My name is Nick Carter.
Cheesy, I know.but its never really bothered me.. I'm not here to talk about myself.
Well...
This story is totally about me. It's also about that night.
The newspapers didn't tell the full story. But that's only because they weren't there.
I was there.
I wasn't just there. I was one of the survivors. Sophrie always tells me to write about it...
Sometimes it hurts too much to think about. The others forgot. But i can't. no matter how hard I try to..
12 of us walked into that bar. only 3 are still here.
By the time you're reading this I'm already gone.I guess being suicidal does have its perks.
The truth is.. I'm dying. And I can't stop the spread. It hurts like a bitch.. but I've already come to terms with my demise.
Enough about my sob life. People need to remember what happened to us.. History CANNOT repeat itself.. I'm sorry I never got to meet you. Sophrie will be an amazing aunt.
Oh God. I'm getting emotional again.
The last time I felt like this was 5 years ago, during the incident. It must be boring having to read this journal only to find vague cryptic messages. But I promise that I'll get to the point soon enough.
I'm only writing this so humans don't forget.
Nick's legacy will live on. even if the real Nick Carter died half a decade ago.
Oh?
You really thought that I was Nick?
Humans really are Naïve. Don't make me laugh.
Maybe there never was a real Nick.
Maybe I have always been the real one.
Guess you'll never know Human.
Your kind disgusts me. Vile creatures with no regards to their surroundings.
I wish nothing but pain and suffering to the oppressors...
THE HUMANS.