Gombak, at the cusp of the bitter, broken end; the bond-contract still running after all these damned years. The period of indenture is finite, but there is little point marking progress to completion. It is only left to him to note his departure from Gombak, that blighted edifice of dehumanising affliction. There is only that minor relief to be had; and even then it is too small to be meaningfully savoured.
Battered by fate and service, he stands surveying the end of his tenure. So much has changed since this began. The Black Christmas of 2011. The fall, the loss.
He first only knew fear, but now he knows only pain. Both as giver and receiver. He has witnessed the breaking of the order of the world. He has seen how the glorious promise of intellectual exploration and mastery turned to ashes, the soul-grinding chains of enforced servitude and sanctioned abuse crush all gifts and talents into mire and dust. He has experienced the passing of many simplistic assumptions about the God he worships. He has beheld the treachery of his own species, discovered that at times his greatest enemy of all is himself.
He bows, and prays.
