I’ve been a warden for the weary in Arcadia for longer than my memory serves me. There isn’t a day I can remember where I haven’t faced up to the demons of this place for the people who reside in it. I travelled far and wide, searching every inch of every level, living life our of trash cans and cardboard boxes.

I did it not for the glory, but because it was right.

This mask on my face, these guns I carry, the scars I wear as baggage around my neck – these are the things I brought back with me. These are my reminders of who I am and what I’ve done.

They are my mementos of the paths I’ve taken, the trinkets of the bridges I’ve crossed, the keepsake of the chasms I’ve cleared.

You wear that belt like the wrong kind of badge of honour, son. You think having it around your waist or over your shoulder shows your journey, but it doesn’t. Last time you held that belt you couldn’t keep hold of it even once. This time you don’t look likely to either. It should galvanise you, this time more than the last, given that in the time between then and now your brother held the belt. He held that belt with more guts and gumption than you ever have, son, and now he’s dead.

And still it is just a belt to you?

I think the problem is you see a badge of honour like a trophy, like a pat on the back after a hard afternoon mowing the lawn. You think it’s about you, don’t you, even now?

It’s not. Real badges of honour are about the people you did it for.

Like CJ.

A real badge of honour should be in HIS honour, Cade. You should hold on to that belt for dear life, not because it brings you attention or glory, but because it is one last piece of CJ, that he fought so hard for.

It should be the mask over your grief, the weapons you carry to face your fiercest enemies, the scars this journey has left on you. It should be everything you carry with you. It should remind you of who CJ was, and what he did.

A real badge of honour is just baggage, Cade, and I realised that a long time ago. Baggage that weighs you down, keeps you sinking in the mud. I’ve seen you rise from the mud before, Cade, but the truth is, as long as the glint of gold means fortune, I don’t think you have it in you a second time.

Paint the badge black, Cade, in memory of CJ, and forget the things that belt can bring you. Think instead about what things bought the belt to you. Do it because it’s right, not for the glory.

Trudge through the mud once more, or sink to the depths.

The choice is yours.