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

Violence and Broken Honor

Designated ‘Fracture’ here.
Reporting in to ‘Whisper’ and associated underlings. I seem to have gotten through to subject 926. He’s talking again (Although back to constantly bitching would probably be more accurate.) and is back to his old self in general. It may be possible he’s even a little better for this experience but I find it unlikely. Patients like subject 926 are slow to change and adapt.

I must admit that my method wasn’t exactly medically sound…
Even still, all subject 926 understands is violence and his own broken sense of honor. As I cannot begin to understand the twisted contradictions of his code, I found I had to appeal to him through brute violence and angry yelling. I do hope it does not reflect to incredibly poorly on me. Rather than explain what happened myself I had 926 type up an explanation so he could show case the parts of the experience that meant most to him. Subject will most likely be angry when he finds out how I reported it back to you.

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I was sitting there marking myself with a marker when it happened. I mapping where I intended to cut myself in an effort to recreate old scars. That’s about when I heard Fracture enter the room. I assumed it was Fracture at least. His footsteps were off and he was moving a lot faster than I had ever heard him move when he walked. Looking back on it, had it been someone who wanted to kill me I would have been slain. Those are all the non-visual signs of an intruder and I just couldn’t bring myself to care. I was too wrapped up in my own petty grief.

I heard him rush toward me. Still I did nothing. Not until it would have been too late. Not until I felt the sharp painful sensation of a sheet of metal being brought down on the back of my head with force. I was dazed but my training started to take over. Before I knew it I had turned to face my attacker holding my marker as though it was a knife.

That crazy fucker, he had bashed the back of my head in with a fucking shovel of all things. His casts were gone too. I don’t know why he picked a shovel. He wasn’t very good with it. I dodged every swing of it and returned it in kind by jabbing the marker hard into his ribs or gut. We went on like that till I had him back again the wall.

I started choking him. I could feel him struggling against me as he forced out words at me, angry words. But they weren’t his words. He was quoting someone at me, someone I once knew. They must have a record of the old pep talks my trainer use to give. I think they were his words. I loosened my grip on him and he continued to yell at me. Now he was using his own words.

He said a lot of things I’d rather not repeat. The gist of it was that I wasn’t a child anymore and that I couldn’t afford to keep acting like one, throwing fits and rebelling when I don’t like my orders and then moping around like an injured puppy when things don’t go my way. He explained that I could keep my rage and my scorn but that I needed to bend it into something more useful to ‘father’.

I suppose I will quote one line while it’s still fresh in my head. He was particularly passionate about it.
“For the love of god quit beating on your poor siblings because you’re a traitorous violent bastard. Your behavior is not a reflection of your peers.”

To be perfectly honest, what I summarized and what little I was able to quote is about all I got out of his two hour yelling session. I spent most of that one way conversation marveling over the fact that he came at me with a fucking shovel. Who does that? Seriously?

I suppose I should get back to work soon though. I bet I still have more tests though…
So I guess I’m pretending to be back to work so my loyalty can continue to be questioned.
That doesn’t quite have the same push to it.
Umm… to murder!

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Short analysis: Don’t use a shovel next time. It’s apparently distracting.
Fracture out.