided that he would help the admiral forget the war for a few
Mark scrolled through the confirmed reports from his last battle at Oneke. It was a
minor skirmish, but they had lost three ships to a single carrier. Mark’s old ship, Atlas,
had suffered heavy damage, but was seeing repairs on the other side of Taurus station.
He was glad that the Atlas had not been destroyed under the hands of the newly
promoted Captain Thoran. The old ship had survived sixty-two engagements, scattered

across fifteen systems. Captain Thoran had promised the newly promoted admiral he
would take care of the old girl, and he had kept his word.
Despite protests, Mark had been transferred to command the one eighty-seventh
flagship, Nobunaga. They had told him that a First Admiral needed a ship worthy of his
rank, one that could represent his prowess and skill. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the
Nobunaga, a ridiculously overpowered behemoth; it was that he had gotten close to the
Atlas. He had memorized every deck, every bulkhead, and every last bolt that held that
cruiser together. He could walk through that ship from bow to stern blindfolded.
But now, waiting for the Nobunaga to arrive meant he had to scroll through its
schematics and systems, beginning the familiarization process all over again. He hoped
that this ship would save more lives than the Atlas could. The numbers were burned into
his mind: 67,843 dead under his command, 134,892 wounded, 832 missing.
Mark’s silent contemplation was interrupted by another newcomer to the bar, a
woman about his age, wearing eight chevrons on her shoulder. Senior Commander Sarah
Tunkara. They had met once before from Section Delta’s dealings in public propaganda.
She was part of the “Legion of Heroes” that had been subjugated to endless interviews
and public appearances.
“Long time no see.”
Mark remembered her cheery voice, ghastly echoing his memories. If he didn’t
know any better, she could’ve had a career in music.
He nodded politely, pretending to be busy with the datapad in his hand. “Sarah.”
“Two years and all I get is a ‘Sarah’?” She motioned to the bartender. “I thought
we were closer than that.”
“It was one night.”
“One damn fun night.” She prowled. “Antres, grade five.”
The bartender nodded, beginning the mixing process for the amazingly difficult
drink. It was illegal anywhere but Taurus Station.
Mark finally looked up. “Make that two.”
“I thought you only drank bourbon. Clear and simple for you.”
Mark was too tired to be annoyed. “What are you doing here?”
She swiveled in her chair, crossing her legs, right over left. Her pant leg quickly
brushed against his.
“Rest and refit.” She looked at his datapad. “I heard you just got command of the
He clicked the pad off, watching the bartender make the drinks. “I heard you just
got command of the Carentan.”
“So you are keeping tabs on me.”
Mark put on his sarcastic voice. “How could I resist your beauty?”
She smiled as their drinks arrived. They clinked glasses together and downed
them in one smooth motion.
“You’ve had practice.”
Mark wiped his mouth. “It’s been a long two years.”
“I know.” She leaned in close, whispering softy into his ear. “How about you and
I catch up?”
Sarah suddenly pulled away, leaving her door card on the bar.
“God damnit Sarah.”

She smiled a devilish grin, and then walked out of the club.
Mark sat stunned for a moment, his fatigued mind trying to process all that had
just happened. He picked up the keycard on the bar.
And then he ran after her.

Almost nine months after they met again at Taurus Station, Sarah Tunkara and Mark
Myushin were married. In the eyes of Section Delta and FleetCOM, it was a perfect
match for their propaganda purposes, two heroes holding hands, walking off into the
sunset. Their marriage was highly publicized, televised live.

>To: Sarah Myushin

>From: Mark Myushin
>Sent: November 26, 2283

Guess it’s finally happened huh? You always told me that whoever
married me was a lucky person. Or as Dad would put it, a ‘lucky bitch’.
And he thought I couldn’t do it.

Honeymoon pictures attached. Wish you were here.


For Mark, it was a new chapter in his life. The visits to psych help became less frequent,
and his attitude stabilized. Almost immediately, his demeanor changed, and he was more
than happy to play his role as a puppet for Section Delta.

As the war continued, both sides inched closer to a breaking point. After being at conflict
for nearly six years, both sides were beginning to feel the effects. The People’s Coalition
faced severe command and supply problems, stemming from the defecting planets’
unsupported supply chain. For the Invicta Federation, it was severe economical and
morale problems. As planets were slowly drained of resources at ten times their intended
rate, FleetCOM knew they could not fight this war forever.

Desperate for a finishing blow, the People’s Coalition launched a last ditch offensive to
win the war, risking everything they had. They reformed their fleet to meet the enemy in
one last offensive.

The Invicta Federation poured trillions of credits into a new and promising technology;
one they hoped would cause the Coalition to surrender. This tech was the focal point for
FleetCOM’s Operation Daedalus. With time running out, they picked one person to test
out their new weapon.

Naturally, Mark came to save the day once again.

Jescayu, Tau Centaur System
Command Bridge, ICS Nobunaga
January 15th, 2284, 18:15PM

“Here they come!”

Mark took his seat in the Captain’s chair. “Show me.”
The holographic viewscreen morphed into a tactical display of the entire system,
showing two fleets facing one another.
The bridge of the Nobunaga was a hive of activity, nearly fifty crew running back
and forth between consoles to carry out orders. Even though they spoke with hushed
whispers, Mark could barely hear himself speak.
“Give me firing solutions for our fleet ships. I want them staggered to induce
reloading. Thirty second delay.”
“Yes sir.”
Outside, a hundred Coalition ships lined up against them, an odd mixture of
frigates, cruisers, battleships, corvettes, and flagships. They were all clustered into a tight
formation, a formidable wall of death and destruction. Some had half their hull plating
blown away, exposing the dull grey steel underneath. Others were leaking plasma, barely
held in place as thrusters tried to compensate.
On the other side stood only ten Federation ships: nine cruisers and, of course, the
Nobunaga. Even the Atlas was there, still commanded by Captain Thoran, now a senior
chief officer.
Mark was nervous. They were taking a large chance with the Daedalus weapon. If
it didn’t work, they would all die.
Commander Thoran came on the viewscreen. “Admiral. We’re ready.”
Mark shifted in his seat. “You know I can’t order you to do this.”
“Then don’t. We volunteered. I want to end this war today. We all do.”
“It’s pure suicide. At least abandon ship!”
Commander Thoran laughed. “Save some heroism for us, will ya?” His smile
faded. “We know what we’re doing. No regrets.”
“Then god speed. It’s been an honor.”
They both saluted, and then the video clicked off.
Mark turned to the weapons officer, the same one that had charged the MAC at
Yelchunka Orbital all those years ago.
“Is the weapon ready?”
“Loaded and ready to fire on your command.”
Mark stood up and clicked on the ship PA. “All hands, we are about to engage.
Battle stations and combat readiness. Stand ready.” He was about to shut off the channel,
but decided against it. If this didn’t work, he owed them one last speech.

You all know why we’re here. Today, of all days, we are given the opportunity
to end this war once and for all. We’re all tired. We’ve been fighting for a long

You’ve been with me since I commanded the Atlas. We’ve been through a
lot together since then. I’ve come to trust and depend on you all. I can only hope
that you think the same of me. This means trust me now when I say that we
may not live to see tomorrow.

If we don’t, I want you all to know what an honor it’s been to serve with
you. I’m humbled to have witnessed your courage under fire, your strength in
dark hours, and your skill in battle. I would die for any one of you.

So if we are to die, let us go as a single family, one that does not regret
our action. A family that does not waver in the face of death.

Good luck.

He clicked the channel off, watching as the bridge crew had frozen to listen to his
speech. They stared intently at him. Mark could only nod back as they returned to their
The bridge plummeted into a red glow as the emergency procedures came into
place. The bulkheads were sealed, every section pressurized, crew ready.
“Charge MAC full, heavy shell. Warm up two Kronos nukes and all missile
launchers. I want us battle ready in thirty seconds.”
The bridge lights temporarily dimmed as the reactor power was diverted to MAC
charge. The cannon that ran through the body of the ship hummed with energy. The
Nobunaga vibrated as a sixteen-ton heavy shell was loaded.
“They’re firing!”
Mark watched on the viewscreen as a hundred separate bolts launched from the
line of Coalition ships, followed by a barrage of a thousand missiles.
“Here we go.”
The Atlas on the right edge broke formation, turning toward the front of the fleet.
It started accelerating across.
“God in Heaven.”
The shells and missiles blazed through the empty space between the ships, the
blank expanse suddenly turning into a sea of fire. The shots were intercepted by the Atlas,
slowly being torn apart by the impacts. The lone cruiser did not fire back.
The Atlas pushed toward the front of the Federation fleet, punched back by the
fire of a hundred enemy ships. By the time the cruiser reached the other end, there was
nothing left. The Atlas was consumed in a ball of fire as it exploded into oblivion.
Mark watched as the ship faded from the view screen. He stood up to salute.
“Fire all weapons!”
The Nobunaga shuddered in response, firing its MAC and all its missiles. The
MAC shell impacted first, tearing through the lead carrier. The Federation side fired into
the fray, all accelerating forward to meet the enemy in a fatal charge.
Mark took manual control of the Daedalus weapon, aiming the missile toward the
local red sun Jescayu. He hoped it would work. It had to.
“Get us closer. Break pursuit.” Mark stopped to stare at the charred remains of the
Atlas. “Get us ready to jump out of here.”
They moved closer toward the sun, going up toward the northern axis.
“Coming in close. Outer hull is starting to melt!”
The remaining Federation ships were fully engaged, outnumbered one to ten.
They lagged slightly behind the Nobunaga.
Mark remembered everything that had brought him here. He could see it now, the
ceremony celebrating the return of peace. Honoring the deaths of millions.
“New Vega, Ursa Major, and Destiny Unkind are gone! Red Dawn disabled.
They’re going to kamikaze.”
The bridge crew stared at their Captain.
Mark’s hand shook as his finger hovered over the button.


He jammed the Y button. “Get us out of here!”

A single missile disappeared into the fusion surface of the sun as the Nobunaga
jumped into light-speed, leaving behind an immense trail of light.
The remaining Federation fleet warped out. They reappeared three seconds later,
the journey taking them to the outer edge of the system. From this distance, they could
still see the red sun as it blossomed to ten times its size. A second later, the sun exploded.
The crew held on as the supernova turned into a nuclear fury, shockwaves going
out in all directions. All the planets in the solar system were immediately crushed into
dust as they were hit by the wave. The surviving Federation fleet held on as their ships
shook violently.
By the time it had passed, the center of the explosion was already cooling to
darkness, a black hole forming where the sun had once been. Nothing remained.
The crew of the Nobunaga stared into darkness.

With the success of the Daedalus weapon, the war reached a critical point. Half of the
Coalition’s main fleet was completely wiped out from the supernova, rendering them
offensively crippled. From then on, the rebels could only fight on the defensive.

Never before had a manmade weapon caused so much damage, and the public opinion on
Mark Myushin began to split. One side praised him as a hero, one who had destroyed the
enemy, bringing victory on a silver platter. The other side accused Mark of being a cold-
blooded murderer, one who had massacred the Coalition fleet without proper warning.

Section Delta dared not risk brewing another civil war among the already discontent
civilian population. Mark was slowly pulled completely from the spotlight, becoming
nothing more than another news article to appease fans.

>To: Mark Myushin

>From: James Myushin

I’ve always taught you the best I could. We both know what I mean
when I say you never had a concrete chance to prove your morality to

I can’t pretend to be proud of you for murdering all those people. But
you’re still my son. And you’re a goddamn human being.

I would be one bad father if I didn’t respect your decisions as a person.

To be quite honest, I don’t know what to think of you anymore. On one

hand, they say I raised a murderer. Others say you’ve ended this war,
stopped the killing.

If that’s what it takes to end this war, would I do it?

Yes, I would.


The war was far from over, and Mark was continuously pulled into combat. However,
many senior generals now doubted his abilities as a commander. The destruction at
Jescayu had irreversibly scarred him, compounded with the criticism at home.

When the last person he relied on left, it was too much:

TO: Mark Myushin


Mark, if you’re reading this, it means that Sarah’s already left.

I’m sorry I found out too late.

She’s high in their corps. I didn’t believe it until I saw the reports
myself. She has a hard line link to top Coalition command. If the
reports are accurate, she’s top rank, joint chiefs.

We don’t know her real name, but we know she worked black ops for
Section 7 before defection day. For the past eight years, she’s worked
her way up until she was People’s Coalition Grand Admiral, and First
Commander in the Federation fleet.

However, she didn’t know about Daedalus before it happened. That’s

why she left. She knew FleetCOM was getting close to tracking her,

and her failure with outing Operation Daedalus means she lost her
position in the Coalition.

Do you understand what I’m saying? She left to protect you.

If it were up to FleetCOM, they would never tell you any of this. They
can’t afford to be embarrassed if this ever went public.

I thought that after what you did, you deserve to know. It’s the least I
could do.

I don’t know if you knew her motivations, but I’d never believe you
would be stupid enough to get involved in this deliberately.

She’s played you, Mark. All this time. Why do you think this war has
lasted so long?

Attached to this document is everything FleetCOM has on her in the

dump file.

Once you’re finished, destroy this document with the encoded worm.
We will both die if this ever gets out.

Find her. Save her.

For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.


The message was never completely erased. Having served his purpose as a puppet of
death regarding the Daedalus program, Mark must have feared his impending death by
FleetCOM when they found the existence of the letter.

With no other option of escape from FleetCOM agents, Mark immediately ordered the
Nobunaga and its crew to the nearest developing battle. He knew that the crew would
defend him against any accusations, and therefore put themselves in jeopardy. In order to
save himself and his crew, they had to go through one last fight.

With Coalition forces beginning to surrender in droves, the war was coming to a close.
Peace was starting to settle through most systems, and subsequent conflicts were small
scale and decisively won by the Invicta Federation. However, the war only truly ended at
the Last Battle of Tiberia.

Mark Myushin was going to visit his home planet one last time.

Tiberia, Tiberian System
Command Bridge, ICS Nobunaga
May 8th, 2285, 01:19AM

Mark had the numbers in his head. Burned into his memory eternally for the rest
of his life, which was about to end soon.
79,157 dead under his command, 158,922 wounded, 1,779 missing. He was about
to add the crew of the Nobunaga to the list, 842 more. That wasn’t counting the ships
gathered under his command in orbit.
He touched the smooth, hard, stainless steel of the armchair on his command
chair. He was going to miss the contours of the Nobunaga.
“Sir? They’ve arrived.”
“Show me.”
The remaining pieces of the Coalition fleet appeared before him, a ragtag group of
fifty ships. With most of their flagships gone, there were only carriers and battleships
here. Still, it wasn’t going to be an easy fight.
“You all know the drill. Warm us up.”
The Nobunaga shook for the last time, humming as its capacitors charged the
MAC. Missiles were loaded into their tubes, nukes armed, and the familiar red glow
came on over the bridge.
Mark was calm. Unreasonably calm. If this worked, they would be saved. But it
was still a long shot. He chimed the chief engineer.
“Chief, are those armor shield plates ready? We don’t have a lot of time left.”
“Almost done. I need ten minutes.”
“You’ve got three.”
Mark clicked on the PA. “All hands, self-det active. Three minutes.”
He looked at the enemy line, weapons ready to fire. They were out of time. He
looked at his bridge crew.
“Activating self-destruct sequence. Get a move on.”
They silently piled out, stepping out into the elevators to go to engineering. They
would join the rest of the crew.
The timer on the main screen started to tick down from three minutes, slowly
going down. Mark moved down into the weapons console. He was taken back to his time
on the Amatile, touching the scar on his forehead.
He kept an eye on the enemy fleet, still moving toward the planet in formation. It
was about to start.
The bridge was eerily silent, and Mark found himself alone.

Thirteen years. Thirteen years since Amatile. You’ve devoted your adult life to
fighting this war. You’ve killed a million people. You’ve single handedly won this war.
But it’s not good enough.

The Coalition fleet was in position now, cannons beginning to fire. Mark
responded in kind, feeling the ship vibrate under his feet.

He barely felt a thump as the Nobunaga took direct hits from the enemy. Damage
klaxons blared.
All around them, other Federation ships started to fire, supporting their hero ship
in arms. Many began to flank, leaving the Nobunaga all by itself in the middle.
Mark didn’t mind. He had given them orders. He pushed the throttle on full,
accelerating into the barrage of cannons and missiles. The front armor started to buckle as
the ship began to take heavy damage.
Mark sat back down in his Captain’s chair, staring at the countdown on the
screen. There were two minutes left, and the Nobunaga was only three thousand meters
from the Coalition line.
He took out the picture of Sarah, along with a flask of Antres. He had been saving
it for victory day, which he would spend with Sarah. He had promised her that much.
He sipped it slowly, savoring the flavor. He lied at that bar. He hated bourbon. He
was such a sentimentalist.
He laughed at himself now, glad that it was finally over.
Mark looked at his bridge one last time.

The official record for Mark Myushin states that he died May 8th, 2285, at 01:25AM
when the ICS Nobunaga self destructed in orbit over Tiberia. The resulting explosion
wiped out the Coalition line center, incapacitating any survivors.

With the complete loss of their forces, Supreme Coalition commanders officially
surrendered to Federation forces on May 9th, 2285, at 12:01PM, thus ending the Invictan
Civil War.

More than 103 million people had died in the eight year war spanning 167 systems and
113 planets. More energy was expended in this war than all previous conflicts combined
and multiplied by six.

The official ‘cleanup crew’ for this last battle was led by the cruiser IFS Venture two
days after the battle on May 10th, where a preliminary search for survivors proved
inconclusive. However, there was a curious discovery logged on the ship’s official report:

>IFS Venture
>Cleanup Battle After Report (log)
>May 10th, 2285

>logged 15:41PM

> Found debris at approx 18.89 X, 1376.9 Y, 182.2 Z, with residual

heat signature suggesting human life passed approx 48 hours ago.
Analysis proves it is triple reinforced hull plating stern section 1015
from ICS Nobunaga. Traces of wake trail present. Curious deflection
properties noted. See attached files.

>logged 23:14PM

> Trace wake trail inconclusive. Leads out of system at trajectory

167.25 X, Mark 78.6. Recommend pursuit when possible.


The pursuit never happened, as all available ships in the sector were pulled to patrol and
chase down any Coalition stragglers who might have refused to accept surrender.

As such, there are many assumptions that can be drawn about the supposed death of Mark
Myushin. There is enough evidence to support the hypothesis that he might have survived
the Last Battle of Tiberia.

How might he have survived? There are a multitude of theories that I can formulate for
his survival, even if the odds are low.

The more pressing question to ask is what he might have done had he survived and for
what reason. I’d like to think that he survived to find Sarah, and that they grew old and
died together.

In the long run, it doesn’t matter what you and I think happened to him. There’s a lot we
still don’t know about the legend. Most of the stories you and I know of him are
fragmented accounts pieced together by what remained of Section Delta after the war.

The stories of his heroism and his personal sacrifices are just a few things that we can
imagine about him in our minds. What we think happened is probably more truthful than
the propaganda reports dare to claim.

It’s easy for me to admit that I am a giddy schoolboy when it comes to reading about
Mark Myushin. When I first came across him in my youth, he was a dashing hero, the
man who had single-handedly ended the Invictan Civil War and preserved the Federation
as we know it today.

That’s what compelled me to install a document scrambler. Nobody else but you and I
will ever read this.

Why do I do this? I want to preserve the image he is perceived as in the school textbooks,
no matter how false it may be.

We are talking about the man who redefined spatial ship combat, preserved the
Federation, and created the most important aspect needed in war: Hope.

As I stand at the Federation Civil War Memorial, staring at his statue in the Legion of
Heroes exhibit, I am reminded by the simple fact that some things are better left alone. As
this all happened more than 250 years ago, I shall do nothing to change the image he

I believe he’s earned that much.

<Message Ends>

<Message End>

<Scrambler Process Enabled…Erasing>


<Press ENTER to continue>

<Attached Document 387-1>

>Subject: “Gravestone”

>I’ve been able to piece together what seems to be his

digital gravestone. It was a miracle that I was able to
salvage anything at all.

Mark Myushin
Born: 3-23-2248
Died: Unkown

For I am the soldier who dares not stand,

On the precipice of truth and light,
Who would not appease anybody but one,
The reaper of death at first delight.

I fought for many, for one, for none,
Soaring into battle without fear,
I understand what I hope others will never,
And see not what I saw or hear.

I gave so much of myself,

Asking for little or nothing in return,
This was the path I chose in ultimate destiny,
This is what fate from me earned.

I lend my hand to the gods that cry for me,

As a blessed creation that knows no more,
Of infinite pain and heroic sorrow,
That shakes and upends the human core.

For they do not follow my stride,

Know not what I speak to mean,
Of punctuated riddles and tales,
I tell only to those I deem.

I stare to you and my peers above,

My idols who did not want this from me,
Who did not believe in my true cause,
And could not understand what I had achieved.

For little words can describe what I tell to you,

Of a cautionary tale for ages to come,
For those younger who will not heed peace,
Who did not from violence run.

You may tell them my deeds of horror and death,

Disguised as tools to achieve peace,
Making black from white,
To make war forever cease.

So I know as a soldier I have earned my heaven,

Birthed in modesty and repentance for sin,
And you may tell the gods my story,
Of how I gave my life to win.

I lay before you to rest forever,

For my time is now done,
To be reborn a beautiful creation,

To never harm forever none.