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Project Freelancer is a piece of my history. And no matter how hard I scrub at it, or try to chip it away, it’s still there. It’s under my skin, and in my veins- even right down to my bones, you can find it. I know that now. I've had to fight for everything. I've had to fight to be the best. I've had to fight for better. I had to fight for peace, not just for Chorus but for myself. And I earned it. My friends... they helped me earn peace. My friends.
"I.. don't... want to... die," I find myself confessing to Wash.
For the first time, I can't fight. My strength became my weakness. I can't fight for my peace. I can't fight for better. I can't even fight for my life. And I want to have faith in my friends, that the Reds and Blues will do what they do best, that they'll somehow find us here, faithfully waiting. But a putrid feeling in my gut, one as putrid as the stench in the room, tells me my luck has run out. This is where I meet my end.
I used to throw myself at danger, I didn't care about dying I cared about being the best and nothing short of it. My life was the project. I never considered what happened next or where I would be years later. I never knew I would have friendships that were strong enough to inspire trust- genuine, trust. I didn't know there could be friendships or that trust meant more than just being on a team and doing what was expected.
"They.. will.. come," Wash answers, but I think he sounds like he's trying to convince himself more than he's trying to comfort me. "We can.. count on.. them." I think he's right about that. I think we can count on them. More than our squad in the project, the Reds and Blues have proven themselves to me time and time again. They've known Wash longer, his faith must be even stronger than mine- even now when he sounds full of doubt. Does he actually doubt them? Is he just trying to keep his hopes from climbing too high?
If we are stuck here until our last breath, I don't think I want to die disappointed in my friends. Maybe Wash has had the same consideration.
My chest begins to hurt so bad I wonder if my heart is giving out. Tears roll down my cheeks and it just makes me mad. Why do I have to cry? Fear, I tell myself. Fear makes my head pound and my tongue feel so swollen in my mouth I want to spit it out. A pressure builds in my sinuses as the tears continue and my throat is so tight it's a miracle I can even still breathe. I've begun to hold my breath just to keep the fear from overwhelming me, but it only gives me away.
"Are you crying... Carolina?"
I refuse to answer him. We're dying and I choose to try and preserve a dignity I no longer have.
In an attempt to calm down I let my mind wonder. I think about Grif. I'm glad for him. I spent my life fighting for the attention of a man who forgot I was his daughter, at least that's how it seems to me. I've since forgiven him. But Grif did something I couldn't have ever dreamed of doing. He quit. How much did he give? Grif decided what was best for him and he left. Now, I can't help but think he's the only one that will survive this. I don't know what Temple has planned, but I hope I'm wrong. I hope the others, at the very least, get out too. I wonder.. if I had been strong enough, like Grif, would my friends even be in this mess? If I left Freelancer when things stopped adding up, would I be better off?
"We.. can count on.. them.." Wash says again. He's desperate, I think to myself. He's desperate and clinging to what hope he can find.
I keep going back to our moon, because I was uncomfortable and I was stressed by my lack of stress, because I was a lot like Grif is now. I was done. Free.
I had everything I could ever want right there.
At the time I couldn’t have known.
How could I have?
I'm locked in.
Four days left.