Runner Bullshit

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Edit:

The following was posted over the course of two fits, the time it took for me to salvage the hard drive after the laptop was smashed at the end of the last fit, the time it took to transfer that to a new hard drive, the time it took for subject 926 to finalize his draft after all that, and the time it took for me to edit this draft with a disclaiming edit thereafter.

-Fracture

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Edit: Edit: (?)

FUCK YOU!!!

-Swan (ß An additional fuck you! My name is nicer!)

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FUCK, it hurts. FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK

THISISRUNNERBULLSHIT! I’m a proxy damn it! FFFUUCCCKKK

la, la la.

Getting ahead of myself. Let me scale back for a second or something. If I’m going to do this… I really should do it right. I’m going to take a page out of Captain Flying Rock Monster’s book and see if this isn’t easier if I try to tell it from the beginning. Keep in mind this is NOTFORFUCKINGYOU. This is for me. I need to figure out exactly what happened. Since Fracture is being extra useless this is last fucking alternative.

Since the crying has finally stopped, let’s begin.
I seem to be suffering from migraine inducing memory loss. That is to say, whenever I try to remember what the fuck happened I break out in sweat, migraines, crying, itches, and the urge to bang my head against the fucking wall. The brain pain starts whenever I try to remember anything that happened within the last, what I am assuming, 8 days and feel insanely worse the later into that time period the thing I am trying to remember is.

Roughly two days after my first post, which is about two days before that fucking painful 8 day period, I finally managed to catch Fracture off guard at the hotel. I slugged him and when he turned to face me I slammed my shovel down on top of his skull. Then we stared each other down until I was sure he knew we were good and even and left after slugging him again. I think he went to deal with his bleeding scalp. On another happy note, I spent much of the next two days throwing lit firecrackers at Firecracker because it freaks her the fuck out. Ha ha. She gets so mad.

Two days later (Fuck, I can already feel the fucking migraine start to kick in.), Fracture had me call everyone together for some stupid fucking meeting in my room. Using the book I brought back, Fracture had managed to determine the location and goals of that stupid fuck Kreeger and his stupid fucking cronies. Apparently those sick fucks had been collecting children being watched by the master and were gathering them in some shack in the fucking woods of all places in an effort to force the master in a place of their fucking choosing for a fight. They corralled the little shits by way of tranquilizer or something. It hurts a little to draw on specifics... um... the stun stick. Fracture gave me a new toy.

“I’m hoping to brin(FUCK)g some of these bastards back alive. To help you with your little killing prob(FUCKFUCKFUCK)lem, I had this made.”itswas astupid fuckingstunstick shapedlikeaknife with ahiltand everythingthat goesoff whenever you presstheknife part to anything.

FUCK. Fuckfuckfuck! Why the fuck did I do that to myself. QUIT CRYING YOU FUCKING PUSSY!

… La, la la, la la, la…

And there went the TV out the window. Fortunately, the fire escape caught it.
I’m going to go ahead and move forward and we’ll see if I can’t finish this without throwing anything else out the window. Just in case though, I have Fracture with me this time so if I do snap I won’t break anything important in the room. I’ll just break him.

So we picked up and went to Kreeger’s group’s stupid fucking hideout. First by car, FUCK, and then walking, sneaking, elephant. Once fucking close Fracture did some recon. The children were… god damn it, in the fucking basing in a giant fucking cage of all motherfucking things. Seriously, what the fuck. Nine. 2 up, 5 mid, 2 down. Firec and Tren wnet top. Frac bot. I waited 5, charged mid.

IFYOULETTHEMHURTTHOSEFUCKINGKIDSI”LLENDYOU

whatever

Clear

Clear

Clear

... (That one was trent.)

They missed one. Down thestairs. Firecrackerlookout!

THISISNOTFUCKINGACCEPTABLE!whathappened,whathappened,whathapstopfuckingcryingandjustfuckingrememberalreadypagoha[hj]aeoargnargbuinbzfkj;agbjoleri[oaoBlackbloodaerop;aasgnoFUCK

…la, la la…

And after that I broke my laptop… on Fracture I think. I’m not sure. I think he might have moved. In which case I probably broke it on the desk. Fuck, I’m rambling.

I spent several hours looking over what I wrote to try to figure out what the fuck happened which also hurt but not nearly as much as remembering and writing it did. I… think I have a better understanding of what happened, except Firecracker isn’t dead or even hurt so, oww, sure something happened there. Fucking headache flares up at the simple fucking thought of that. ThefucKWHY...

Not even sure how we got back. Those fuckers much have fucking carried me back. And I noticed something on that end note. What in the fuck does FUCK. Ow. I’ll try to type this fast.

blackblodo

FUKFUCKFUCK.

…mmean. Why do those two words hurt so fucking much to think about…

…La, la la…

I should stop before I break something again.

On a closing note, according to Fracture, all of the kids made it out alive and have been returned to... umm... somewhere? I'm assuming their homes or wherever the master was storing them. We also didn't manage to bring any of Kreeger's gang back alive which suits me just fine. Fuck those assholes, seriously. They deserved it. Fracture says the book only had ten names in it so with any luck that is the end of them.

God damn it! Even this tertiary crap is hurting my head to think about.

I can’t take anymore fucking crying,
Ugly fucking Duck out.

Fear

“Hello [Deleted].”

“Every time Fracture, every single time. Can’t let it die. One of these days someone is going to hear you and I will kill you. I will fucking bleed you dry.”

“Can we just get this session started, Mr. [Deleted]?”

“Bleed you dry!”

“I’m just going to assume that’s a yes… So where are we on your old little catch phrase?”

“My catch phrase, F?”

“Yes, your catch phrase. That stupid little thing you constantly used to say to justify your emotional disconnection.”

“I don’t recall.”

“I think it went something like, ‘Attachment is a weakness’, right? ‘I don’t miss my squad, such attachment is a weakness.’ ‘I had to give up moth, such attachment is a weakness.’ ‘I’m not sorry about what happened to Picasso, concern is attachment and that would be a weakness.’ … I think my favorite was that last one. You really had to start twisting your own words to make that fit. And I think you cried over-OWOWOWOW”

“Fracture, what did I say?”“That you’d kill me?”“Yes, I will skin you. Slowly. And then feed your skin to you!”

“You’re so afraid of your secrets getting out [Deleted].You're so attached to them. It’s almost like they're a wea-OWOWOW.”

“I WILL KILL YOU.”

“Calm down.”

[About 15 minutes of growling later, Duckie finds himself back in his seat and I find myself only mildly bleeding.]
“So… does that saying still hold true?”

“…True enough.”

“How’s Ember?” [This comment was followed by Duckie throwing a chair at me.]
“I can see I hit a nerve.”

“I think I’m done with this conversation.”

“Same goes for the squad you refused to send out for the first week you had them. Are you suddenly afraid of people dying on you? That sounds like a weakness.”

“Does this have a fucking point, F?”

“I just need to know if this is an issue or not. You’re not known for adjusting well to things… especially not to your own decisions. I’m not entirely sure how but I somehow predict this will also end in blind rage and your death. I’m just worried [Deleted].”

“Blah, blah, blah, threats. I hear you, ass. Are we done?”

“I suppose.”

[At this point Duckie walked over to his closet and pulled out shovel. I… well let’s just leave it at I left.]

I can smell your fear Duckie and that means they can smell it too. Tread lightly.
Fracture out.

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.

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.