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DMZ

Diary of a Prostitute

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DMZ    0

Here I sit once again, at a campfire in the middle of the woods, watching the flames surge before me. It's raining outside, but that is of little concern to me, as the large tree above provides ample shelter.

My muscles are tense, but it's a good kind of tense, the kind you get from doing what you're good at. I walked many kilometers today, my clothes are a tad torn from the claws that were gripping into me all day, but I live. I am still alive.

I watch the campfire, mesmerized by the yellow, red, blue and green tints it seems to be getting whenever I blink. A few drops fall into the fire from above, hissing violently before dying out. I reach over and turn the branch a bit, to allow the meat to sear evenly. On the branch are four crudely cut goat steaks, with forest onions sizzling in between and a few herbs that I know are not poisonous.

A low growl barely penetrates the sound of the rain and the fire, but penetrates nonetheless. I turn my head and watch it trip over a rock and fall onto a wooden cross, driving the wood clean through its head. The growling abruptly stops. Good, one less to deal with.

I know I am out of loose rounds when I feel my hand grasping nothing but air and dirt in my front pocket. With a satisfied smile I close the pocket and check the amount of rounds in the magazine. 15. I ran out of rounds just as I loaded the last one. This happens a lot recently, and I always find some loose rounds in every new piece of clothing I come across. It's strange, but I do not complain, as it keeps me supplied and firing.

The glance of something high draws my eye. The golden pattern on top of the small tower glistens wetly and shines like never before. I see the rain running down the sides of the building, dripping inside where the roof is missing(a lot of places). The faint sounds of flies in the distance, buzzing around the open mass graves, are barely noticeable, but still there for anyone to listen. One of the crosses has a piece of cloth on it, flapping weakly in the rain. An old emblem can be seen on it, the top half of it long gone. A bird amongst wings, and next to it, another cross, another emblem of similar make, with a skull and wings. Whoever these people were, this was their home, their sanctuary.

Entering this area, I felt a great respect for the quiet of the place. After causing a few 'accidents' the place finally went really quiet, but it never is silent. If the stones would speak, stories would be told, I imagine. I found this old sign in the corner, a stop sign next to a pistol, and reinstated it into its rightful place. I respected the sign, moving through the area with weapons on safety and holstered. The knife serves just as well to stop those guttural screams, as evidenced by the half a dozen bodies on the floor with broken skulls.

Across the campfire, the sounds of munching are getting louder as Rabbit devours one of the steaks. A young girl, and inexperienced in many a ways, but already living and working in this adult and forsaken world. We spent the better part of the last two hours running, sneaking, firing and planting blades in skulls. She's still alive, if a little beaten up. I took care of her wounds best I could, and she took care of the few I had. I don't know her real name, as Rabbit isn't the real name, but I don't inquire further to find out. She's going to sleep in a minute, I'll be keeping watch and leaving.

Leaving to work. My employer was quite clear on his wishes, and I follow them carefully. It still leaves me a lot of freedom. Working with drug cartels, stalking other mercenaries, making new friends and trying to avoid making enemies. It's all in the job description. So is death, but so far, it hasn't come for me. And here, I feel safe.

Earning the trust of the cartel was easy enough, and their leader now appoints me for meetings and is giving me harder jobs to do. I don't feel much for this family, just doing the job and earning their trust in any way necessary. Meeting other groups went smooth enough, but that has always been easy for an infiltrator. Change clothes, voice and manners and voila, a new person.

Back in the old world, they called people like us 'Ghosts', 'Creeps', 'Traitors' and everything else they could think of. But we're always needed, and are impossible to fully exterminate. We have no face, no nationality, no family, friends or lovers. This new name I have serves me well. It's both a relief and a burden to have to consciously remember who you are, even if you're nowhere near being the master of disguise like some are. Rabbit will wake up to find me gone, and will likely meet me somewhere else not having a clue as to who I am. Or maybe she'll notice. I still need to work on my voices and accents, a task made that much harder by the lack of a proper teacher. I'll get there in time.

The fire out cold and Rabbit still sleeping nearby, I cover her up a bit with some leaves, dirt and some guts to keep them away, and I walk away. The night is dark, and full of terrors. But then again, what could scare a Ghost?

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Holy shit, this is really good.

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Sidewinder    1

It's a good read but why is it titled "Diary of a prostitute"? Apart from "Rabbit" there is no real reason for it to be named that?

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DMZ    0

It's a good read but why is it titled "Diary of a prostitute"? Apart from "Rabbit" there is no real reason for it to be named that?

I'm roleplaying a mercenary, a gun for hire. AKA whore, aka prostitute.

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Sidewinder    1

It's a good read but why is it titled "Diary of a prostitute"? Apart from "Rabbit" there is no real reason for it to be named that?

I'm roleplaying a mercenary, a gun for hire. AKA whore, aka prostitute.

So you sell yourself for sex as well? I'm pretty sure those phrases don't fit well for mercs.

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Soren    0

Join Morgan Riggs and "The Raven Shield Prostitutes".

I got to agree with Sidewinder here. There is a huge difference between a mercenary and a prostitute. Very big difference. Enormous difference.

Cool story though.

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DMZ    0

Join Morgan Riggs and "The Raven Shield Prostitutes".

I got to agree with Sidewinder here. There is a huge difference between a mercenary and a prostitute. Very big difference. Enormous difference.

Cool story though.

Riggs is gone, remember?

It's a specific thing I picked for a specific reason.

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Soren    0

Join Morgan Riggs and "The Raven Shield Prostitutes".

I got to agree with Sidewinder here. There is a huge difference between a mercenary and a prostitute. Very big difference. Enormous difference.

Cool story though.

Riggs is gone, remember?

I think you misunderstood the joke. Whatever.

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ERRYBODY LERV PROSTERTUTES

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kladetto    0

As soon as I saw the title of the thread I knew it was you. Haha. I like it dude, keep it up. I can't wait to read some more.

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DMZ    0

It's a good read but why is it titled "Diary of a prostitute"? Apart from "Rabbit" there is no real reason for it to be named that?

I'm roleplaying a mercenary, a gun for hire. AKA whore, aka prostitute.

So you sell yourself for sex as well? I'm pretty sure those phrases don't fit well for mercs.

You haven't heard people in Baghdad when asked of their opinion on mercs, huh?

Join Morgan Riggs and "The Raven Shield Prostitutes".

I got to agree with Sidewinder here. There is a huge difference between a mercenary and a prostitute. Very big difference. Enormous difference.

Cool story though.

Riggs is gone, remember?

I think you misunderstood the joke. Whatever.

I'd love to join the RSP, but alas, Morgan isn't around to run the brothel.

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Masulii    24

Wow...like, after I read this, I somehow know about your character OOC but you know, me and you, mercenaries, are pretty good, I would say, friends. I really like this :) Respect!

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DMZ    0

Disappointed by lack of prostitutes, was a nice read though.

Note to self: more prostitutes next time.

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Sidewinder    1

I'm roleplaying a mercenary, a gun for hire. AKA whore, aka prostitute.

So you sell yourself for sex as well? I'm pretty sure those phrases don't fit well for mercs.

You haven't heard people in Baghdad when asked of their opinion on mercs, huh?

Riggs is gone, remember?

I think you misunderstood the joke. Whatever.

I'd love to join the RSP, but alas, Morgan isn't around to run the brothel.

No... I haven't. I'm pretty sure most people haven't stuck around in Baghdad and asked them about mercs... Huh.

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DMZ    0

So you sell yourself for sex as well? I'm pretty sure those phrases don't fit well for mercs.

You haven't heard people in Baghdad when asked of their opinion on mercs, huh?

I think you misunderstood the joke. Whatever.

I'd love to join the RSP, but alas, Morgan isn't around to run the brothel.

No... I haven't. I'm pretty sure most people haven't stuck around in Baghdad and asked them about mercs... Huh.

There was an interview a loooong while ago on how the natives in Baghdad felt with the presence of the many mercenaries in the city. A few people clearly mentioned the following:

'These intruders are just sellouts, whores, prostitutes who have no morals of their own, so they come to our land to fight for money.'

I thought it'd be interesting if I used that, as my character backstory has him all over the place, Irak and Iran amongst them.

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SatansNightOut    105

Very well-written.

Makes me want to step up my writing game. :D

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Eluxa    0

Well done man! Your attention to detail really makes the immersion quite easy. Doesn't take a lot of imagination to draw a mental picture of the surroundings that the characters are in.

+5

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DMZ    0

The old ashes are still here, days after I last was sitting right next to them. They are damp. There is a cool wind blowing through the fields and the quiet rustling of leaves of the great tree above me is working wonders to give this place a calm, serene feel. I prod the campfire, cleaning out the old ashes and replacing them with some new firewood I got from a nearby forest. A few tries with the whetstone and I get enough sparks to start a new fire, and it crackles and moves like a happy child. The grass around it gets an orange tint, slowly fading back into dark and bright green the further away you look. A few leaves fall down onto the fire, melting away in the hissing flame.

The old building is still as dead and barren as it always was, and the wind doesn't help much to alleviate that, despite causing almost howling when it rushes through the many cracks and nooks inside. They have returned though, minus the five I took out on the way in. No firearms, gotta remember that. Does give me a nice amount of practice with cold weaponry, and the 'thumps' are somewhat satisfying, even.

The patches on the crosses are now on the ground, wet and slightly shriveled. I hang them on their places again and pay my respects. War or no war, a mercenary always pays respect to fellow fallen brothers or sisters of the trade. No matter what the outside world calls a hired gun, and they call us many names, we are still brothers and sisters by trade, even if not everyone respects this unwritten, untaught code.

I take off the now slightly dirty white coat and clean off the worst of the dirt and blood on it. Today was a rather strange day, even for me. The half broken glasses I found somewhere follow the coat as I stash it away into my backpack and pull out a different set of clothing. As I stretch a bit to relax my body from the recent tension, the scars on my body pull and twist noticeably, reminding me that they are still here, still the marks of a past, and sometimes current, life.

Even when I sigh and sit back down, grabbing my shirt, I find that my voice is still stuck in the routine I did for the past day or so. I need to work on my accents and voices more, as I am not quite convincing enough. People don't shoot doctors, as I have noticed today, but people get suspicious if the doctor in question sounds like someone else they met recently. I'll need a new identity, a new voice, and new manners soon enough.

Doctor Mula is now gone, and Daymar has returned. I paint my face with the same camouflage that I always do and put on a uniform and the traditional black cap. The next fifteen minutes are spent in silence as I mull over the current events and what has happened.

The weapon supply drop was just as promised, a silenced AK74 with full outfitting and enough magazines to take out a small army. Along with the drop came a piece of paper with the faint smell of fragrance on it. Her words brought a smile to my face, as always. It's good to know she's still alive out there, and being taken care of.

It's time to go, to find some new clothes, to find myself a new identity, and a new weapon. A ghost isn't bound to a single shape or appearance, and the only thing binding me is my face. And faces can also be changed or hidden.

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DMZ    0

Good read! waiting for more :))

Props for the roleplay at Prud btw. Skinner came back quite angry xD

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DMZ    0

It feels odd, almost as if I were back home. The same, familiar roads, bathed in the headlights of the jeep, the same houses quietly watching me as I drive by. I can almost imagine driving up the same driveway, the same house, every day, to meet the wife and kids. Except they are not there. The driveway isn't there. The house isn't there. All that's left is a memory.

Chernarus is empty lately. The last living soul I saw was days ago, and that was for a delivery that DAI had to make. Since then, I've been driving around without much of a goal, picking up shipments of weapons and vehicles. My only company is the quiet revving of the engine, the leather seats, and the many gas stations that somehow still have fuel after all these years.

Every once in a while I come across helicopter wrecks that I swear weren't there before, but unlike some earlier ones, these have nothing. No survivors, no weapons, not even the walking targets. Even the big cities on the coast are devoid of zeds these days. Chernarus is dying, and I am not sure if that's my eyes getting older, or just the way this place is.

Having your own company isn't all that some people laud it to be. Right now, we're still basically a two man operation, but our contacts off shore are paying off quite handsomely. Now to expand our clientele a bit and grow a bit, and we might just become the biggest shadow in Chernarus.

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