Wayne Nixon returned to his normal duties. No award or recognition was given for sounding the warning of attack on La Longi.
Such is the life of a watchman.
It was time for roll call. The Captain gave a briefing and dismissed the shift.
It was an uneventful dreary day for Wayne. He shuffled his feet and plodded along. Days of resisting an overthrow and the prolonged and heightened adrenaline had reached its peak.
He was on a downward slope. It would be a few days before he bounced back. It had happened before and would happen again.
Wayne had seen other watchmen turn to drinking because they could not cope with the stress. Some of them had even taken their own lives.
A soldier has his companions to lean on. A watchman is ever solitary even among friends.
To have a partner on patrol was a luxury. It was an avenue to discuss disturbing events and blow off steam.
Wistfully, he thought of Violet. She was beautiful to him. Oh, he knew her face was disfigured, but she had such a sweet disposition. He chose from the moment he met her to ignore it.
He failed her.
He had fished her out of a river only to have her taken away by minions. Now she was gone.
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