I get asked a lot what does it feel like to kill someone, and my answer never changes, I don’t know how I'm supposed to feel. I always say I was specially conditioned, so I decided to elaborate on that while including a life story. When I was 7 years old was the first time I was forced to take someone's life. My heart shattered into little pieces that day, while I cried everyone thought because my family was rich they would just hire therapists and I be fine. I hated those people and to this day I still do. They were far from right, I was anything but fine. My mom and dad where never around, even after this happened making money was still more important to them. A few months later after everything settled down I had just turned 8 and began to train with a handgun, it was a P99.,I also got a personal tutor to learn learn Filipino Kali from. I would practice all day, in the heat, in the pouring rain everyday getting better and growing progressively more sociopolitical. I decided back then that I would never be that scared or weak again, because if life was to be hell, then I would become the devil. For the next 10 years I trained on several different weapons systems, one of the perks of being the adopted son of a security contracting firm owner. To this day the total number is over 90 different firearms including assault rifles, shotguns,, light machine guns, sidearms(pistols), sniper rifles, and sub-machine guns.
As far as school went I had a personal tutor and by the 9th grade I was taking mathematical and biological physics the highest forms of math and science available in high school. Both were necessary to improve my probability and angle of impact while practicing with the sniper rifles. So by the 10th grade I had nothing left to learn and was awarded a diploma. Friends was a bit of a subject to, my only friends where the kids I grew up with in my neighborhood including shimuzaki. The other kids from my old school were afraid of me ever since I killed the guy. So my life long friends were the only friends I had.
When I turned 18 I signed up for the US army, I made it in no problem after all I spent the past 10 years training for special forces. It was easy to get through basic getting through ranger school was challenging, but it was not my main goal, I trained for those years with some of the guys at the company who were ex-SFOD-DELTA operators. That's what I wanted to be, I was a little disappointed when I found out you had to 22 to even get into delta selection. But the rangers are still special forces, I was still special forces. I don't regret for even a minute joining at 18 and becoming a ranger, even though it meant I couldn't even try out for delta for another 3 ½ years. I loved my job, it was the first thing I truly did love besides my uncle and aunt who adopted me. No sooner that graduating ranger school I was put into Task Force Green, in the hunt for Abu Musab Al-Zarqawi the leader of Al-Qaeda in Iraq and more of a threat to the stabilization of Iraq than Bin Laden himself. War was different from life, it was supposed to be hell, and for once everything made sense. I wasn't scared, I was thrilled, knowing that every door I went through could be rigged with an improvised explosive or have an armed insurgent behind it. I didn't want to die per say. I wanted to snatch victory from the jaws of death. That is why I volunteered for all suicide missions, I was fascinated with death. I was filled with so much anger and sorrow I didn't care whether I lived or died. The presence of eminent death filled me with clarity and purpose.
It got worse on a future mission, where I was captured trying to rescue some pow's, long story short since I already made a post long ago, I was interrogated, tortured, and they wanted to put me one of their home videos where they give me a new smile in my neck at the end after I “warn” the US to leave. Maybe they should have done their homework, rangers never leave a man behind. Their hospitality was dually noted, and I gave them some of my own by killing almost half of them starting with the interrogator, one because he cut my face up like a thanksgiving turkey, and second he was carrying my sidearm and entrenching tool as a way of taunting me. After that I woke up in the hospital with a new face, since they had to remove my old one. I took that room apart when I found out a few days later, no one told me because they knew how I was going to react and they were right, I was pissed. I felt like someone stole my identity, all the damage I did to the room and equipment came up to like 75,000 dollars. The last thing I did, I smashed my head against the mirror to break it, then I started bleeding from my face, and I calmed way down, because as long as I could bleed I could still fight. Calmed down may be a stretch I stopped destroying the room, but I was bad to begin with, after that I got a lot worse. I have to give credit where credit is do, Al-Qaeda shown me what I thought I knew already, but this was not the case. I thought I knew pain, and how to torture someone, they showed me the proper way to do it, and re-defined the meaning of the word pain for me. I've been returning the favor ever since.
Then they day came that I got the mission that changed my life forever, we were to bring down a suspected prostitution ring. If you read the post I made when I first got back on you know what happened. When I went into that room and saw her sitting on the bed with that soldier in the room I lost it, I threw him out of the room and just started hitting him in the face over and over. I remember shattering is face and is bone that shaped his nostrils broke through the skin and stabbed me in the hand when I swung, but I didn't care I just kept swinging, for once in the little over 3 years I was in the army I shown some emotion, and it was rage. She was scared, scared of what was going to happen scared like me 14 years ago when I had shoot that man trying to rob me and my brother. The look of fear on her face pushed me over the edge. I was taken off the mission, so I took the girl, since I was the only one who spoke Chinese on the team. I found out that her parents were killed by gangsters because of her dad's gambling problems,and she was going to be sold as a slave. I had my uncle help me go through the legal channels to adopt her and make her a US citizen. Since I was still on active duty.
A year later my dream was a reality, I went through delta selection and passed I was teir 1 finally the highest grade of special forces, black ops. This cut greatly into my personal life, A few months later I was talking to Mei and told her I was sorry for not being there for her birthday she smiled and said it was ok. But it was the hardest thing Ive ever endured here smile was a mask for her pain, just like mine for all those years, a fake smile to hide a broken heart. I hugged her and told her I was sorry for not being the best dad in the world. She looked at me crying and said she didn't want the best daddy in the world, she just wanted me to be her daddy. And for the first time I was crying to the armor I made was shattered by her. I didn't need to shield myself all I needed was her to be happy.
Of course I didn't learn anything, after all I am a crazy idiot XD. I was on another operation we were infiltrating from a helicopter to carry out a kill or capture order on a ranking member of Al-Qaeda. When something that was just unbelievable bad luck happened, while I was fast roping to the ground, a sentry started his patrol and spotted us. I was a little over half way down when the helo to evasive action to dodge rpg fire. I fell almost 35 feet straight down and fractured 6 of my thoracic vertebral columns in my spine, of course the fall would have killed if I was just regular strength, but I was army strong biotches lol, but seriously my body armor saved my life. I drew my sidearm and shot anything that got close. I was out of the game for 6 weeks though. I heard the mission was considered a failure and they just called in an airstrike to take out the target. Since I was only 1 of 4 delta operators there with members of the 75th and 82nd airborne and the 4 of us and the top brass were the only ones who knew it at the time, the failure wasn't reflected on delta. The end result was I could stand up all the way straight anymore, I lean to the left a bit, and I have some nerve damage in my hands, but nothing some practice couldn't get around.
While in delta my mother passed away and I didn't even know it because I didn't get back from deployment until 3 weeks after her funeral. When I got back I found out that Mei, my Uncle, and some of her co-workers were the only ones who attended, My real parents had a separate funeral, because my real dad couldn't set his dislike of my Uncle aside even for that. I ripped him apart over the phone, I told him exactly what I thought of him all these years and I still don't feel bad for doing it, that was the last time we talked, and that was almost 2 years ago. After that I had one more near death mission as I lied there banged up thinking about what an a**hole I was being to her, I was no different than my real father always putting my job before her. It was there that I decided I wasn't going to be like him, after that mission I resigned from the Army. In the 6 1/2 years I was in the army I took part in over 40 missions, add the missions I have preformed in the PMC and my total is just under 60 missions and counting(I cant give the actual total since it could be used to narrow a search through DOD records for my identity).
