Squad Member 03 - 'Trent', Ember, and Fracture's fractured face!

Live a lie, live a lie, live a lie.

Catchy.

I have quite a bit to cover today so let us see what I can blow through.
First, I am not only doing better but I was never really sick. I was in fact, lying. I pretended I was unwell because I found what turned out to be a drug filled cylinder thing in my room and I wanted to prompt who ever did it to act.

I was a little surprised by who actually showed up. Fracture did this of all people. I didn’t give him a chance to explain. I bashed his face in with the can thingy and then opened it in his face. He started babbling and shit. I locked him in his hotel room until he sobered back up. He was rather bitter when he came down from that. I had never seen Fracture glare before. He is like a giant pouty little girl. I couldn’t figure out if he was more upset at me or at himself for failing as hard as he did, my money is on himself.

He stopped his leering when he realized it wasn’t working. Went back to that irritating grin of his…

Fracture also showed up with my final squad member who was instrumental in locking Fracture in his own room. I don’t know who he is. He refuses to take his mask off, which I can respect. I use to do that. I figure he must be someone that I literally burned at some point which is far too many people to start guessing at. He also doesn’t talk or really do anything. He just sits there staring at shit. It’s definitely not whisper, whisper was taller.

He and Firecracker seem to be getting along. In the way that he will just sit there and stare at her and she’ll talk at him for like an hour. I had forgotten how much she liked to talk before I destroyed her life. Glad I have a shell of man to sit in front of her for her to talk to. Although, I think he’s just going to snap at some point and start beating the shit out of her.

Can’t ever really tell what’s going to happen with the quiet ones. I mean, they say still waters run deep but I hear there is nothing but weird shit in the Mariana Trench. I’ll have to keep an eye on him.
I think I’m going to call him Trent.

In other news, I slipped off to go truck flipping with my friend Ember and her partner west. I think they thought I was going to hit West with the truck. I seriously just wanted to flips some trucks. We flipped two trucks on top of each other and lit that bitch on fire. I was a fun group outing. I think Ember really needed it too. Ember’s been rather depressed again…

So I bested Fracture, got the rest of my squad together, and got to spend the afternoon doing stupid shit with my best friend.

It’s been a great week.
Swan Out!

Squad Member 3 - Firecrackers in the... Fog?

It’s so foggy… I don’t understand… am I killing someone right now?
I should be covered in blood if I was…
Why am I…?

…

Firecracker… I’m supposed to be talking about Firecracker.

La, la la… FOCUS.

… la la, la la, la la la, la, lala, la la.

She’s my new squad mate. She is not new though… although she stopped… trying to kill me. She’s still so angry though. Her furious grimace when she looks at me… is piercing.

Blah, blah, blah. Fucking spit it out already. It’s Picasso. Fracture showed up with her earlier at… some point? She said she forgives me… I was afraid she had lost her fire.  I said… something, and she punched me so I’m pretty sure she still has it. To keep tradition with Fracture, I renamed her Firecracker after… that cold angry bitch. Fitting…

I should explain why she glued pieces of her mask to her face when she was hunting me…
It’s a practice the Maskless had instead of wearing masks… there was all kinds of symbolism and rules and other stupid shit to it. They could tell… if you were really one of them based on how the pieces were attached… Even told them your job and purpose and shit…. So she did that to try to piss me off. Guess that’s my fault for telling her about them before the incident with her brother…Fucking words… ruining faces…

It looks good on her I guess… scary… kind of… maybe…?

She punched me again this morning…

“YoU LooK like sHit,” she said.
“Fuck you too.”

And then she punched me. I don’t know that I deserved that one…? Maybe I said it wrong?

Never got along with the last Firecracker either…
I can remember us fighting. I was so much shorter then… right?

...

“Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked. Her tone was different. I thought she had something serious to talk about.

“Uh,… sure I guess?” I said from behind my mask. I was still ugly then. My face… so torn. I had to wear my mask at all times. Felt cold without it… I followed her out into the hallway.

She thought for a few seconds and rubbed her arms. It looked like something was wrong. “I was just thinking… could we go out? I’ll even let you do that thing you do with marking masks if you promise not to ruin it.”

I had to study her for a minute… she was so pretty… but I knew better. People are ugly. “You're fucking with me, aren't you?”

She stopped for a minute… that piercing scowl… “Of course I am. Who could ever like your fugly ass Mr. Ugly fuck.”

That was really my fault for thinking… she had something important to say to me…

And it was really her own fault she fell down the stairs. I mean, who is stupid enough to pull that kind of shit in front of a stairway…? Just took one quick push…

She wasn't nearly as pretty with that gash on her face… although it left a pretty scar later… cold bitch…

...

WHY THE FUCK IS IT SO FOGGY!!

I need to lie down… sleep it out. Fog is a disadvantage… can’t see them coming…

Mr. Fugly Fuck out… or something…

Squad Member 01 - The man I named 'Fracture'

What is in a name? Is it a mold by which an identity is shaped and formed? Or is it simply something that we call something by?

Does it not become something more when we refer to new things in terms of old names? Are people more apt to fight the nature of a title they are branded or are they more likely to mold themselves to fit the title they have been identified as? Are they not both molded in different ways than regardless of how they chose to react?

These thoughts… these, dreams… these are the dreams I dream when I am left on my own.

I have a confession to make, one I’m sure Fracture himself is already well aware of since he has access to my file. There was another Fracture before him. A man I fought for and would have died for if I had only ever been given the opportunity. A man whose mark I still bare on every mask I wear long after he died a lengthy four years ago. He was my squad leader and we called him Fracture much like I call my demented shrink Fracture.

It was not a name I wanted to give him but that first day he showed up with his broken little legs and tried to tell me his real name he managed to get out the letter ‘F’ before I could shut him up with a good punch in the face. Eager to shut him up I branded him the first ‘F’ name that came to mind.

At first I was mad at him because he was this weak sniveling wimp who in no way deserved the title I had branded him. Now I hate him because he is an evil twisted farce of the original Fracture. At least, that is why I hate him as far as the name I gave him is concerned. I hate him for a lot of other reasons too.  The biggest reason is because of this fucking smile. It irks me to no end.

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Fracture has been in and out of our hotel room a lot lately. He says he’s been trying to setup all the finer details of my squad’s formation to make sure it goes through properly. I don’t know why he keeps stopping by to see me though. I figure he must be checking up on me.

Fracture is apparently going to be a ‘subordinate’ in my squad for the duration of its function. That conversation went a little like this:

“What the fuck are you going to be able to bring to the squad exactly? Are you going to pull up a chair and psychobabble at them mid hunt? I’m sure that’ll do us loads of good.”

“Besides being a therapist for you and the other members, I’m going to be your guy’s watcher. It was my primary function during my time spent with a squad before I was promoted to handler.”

“The fuck is a watcher going to do for us?”

“Find, track, and feed you information on a mark until such a time that you or one of your squad mates can make it to the scene to slice them open.”

“Why the fuck can’t you just slice them while you have them in your sights?”

“Because I’m trained to keep tabs on people, not to bring them down. I’m not a talented violent tard like you. Killing may come naturally to you but not everyone can do the things you do. If an opportunity presents itself I’ll take out the mark myself but on the whole that’s really your responsibility.”

At that point the conversation became a lot less vocal. I slugged him for calling me a tard and was about to leave to end the conversation on that note when suddenly he slugged me back…

I slugged him again harder and he slugged me back harder still. At some point we just started beating on each other. He certainly looks a lot worse for wear than I do. He may find he regrets his decision to punch me back but I’m proud of him. Because it’s not whether or not you win a fight, it’s about the fight itself. Fracture comes off as far too much of a snake to really work with on a hunt, but it’s good to see he has at least a little fight in him. Unfortunately, he’s a wimp and is going to lose all of his fights.

To bad he can’t creepy smile his opponents into submission,
Swan out.

Squad Member 00 - 'The Ugly Duck'

“H-he’s controlling you! You have to fight it!”
- A Runner

“Do you see an arm up my ass? This is me stabbing you! This is me laughing!”
- A Younger Swan

Ah, fond memories from a simpler time. I’ve really mellowed out since then, although I’m sure it’s hard for anyone reading this to imagine a more violent less stable me…

So I decided I’m going to introduce each squad member for Mask Squad with a post detailing my thoughts on them. Then I realized I was going to need to make a post for myself since I am going to be a part of my own squad. Not that I actually care to share who I am with a bunch of random assholes. Fracture says everything we say screams volumes about ourselves. So instead I’m just going to ramble and talk at you all.

First, I’d like to take a moment to declare the farce that is the united union of proxies under the bureaucracy. Hehe, that immediately got a yellow light. My greatest problem with it, with the exception of the people themselves because proxies are a bunch of bastards, is the name we’ve taken to. Proxy. It sounds so technical, just like the rest of the world has become in my absence.

I spent four years in what was roughly self isolation after my squad died. I came back to a world where my brothers somehow trusted each other enough to operate under one name and the assholes on the other side of the phone had taken to calling themselves the bureaucracy. Our heritage and traditions twisted further than they ever were before into business practices and an agenda…

I my day, we called ourselves masks. There were others, brothers all the same, who called themselves other things. They were Knives, Agents, the Hallowed, the Black Leaves, his Gentlemen, the Children, and those assholes, the Maskless. That’s just to name the few I had actually heard of. It’s funny now that the name Hallowed is synonymous with the hollowed. I don’t know that it’s true, but I just picture those self righteous assholes doing something so bad that the Master hollowed out all of them.

Back then some runners, as I’ve seen some of them that don’t blog still do, kept journals. They were little trophies to be claimed for our kills. I remember sitting down and reading them with our squad mates. That was how we found other runners and figured out how runners were changing as we changed. How they were adapting so we could counter adapt. People still had code names then. It was interesting seeing how often a runner would find another runner. It was funnier still when they fought with each other.

Although I guess the same could be said about us, both then and now. I knew proxies who kept journals. I personally thought that was the stupidest thing in the world… now I keep one online for the world to fucking see. Oh, how far I’ve fallen. And of course we fought and still fight each other. I don't imagine that will ever change. I don't know that I would want it to.

The point is, I can’t let go of the past. That time when we were not this thing we have become is very much still with me. That’s why I’ve named my squad the Masks, in honor of my old squad.

Ramble out.
Swan

Just Call us Squad Expendable

So much to say… huh. That was weird. Déjà Vu.

… Moving right along though, I should start from the beginning.
So as Fracture had already explained, Picasso broke into our house by way of car. To be perfectly honest I was proud of her. She got really good at this while we were apart. She could still use some work but she’s come a long way from the crying girl who refused to kill.

Moving right along, again, she took a stray shot from Fracture and booked it firing off a few shots and I grabbed the effects I figured I would need and went through the window after her. I chased her for a good few hours in the shadows until she was sure she had lost me. She stopped for a breather right in the middle of the alleyway. Now was my chance to strike while she was tired and distracted. I crept down the fire escape above her as silently as I could and got up on the railing ready above her ready to pounce and drew out Fracture’s shovel.

I figure if she’s going to act like me then I could probably calm her tits the same way Fracture managed to calm mine, with blunt force trauma and screaming. It was difficult though. I hovered over for what felt like hours fighting off the fog. I knew if the fog won and I blacked out I would wake up to find her dead. One hand held the shovel; the other one held a knife and was frantically cutting into me in an effort to make sure I stayed in control for this. She deserved that much. I could suffer that much for her. The problem came when a few drops of blood found their way onto her. I knew I had to strike then.

I dropped down on her and clubbed her hard in the back of the head with the shovel before she had time to act. She screamed and went down limp on the floor. The fog was so thick, but fire shines bright in the darkness. I’ll spare you the gory details but I don’t think there was a single part of my skin that I didn’t piece at one point or another before the fog finally cleared and I knew Picasso was safe.

I worked fast after that to bind and gag her.  And then I sat down. I needed to give my skin time to recover. The wounds may close but it takes a good few hours before they stop ripping open at the slightest tug and as severely as I had laid into myself, the slightest movement had become enough to ripped them open again. After a hour I found I could move again.

I had stolen Fracture’s phone when I left. I used it to check the blog and found out where he had moved to. I pulled Picasso onto my shoulder, which hurt like fuck, and took off before it got any brighter out. I found my way to the hotel to find Fracture sitting on his car out front holding a sign that read ‘Picasso’.

“Took you long enough to get back with her,” he said opening his trunk. “Put her in and I’ll take her to her sentencing.”

“How did you know?” I said dumping her in. After reading what he said I was surprised to find him expecting. He even had all the medical tools he needed for a concussion on hand to treat her.

“I knew if I told everyone you were going to kill her you wouldn’t. You would find a way to prove me wrong because that’s who you are. You’re a fighter. In regards for being ready for a concussion, you left with the shovel. Wasn’t hard to figure out,” he said sewing up her scalp and putting ice on her head.

“Why didn’t you just say I took the shovel if you knew?” I asked.

“Because I’m a sucker for theatrics and this made for a far more interesting reveal,” he grinned… that nasty, knowing grin. “So have you figured out this ‘non-lethal’ thing yet?”

“Yeah, it’s still a process but I think it’ll only get easier from here. Are there more trials ahead after this? Are there more endless torments based on my own short comings to face?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I’m being completely serious Duckie. There is a storm brewing and the bureaucracy needs its collectors now more than ever.”

“What happened?”

“Redlight happened. People are panicking, work isn’t getting done, and the quota still stands. In times of crisis, the collectors have to pick up the slack but most of them are dead and no one is stepping up to take up their mantles. Steps are being taken to train new ones but we need results now. You’re going to be leading a troop of temporary collectors and square the numbers we need away.”

“I hope these people are expendable. I have a bad track record with teammates.”

“All of them, excluding myself, will be people you hand trained over the course of your career.”

“… I haven’t trained anyone.”

And then he grinned that fucking grin and left with Picasso. I cracked the back window of his car with a fucking rock.

Now that I think about it, this is another fucking trial. The high death rate of my teammates is a fucking short coming. You can’t trick me you assholes. Crisis or no crisis, I know this is just another step in your stupid little game with me.

Fuck you all,
Swan out.

This is What Happens When You Put Something Off Too Long.

So in an interesting turn of events, early yesterday morning while I was reporting in after a fun little round of commenting a car came crashing through the front door of our second floor motel room door. I had to double check to make sure subject 926 was still in the room with me and wasn’t on the drivers end of this little stunt as he has been known to pull this antic when he is particularly piss off at his mark and I thought he might be trying to blow off steam of something. You can never quite tell what a lunatic is going to do when troubled.

Out of the car emerged Picasso. By that point Duckie had already sprung to his feet on the bed and was in his ready stance. I started to give him shit about wearing shoes to bed earlier this week but apparently he does it in preparation for shit like this. Picasso started flinging throwing knives at Duckie. He dodged most of them and even caught one of them. She was going for a gun when I pulled one of my own and opened fire. I grazed her arm.

She growled and took off firing a few blind shots in what I assume was an effort to deter following. I turned to say something witty to Duckie about how his girlfriend seems to want his attention or something. I can’t remember, the moments passed. It passed because he was already gone. I didn’t see much more than a moment of him disappearing out the window in what I assume was him leaving to chase after her. He took his knife, his coat, his gun, and if I’m not mistaken a few of the throwing knives too because I found more holes in the wall than I did knives.

I gathered the rest of our shit and left. I am so not paying for property damage.

Before I forget I should probably take a moment to tell Duckie where he can find me. I’m at a hotel, in a bed once full of ember, and watching the movie Next. He should get it. He’ll probably be really pissed off after he does, but at least he’ll find me. Not to say I couldn’t just call or something.

I fear this may be the last we ever hear of Picasso. I don’t think he’s figured out this non-lethal thing yet but I don’t know that he’ll delay the issue any further after what she did. It’s a pity really.

She was looking rather terrible though.
 I thought Duckie looked like a rabid dog but she’s absolutely lost it. He apparently broke her mask the last time they fought right? It looked like she super glued it back together on her fucking face. She had a piece (And I’m just assuming glued right now.) glued to her forehead, each cheek, her chin, and her nose. When we brought her in for this she wasn’t anywhere near this fucked up.

To be completely honest though? I consider it a personal victory that I was able to help push her this far over the edge, even if it is counter intuitive to even my own wishes and wants.

On a side note, something seems to be missing from our collection of stuff and I can’t quite put my finger on what. I don’t think I left anything behind though. How curious.

Whatever,
Fracture Out.

A Cold Blooded Killer

So that didn’t go well. Poor subject 926.
So ashamed he’s having me write this for him.

We’ve had 5 casualties so far in his effort to non-lethally subdue someone. I’ve tried to coach him through it but he has this terrible habit of not actually listening to anything I say. He just nods and then gets really mad after his mark is already good and dead. To be perfectly honest, I’m not convinced he isn’t doing it on purpose.

“I keep reflexively finishing the job.”
Much like an animal, once he gets started instincts seem to take over and somebody dies. It happens every time, and each and every time he just looks absolutely crushed about it.

First there was the teaser. He was so confident he could pull it off with a teaser. He sneaks right up behind the man without making a single sound and zap. Down goes the mark, limp on the floor. Zap, zap, zap. Subject 926 just keeps zapping the poor bastard. By the time I managed to pull Duckie off of him, the man as already very dead.

Next up he tried to subdue his mark using a marker. That seemed to be going well at first. He had his mark winded and leaning back against the wall. Much like that time though, he just didn’t stop. He keeps pounding away into this guy’s chest with the marker until it finally breaches his ribs and pierces his lung. I guess I should count my lucky starts that didn’t happen to me after I came at him with a shovel.

The bit with the gun was interesting. He claims he hasn’t used a firearm in two years but he’s a hell of a shot. The plan was to shoot his mark in the leg once. I even told him where to shoot to minimize damage as much as possible while still disabling his mark. He jumps out in front of his mark and bam. He hit her right on the bull’s-eye.  And then immediately, before she even hits the ground, proceeds to shoot her in the heart and head.

I feel personally responsible for what happened with the chloroform. I forget he doesn’t watch almost any TV. I gave him the cloth and the bottle of chloroform and told him “you just cover her mouth with it and she’ll be out like a light.” He then proceeded to put the bottle right to her mouth and force fed her the entire bottle of chloroform.

And finally there was that thing with the net. I don’t even want to talk about that one it was so terrible. I’m actually vomiting in my mouth a little right now remembering it. I mean, I spent a few years working as a doctor but that was just… and there goes the vomit all over my pants. Lovely.

“What the fucks wrong with me?”

“You’re a fucking animal, that’s what’s wrong with you.” And then I braced for a punch but it didn’t come. I looked up to find him just staring at his hands bewildered still.
“… I’m sure it’s not your fault. I bet they went through great lengths to make sure you always followed through on your kills.”

“That’s a great observation Fracture. What the fuck am I supposed to do?!”

“Follow your own advice?”

“…?”

“I believe you said focus your rage so you can own and control it? You don’t have to always follow through Duckie. Just, you know, the fire and other crazy cult shit. I’m sure you can figure this out.”

That conversation happened yesterday. He spent all of today moping around deep in thought.

 I don’t think I’m going to be able to help him with this one. Control is just something he is going to have to figure out for himself I guess.

Fracture out.

Fuck.

Fuck, Fuck.
Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

I umm… I couldn’t do it. There, I said it.

To my great fucking misfortune, Fracture is right. It would be wrong to do that to her for my own sake. She at the very least deserves as much as I got, a sentencing. If it is then determined to be the master’s will that she dies, so be it. But it should be for Him, not for me. It is not my job to decide who lives and die, only to carry it out once it is determined.

[Good to see you haven’t forgotten why you’re being punished in the first place.]

How are you… typing while I’m typing?

[You got this laptop from us remember? Now why don’t you tell them why you’re being so nice? Can’t have then believing you’ve grown a heart now can we?]

You always have to twist the knife… don’t you Fracture?

[It’s why I’m here subject 926. Now why don’t you tell them?]

I killed her brother. [How about giving them a little more than that?] She was the kindest proxy I had ever met before that. [Now that’s too far back. You’re not even trying are you? :D] Do you want me to do this or not you dick? [Yeah, fine. Whatever.] I met her and her brother in that so called war I lost my entire squad to. Back then she never killed. She didn’t have to. Her brother did all the dirty work for her. Her job was to play with the dead to create a scene more gruesome than what actually happened. She was very good at it. Her favorite was finger painting the blood on the wall. That’s apparently why they called her Picasso, after some famous painter. [But you ruined that didn’t you?] I can hear you taping away on your little phone shithead. I will find and throw this at you! [:D] Yeah, fuck you too.

Yes, fine. I ruined it. [You’re skipping parts again.] ,-l-- [What… is that?] It’s about as close as I can get to a middle finger. Moving on! Umm… right, I ruined her life. Unlike me, who went solo as a ‘collector’ afterwards, they stayed together with what was left of their own squad at their old post and were reinforced with fresh meat.  One day, roughly a year later, I get called in by personal request by Picasso’s brother. [This is really his fault, eh?] Shut up. Not stopping. Talking. So he called me in to help deal with a pack of runners who had made a nuisance of themselves. Seems he still didn't trust the new meat. [But it’s the old meat you have to worry about isn’t it?] Said the forty something year old to the teenager.

[Can we wrap this up? This stopped being fun about a paragraph ago.] You are welcome to fuck off at anytime.

So the operation was going fine at first. We cornered them. [Kinky.] The more confident among use rushed forth to deal with the cornered animals. I had my guy beat [Also kinky.] and I was going for the killing blow. What happened next was a complete accident. Picasso’s brother had apparently lost his footing and got shoved in front of me… and I ran him through. [And now it’s a three-way.] I could hear Picasso scream somewhere behind me. She had lost. [Oh I bet.] Shut it creeper. She went ape shit and came at me with everything she had. It took three people to hold her back and in the confusion the runners got away. I… just left. Every other week after that, she would find me. And every time she did she was angrier, more desperate, and far more practiced. But eventually she stopped showing up. I was told someone had finally put her down. [Yeah, lies are fun.] And that takes us to the present after some asshole told her where I was and what I looked like. [Some people man.]

And that leaves us with the question of what the fuck I’m supposed to do now.

[Why don’t you Subdue her? Moron.]

My expertise centers on killing things.

[That sounds entirely like a personal problem.]

Ok, why the fuck am I talking to a screen again? There needs to be far more of me punching you every time you say something stupid. Get down here. NOW!

[Fracture out.   ;D]

Oh no you don’t.
I’m breaking that rib.
Be sure to kiss it goodbye before I get there.

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Post Note: You should have heard him scream.

Swan out.