You know, so I can fit right in.
Red is popular among fire cultists. Not that I am one, yet!
So gonna be one. Nothing can stop me!
Oh... right, I should probably mention that this is Jack.
That makes this, A JACK ATTACK! Hehe.
Glorious. I'm so awesome.
So like, I'm still living in this horrible loop thing. I hate it here. I'm afraid to touch anything. Everything here makes my skin crawl. I've made the mistake of rushing against doorway arches as I walk and I just involuntarily freeze up cringing and breathing all heavy and shit. Its really fucking embarrassing.
There are only two things I hate more than this place.
The first thing is leaving.
That shit isn't happening. As unnatural and gross as I find Fracture's compound, that place they took me to to get here made me want to peel off my own flesh so I wouldn't have to feel the sensation of that place against it anymore.
Think I vomited for an hour straight after they were done dragging me through it.
I could just... taste it. The ash and leaves. Like it was in the air. Like it was coating my throat with each breath. Just, glack. Makes me sick to think about.
The second thing is that asshole Maggot.
That fucker keeps assaulting me. He LOVES do it when I start cringing up and panicking. One moment I made the mistake of touching the counter while trying to pick up some food, the next I've been drop kicked and my whole arms are braced against these disgusting fucking floors.
I was too busy freaking out and locking up over the fact that I had touched /it/, this unnatural place, to really fight back but that fucker assaults me twice a fucking day. Finally starting to get some blows in but that mute fuck usually has me good and cornered already and proceeds to wail on me and then wander off when I'm too battered to think straight.
I tried sneaking into its room to slit Maggot's throat while it was sleeping and teach it a lesson but that fucker dropped down on me from above. It was fucking waiting for me and ripped my arms open with a knife and left me to bleed out.
Just can't fucking win. Guess I should count myself lucky this ungodly sickening place won't let me die... feel all unnatural now... just... vomited a little in my mouth.
Jack out
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Friday, March 7, 2014
One of These Days the Clocks Will Stop
And then time won't mean a thing.
And that's not alright. Can't have that. I keep my things in time. I need it....
So... some interesting goings on to report.
The Maskless cult is no more. The Mask cult would be rejoicing if they weren't a collective of sad sack mutes.
For those of you who don't know who the fuck the Maskless were, its probably because they're not an American cult. They're stationed in France. Beyond that, they were more or less hitmen for proxies against other proxies.
They formed about 10 years back in the wake of the old Fire Cult's revolt. A sub-faction within the fire cult, which would be a faction within a faction funnily enough, got too big for its britches.
They were the Chaos sect. They believed the will of the Flame meant acting on your whims, that freedom meant not taking no for an answer. That in such a short volatile life, you had to reek as much pleasure as you could and do the things you wanted to do for yourself regardless of what that meant for others.
Naturally, this sect eventually grew to question why it was taking orders at all. That they shouldn't be serving Father, but smacking down Father so they could do whatever they wanted whenever they wanted. Which didn't work. A kill order was put out across the Bureaucracy's Divisions for all fire cultists past or present to be put to death to settle all descent. And that uh... well it happened.... mostly.
There was a handful of squads stationed in France at the time. They were hunting down a Rakeling nest that had settled in Paris and was drawing an awful lot of attention to itself. Can't have anyone ruining our Mascaraed now can we? So naturally a bunch of Fire Cultists were sent over, who both then and now operate as Anti-Cult special forces.
Somehow, that collection of squads got tipped off that a kill order had been put out and preemptively cut down their handler. And then in true turncoat fashion, at the time at least, they shattered their masks and seared the pieces to their faces to defiantly declare that they were proxies no more.
Mind you that's not a thing turncoats would do to themselves. That was a punishment. If you were caught working against us, they use to shatter your mask into a bunch of pieces, seared it to your face, and then unleashed you into the world to suffer under the persecution of proxies who wouldn't accept a turncoat and runners who wouldn't accept anything in any sort of mask and a society that would find their disfigurement weird and disgusting.
Leave it to the ex-Fire Cult to permanently brand themselves traitors in proud defiance. Morons.
So, the Ex-Cultists took to training any runners they could get to trusting them in the area and taught them to fight proxies. It was under this effort that they reformed into a new cult dedicated to killing Proxies, the Maskless. To make France safe once more the Bureaucracy reached out to the Maskless and through a show of force, forced the cult under it's thumb. Those that survived this transition took on the new rule of working as a proxy assassin for other proxies and the Bureaucracy itself, for a hefty fee typically.
And that worked fine until this last year. With the Bureaucracy destroyed and proxies on the down swing, the Maskless have not been able to support themselves and the extravagant life styles they had taken to and they've devolved into what they always kind of were at their core.
Violent blood thirsty animals. Those who weren't adopted into any sort of gang or by the rake have taken to hunting down proxies to rob them and sell their organs for parts to support themselves.
Or, at least that's what the one Jack and Maggot ran into was doing.
So in light of that discovery and after month and months of failing to make contact with anyone in their ranks that was still on our side, I'm declaring the Maskless Cult defunct and cautioning runner's and proxy's alike that such individuals are not to be trusted.
In addition to that, I'm reinitializing the practice of searing pieces of a turncoat's destroyed mask to their faces as punishment for being a traitor to be hunted down like a dog after a week long head start.
I'm a sucker for branding and persecuting assholes. Its such fun.
In other news, beyond hunting down traitors (Moth and Picasso) and some Cunt and the traitor she adopted for seemingly no reason (Nat and Sloth), I'm off to save the fucking world! Or uh... a world I suppose.
So if you're wandering where I'm gonna for the next couple of days, the answer is away.
My people need me.
The Lord Guardian Fracture out.
And that's not alright. Can't have that. I keep my things in time. I need it....
So... some interesting goings on to report.
The Maskless cult is no more. The Mask cult would be rejoicing if they weren't a collective of sad sack mutes.
For those of you who don't know who the fuck the Maskless were, its probably because they're not an American cult. They're stationed in France. Beyond that, they were more or less hitmen for proxies against other proxies.
They formed about 10 years back in the wake of the old Fire Cult's revolt. A sub-faction within the fire cult, which would be a faction within a faction funnily enough, got too big for its britches.
They were the Chaos sect. They believed the will of the Flame meant acting on your whims, that freedom meant not taking no for an answer. That in such a short volatile life, you had to reek as much pleasure as you could and do the things you wanted to do for yourself regardless of what that meant for others.
Naturally, this sect eventually grew to question why it was taking orders at all. That they shouldn't be serving Father, but smacking down Father so they could do whatever they wanted whenever they wanted. Which didn't work. A kill order was put out across the Bureaucracy's Divisions for all fire cultists past or present to be put to death to settle all descent. And that uh... well it happened.... mostly.
There was a handful of squads stationed in France at the time. They were hunting down a Rakeling nest that had settled in Paris and was drawing an awful lot of attention to itself. Can't have anyone ruining our Mascaraed now can we? So naturally a bunch of Fire Cultists were sent over, who both then and now operate as Anti-Cult special forces.
Somehow, that collection of squads got tipped off that a kill order had been put out and preemptively cut down their handler. And then in true turncoat fashion, at the time at least, they shattered their masks and seared the pieces to their faces to defiantly declare that they were proxies no more.
Mind you that's not a thing turncoats would do to themselves. That was a punishment. If you were caught working against us, they use to shatter your mask into a bunch of pieces, seared it to your face, and then unleashed you into the world to suffer under the persecution of proxies who wouldn't accept a turncoat and runners who wouldn't accept anything in any sort of mask and a society that would find their disfigurement weird and disgusting.
Leave it to the ex-Fire Cult to permanently brand themselves traitors in proud defiance. Morons.
So, the Ex-Cultists took to training any runners they could get to trusting them in the area and taught them to fight proxies. It was under this effort that they reformed into a new cult dedicated to killing Proxies, the Maskless. To make France safe once more the Bureaucracy reached out to the Maskless and through a show of force, forced the cult under it's thumb. Those that survived this transition took on the new rule of working as a proxy assassin for other proxies and the Bureaucracy itself, for a hefty fee typically.
And that worked fine until this last year. With the Bureaucracy destroyed and proxies on the down swing, the Maskless have not been able to support themselves and the extravagant life styles they had taken to and they've devolved into what they always kind of were at their core.
Violent blood thirsty animals. Those who weren't adopted into any sort of gang or by the rake have taken to hunting down proxies to rob them and sell their organs for parts to support themselves.
Or, at least that's what the one Jack and Maggot ran into was doing.
So in light of that discovery and after month and months of failing to make contact with anyone in their ranks that was still on our side, I'm declaring the Maskless Cult defunct and cautioning runner's and proxy's alike that such individuals are not to be trusted.
In addition to that, I'm reinitializing the practice of searing pieces of a turncoat's destroyed mask to their faces as punishment for being a traitor to be hunted down like a dog after a week long head start.
I'm a sucker for branding and persecuting assholes. Its such fun.
In other news, beyond hunting down traitors (Moth and Picasso) and some Cunt and the traitor she adopted for seemingly no reason (Nat and Sloth), I'm off to save the fucking world! Or uh... a world I suppose.
So if you're wandering where I'm gonna for the next couple of days, the answer is away.
My people need me.
The Lord Guardian Fracture out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)