Cupcake Edition. ^-^
Its funny. Trust me.
Now let me clarify something before I share the following. While I have nothing against David Banks personally, his abandonment of service and what he is capable of makes him a very dangerous person and as long as he continues to stand as a force apart from Father he is to be considered too dangerous to be left alive. Having said that I share the following in light of the fact that it may scare off proxies that may have been considering going after David themselves to try to collect on his high bounty. I share this in spite of that because you need to know how dangerous a task this is. David may very well kill you should you fail... if you're lucky.
Four nights ago a recovery team responded to a distress call. The caller was hysterical and was babbling incessantly.
Legolas
[The Proxy in Distress. Apparently an Elf from middle earth.]
"Fuck man, come help me. Please god come help me. He killed them all. Hes g-got a cleaver! C-Come help me now!"
*Screaming. 'We're All in This Together' from High school Musical can be heard playing in the background in a moment of silence following the scream*
"C-C-Cu-... H-He c-cut off my fu-"
*More screams. "...make our dreams come true...!"*
David
"The poor thing fainted. You should come pick him. He doesn't look well."
*Hang Up Noise*
When they arrived they made a cautious sweep of the house and found the bodies of three proxies in the basement and one barely still living proxy, apparently Legolas, tied to a chair.
All of the bodies where unrecognizable.
Beyond the cuts, gashes, puncture wounds, missing teeth, burn marks, and bruises/tears that stand as a clear indicator of violent rape that all three corpses shared, two of the bodies had large sections of their skin removed.
Given the intact nature of the internal organs and the excessive amount of blood soaking the floor, it would appear all three of the murdered victims met their death in blood loss when David was done with them.
Based on what we were able to get out of Legolas once he finally calmed down and agreed to talk with us about what happened, he was tied down and made to watch David slowly torture, rape, and kill his friends one at a time.
"Wh-When he was finished with... wh-when they f-f-finally stopped screaming and st-struggling... he'd sk-skin them. F-F-F-Fucking cook and feed them to us. Starve us out... t-taunted us when we f-finally..." he stammered out and then started vomiting and crying.
While Legolas himself was not tortured, beyond having to watch his friends die at least, he did not make it out Scott free. David removed Legalos' right leg from just above his knee down, which is what we heard happening over the phone.
Legolas is currently taking residence in the Free Market HQ and will be recieving bi-weekly therapy and weekly physical therapy lessons until such a time that I am satisfied that he has become 'well' again.
To those of you out there still looking to collect on David's Bounty, Father help you.
I wish you a quick death.
The Lord Guardian Fracture, out!
Showing posts with label Murder. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Murder. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Blue Font
“Silly, you’ll find
no rest while you’re at war with yourself.
Just make a decision and promise yourself you’ll stick with it in the morning.”
-Sierra
Just make a decision and promise yourself you’ll stick with it in the morning.”
-Sierra
Heeeeellllllllooooooo~
This is special
designation ‘Firecracker’ reporting in on behalf of the lord of fire and
feathers, Mr. Duck. I’ve also been known to respond to ‘Picasso’ and on the
rare occasion ‘Fucking Maskless’.
Mr. Duck is apparently suffering from sleeping problems and can’t find time to post in between not sleeping and hunting and we are having a hard time finding Mr. Fracture so Mr. Duck said I get to file a report and so here I am. He gave me a few rules to follow. I’ll go ahead and lay those out to make this report seem longer than it actually is:
Mr. Duck is apparently suffering from sleeping problems and can’t find time to post in between not sleeping and hunting and we are having a hard time finding Mr. Fracture so Mr. Duck said I get to file a report and so here I am. He gave me a few rules to follow. I’ll go ahead and lay those out to make this report seem longer than it actually is:
1.
“Do
not mention that we are looking for Fracture. I do not want him to be expecting
the shovel
when he gets back.”
2. “Do not mention that I am having sleeping
problems. Just tell them I am busy hunting.”
3.
“Do
not break rules 1 and 2.”
4.
“Do
not talk about yours or anyone else’s fighting style or abilities. Whenever you
need to express
that you killed someone, just say you did. Fuck them if they want
to know more, they can stalk me
in person for details.”
5.
“Lie
to them.”
6.
“Make
your own account. I don’t want you posting on mine.”
Hmm… looking back over
those I already broke 4 out of 6 of his rules. Whoops. Oh well, it serves him
right for throwing lit fucking firecrackers at me!
Pettiness aside, I think this is going really well. What else to talk about? Umm…
Oh! I killed a guy yesterday.
After we tracked down our list item, Trent scared him down an alleyway and I dove down on him from a fire escape. In hindsight, the joint trauma of falling on him and forcing a knife through the back of his ribs probably killed him on the spot. That didn’t stop me from screaming at and ripping into the corpse for ten minutes before I finally realized he was already dead.
After I got off of him I cut off his thumb and used it to draw operator symbols on the walls in his blood. My favorite symbol is the triangle with the uppercase ‘L’s attach to every edge. Once the body started to smell I figured I should probably get going so I called our cleaning guy, Trent, and told him to get to work. I could tell he was scowling at me from the other side of his mask. He hates it when I call him from five feet away to tell him to do things over the phone.
Then I helped Trent with his disposal duties and we headed back to New York to report to Mr. Duck and retire for the day.
On an exciting end note, I hear Mr. Duck is going to make Trent give the next report. I can’t wait to finally hear the mute’s opinions of us and his surroundings. Should be fascinating!
Laters!
Firecracker
Pettiness aside, I think this is going really well. What else to talk about? Umm…
Oh! I killed a guy yesterday.
After we tracked down our list item, Trent scared him down an alleyway and I dove down on him from a fire escape. In hindsight, the joint trauma of falling on him and forcing a knife through the back of his ribs probably killed him on the spot. That didn’t stop me from screaming at and ripping into the corpse for ten minutes before I finally realized he was already dead.
After I got off of him I cut off his thumb and used it to draw operator symbols on the walls in his blood. My favorite symbol is the triangle with the uppercase ‘L’s attach to every edge. Once the body started to smell I figured I should probably get going so I called our cleaning guy, Trent, and told him to get to work. I could tell he was scowling at me from the other side of his mask. He hates it when I call him from five feet away to tell him to do things over the phone.
Then I helped Trent with his disposal duties and we headed back to New York to report to Mr. Duck and retire for the day.
On an exciting end note, I hear Mr. Duck is going to make Trent give the next report. I can’t wait to finally hear the mute’s opinions of us and his surroundings. Should be fascinating!
Laters!
Firecracker
Saturday, July 14, 2012
There Ain’t No Hope for the Hapless
…Those
fuckers die easily. I just slit their throats and split their ribs, then I feed
them to the bleeding tree!
Did you know hapless means unfortunate or unlucky? Yeah, neither did I. I was pretty sure it meant unskilled or something down that line of thought. Although, they say you make your own luck. In that respect a hapless person is probably an unskilled. I of course mean unskilled in the respect of someone being a weak piece of shit. Fuck semantics. Fucking words.
Enough rambling, who remembers Nemesis?
I’d be surprised if anyone does at this point. He was kind of a foot note I left hanging a few months back at the request of the assholes who give me my orders. I killed his pet runner or some such shit. I saw him the other day.
That went something like this:
I was walking down the hallway. We don’t get much traffic; it’s just the four of us here after all. I could hear footsteps behind me. They were too heavy to be Firecrackers or Fractures. (Fracture walks like a little girl.) At the same time, they were lighter than Trent’s footsteps. (Trent also likes to drag his knuckles against the nearest wall when he walks for some reason.) Whoever was behind me wasn’t supposed to be here, probably. I slowed down a bit and pretended something ahead on one of the walls had caught my attention.
After a brief moment of changing pace I heard the footsteps speed up to further gain on me. When they got really close an unfamiliar voice called out ‘Black Blood’. I was ready for him though. I side stepped a stab and then grabbed by attackers forearm and slammed it hard into the nearest wall forcing him to drop his knife. I then jerk my arm back hard elbowing the attacker in his fugly fucking face and finally turned my head just enough to see who the fuck it was. I recognized the piece of shit immediately. I never forget the ones I intentionally let live; those fuckers always seem to show back up one way or another.
Without letting so much as a moment pass as to not give up my own moment, I grabbed his forearm again and slammed it against the wall harder. I couldn’t help but grin as I heard something snap confirming that his primary hand had been ruined. Too dazed from the Elbowing and far too busy screaming like a girl to properly respond, I spun behind Nemesis and bashed him hard in the back of the head with the hilt of my now drawn knife as I pulled a leg out from under him with my own leg. Fuck face fell hard on his fucking face. It didn’t take Nemesis more than a few seconds to start crawling forward weakly. It seemed he didn’t have much left anymore. Pity, I was just getting started.
I looked forward curious as to what exactly that idiot was crawling toward. His knife had flown a little ways down the hall to the other side of a chair Trent likes to keep there by his door for some reason. Further down the hall I could see Fracture standing there and watching, most likely drawn out by all the screaming. I felt my grin grow a little wider. I don’t particularly care for an audience but I wanted him to see this.
“Still trying to get your little revenge?” I asked him as I started walking toward him.
“Y-YOU’LL FUCKING PAY FOR WHAT Y-YOU FUCKING DID TO JENNET!” he yelled and crawled more desperately slowly getting closer to that chair. I could see him swelling with hope. Maybe this wasn’t over yet. ‘Maybe he’ll be too cocky and I can turn this around on him,’ I could imagine him saying. ‘Just a little further yet.’
“Oh?” I asked as I leaned over and slit his back open up the length of the left side of his spinal column in one swift motion. The pain stopped him in his tracks and left him cringing. “Your pet’s name was Jennet? Adorable,” I said as I walked ahead of him and stopped in front of the chair turning to face him.
“BLACK BLOOD!” he yelled before he started crawling again, slower now. “Wh-Why i-isn’t that w-working?!” he whined pleadingly, the desperation finally starting to show in his voice.
“You must have been reading me all this time,” I said as I started walking toward him again. “Studying your pray. How Commendable. I guess you do actually know how to hunt,” I told him as I leaned over and slit his back open up the length of the right side of his spinal column, but much slower this time to drag out the pain and the screaming. “Pity you suck at your job.”
I looked up at Fracture to see how he was enjoying his show. So cold was his grimace as he stood there watching intently taking in every word and every action. I could see Firecracker running towards me from behind him. She looked quite focused like a hell bent bitch on a mission. I’m not sure if she was going to help me or put an end to my show. I never found out. Fracture close lined her when she tried to pass sending her hard on her ass. I took the opportunity to get back to work. Fuck face had started crawling again. I followed again, this time keeping pace to his side.
“You’re just going to bleed yourself out if you keep pushing yourself like that,” I teased him.
“NOT BEFORE I KILL YOU!” he yelled with renewed hope and vigor in a mildly impressive display. ‘Just maybe,’ he must of thought. ‘Just a little further.’
“Just a little further,” I whispered to him. “Almost. Come on. This is for her. Redemption is just ahead.”
Before too long he found himself just out of reach of the chair’s leg. Just a little further and maybe he could pull himself forward to his knife and just maybe there would be a chance of winning this fight yet.
“You know, I just might have let you live. But I’m afraid you broke rule 926.”
“Oh?” he asked with a weak and failed attempt to laugh. “Wh-What rule i-is th-that?”
“Don't ever piss me off,” I informed him as I pulled his head back by his hair and slit his throat and saw the last of his fire drain from his eyes, his wrath and his passion now my burden to carry.
“What a lame line.”
“Don’t fucking start with me. I’m not here to amuse you,” I growled and got to work cleaning and resharpening my blade as I headed for my room. “Clean up this fucking mess and double check your security measures. I don’t want anymore of this shit getting through. Trent, check on Firecracker. Oh, and give Fracture a good slug. He did that to her.”
And then I disappeared into my room.
Good bye Nemesis. I hope you rot in hell.
Oh, for the record, rule 926:
‘Keep no pets. They will die on you.’
It’s in the handbook.
Swan out.
Did you know hapless means unfortunate or unlucky? Yeah, neither did I. I was pretty sure it meant unskilled or something down that line of thought. Although, they say you make your own luck. In that respect a hapless person is probably an unskilled. I of course mean unskilled in the respect of someone being a weak piece of shit. Fuck semantics. Fucking words.
Enough rambling, who remembers Nemesis?
I’d be surprised if anyone does at this point. He was kind of a foot note I left hanging a few months back at the request of the assholes who give me my orders. I killed his pet runner or some such shit. I saw him the other day.
That went something like this:
I was walking down the hallway. We don’t get much traffic; it’s just the four of us here after all. I could hear footsteps behind me. They were too heavy to be Firecrackers or Fractures. (Fracture walks like a little girl.) At the same time, they were lighter than Trent’s footsteps. (Trent also likes to drag his knuckles against the nearest wall when he walks for some reason.) Whoever was behind me wasn’t supposed to be here, probably. I slowed down a bit and pretended something ahead on one of the walls had caught my attention.
After a brief moment of changing pace I heard the footsteps speed up to further gain on me. When they got really close an unfamiliar voice called out ‘Black Blood’. I was ready for him though. I side stepped a stab and then grabbed by attackers forearm and slammed it hard into the nearest wall forcing him to drop his knife. I then jerk my arm back hard elbowing the attacker in his fugly fucking face and finally turned my head just enough to see who the fuck it was. I recognized the piece of shit immediately. I never forget the ones I intentionally let live; those fuckers always seem to show back up one way or another.
Without letting so much as a moment pass as to not give up my own moment, I grabbed his forearm again and slammed it against the wall harder. I couldn’t help but grin as I heard something snap confirming that his primary hand had been ruined. Too dazed from the Elbowing and far too busy screaming like a girl to properly respond, I spun behind Nemesis and bashed him hard in the back of the head with the hilt of my now drawn knife as I pulled a leg out from under him with my own leg. Fuck face fell hard on his fucking face. It didn’t take Nemesis more than a few seconds to start crawling forward weakly. It seemed he didn’t have much left anymore. Pity, I was just getting started.
I looked forward curious as to what exactly that idiot was crawling toward. His knife had flown a little ways down the hall to the other side of a chair Trent likes to keep there by his door for some reason. Further down the hall I could see Fracture standing there and watching, most likely drawn out by all the screaming. I felt my grin grow a little wider. I don’t particularly care for an audience but I wanted him to see this.
“Still trying to get your little revenge?” I asked him as I started walking toward him.
“Y-YOU’LL FUCKING PAY FOR WHAT Y-YOU FUCKING DID TO JENNET!” he yelled and crawled more desperately slowly getting closer to that chair. I could see him swelling with hope. Maybe this wasn’t over yet. ‘Maybe he’ll be too cocky and I can turn this around on him,’ I could imagine him saying. ‘Just a little further yet.’
“Oh?” I asked as I leaned over and slit his back open up the length of the left side of his spinal column in one swift motion. The pain stopped him in his tracks and left him cringing. “Your pet’s name was Jennet? Adorable,” I said as I walked ahead of him and stopped in front of the chair turning to face him.
“BLACK BLOOD!” he yelled before he started crawling again, slower now. “Wh-Why i-isn’t that w-working?!” he whined pleadingly, the desperation finally starting to show in his voice.
“You must have been reading me all this time,” I said as I started walking toward him again. “Studying your pray. How Commendable. I guess you do actually know how to hunt,” I told him as I leaned over and slit his back open up the length of the right side of his spinal column, but much slower this time to drag out the pain and the screaming. “Pity you suck at your job.”
I looked up at Fracture to see how he was enjoying his show. So cold was his grimace as he stood there watching intently taking in every word and every action. I could see Firecracker running towards me from behind him. She looked quite focused like a hell bent bitch on a mission. I’m not sure if she was going to help me or put an end to my show. I never found out. Fracture close lined her when she tried to pass sending her hard on her ass. I took the opportunity to get back to work. Fuck face had started crawling again. I followed again, this time keeping pace to his side.
“You’re just going to bleed yourself out if you keep pushing yourself like that,” I teased him.
“NOT BEFORE I KILL YOU!” he yelled with renewed hope and vigor in a mildly impressive display. ‘Just maybe,’ he must of thought. ‘Just a little further.’
“Just a little further,” I whispered to him. “Almost. Come on. This is for her. Redemption is just ahead.”
Before too long he found himself just out of reach of the chair’s leg. Just a little further and maybe he could pull himself forward to his knife and just maybe there would be a chance of winning this fight yet.
“You know, I just might have let you live. But I’m afraid you broke rule 926.”
“Oh?” he asked with a weak and failed attempt to laugh. “Wh-What rule i-is th-that?”
“Don't ever piss me off,” I informed him as I pulled his head back by his hair and slit his throat and saw the last of his fire drain from his eyes, his wrath and his passion now my burden to carry.
“What a lame line.”
“Don’t fucking start with me. I’m not here to amuse you,” I growled and got to work cleaning and resharpening my blade as I headed for my room. “Clean up this fucking mess and double check your security measures. I don’t want anymore of this shit getting through. Trent, check on Firecracker. Oh, and give Fracture a good slug. He did that to her.”
And then I disappeared into my room.
Good bye Nemesis. I hope you rot in hell.
Oh, for the record, rule 926:
‘Keep no pets. They will die on you.’
It’s in the handbook.
Swan out.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Runner Bullshit
---------------------------
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.
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
---------------------------
Edit:
Edit: (?)
FUCK YOU!!!
FUCK YOU!!!
-Swan (ß An additional fuck you! My name is nicer!)
---------------------------
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
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.
…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.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
This is About as Close as we get to an Apology
It’s
been a rough week. I’ve been… paranoid.
I spent most of this week beating on Fracture, tying him up, staring at him, and eventually I threw him off the roof. That last one really takes me back to my youth. Huh, that kind of rhymes. And now I’m rambling.
Focus. So throwing Fracture off the roof did wonders for fixing his attitude problem, by which I mean his constant creepy smile. He even started talking and reasoning at me again. I think I might have missed that a little more than I would like to admit because I actually listened to what he was saying for once. The following is a rough retelling of it. I wasn’t hanging onto every word or anything:
“I think that was uncalled for.”
“I bet. You deserve every bit of it. You deserve more even.”
“And why would that be?”
“You betrayed me.”
“This surprises you? Have you read half the shit you’ve written? Don’t act so hurt. You were waiting for this. You constantly beat on me in anticipation for this. Had this day never come, you would look back on our time together and think on how my betrayal must have only been one more day away. Inevitable treachery stopped by a lack of time and opportunity.”
“Shut up!”
“Not having fun anymore?”
“This has never been fun.”
“Why so sour. This isn’t even about me is it? I haven’t told you anything you didn’t already know.”
“Of course it’s about you!”
“This ‘betrayal’ doesn’t even phase you does it? I bet you’re proud of me. Putting work aside for personal passions.”
“…”
“This is about her. This is a distraction so you don’t have to deal with the life you’ve ruined. Poor Picasso, you can’t even man up and face her.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Ready to get back to work Duckie?”
“Yeah,… fine.”
Then I threw him off the roof again and untied him. After he was done soaking away his bruises in the shower we talked on what I planned to do about the Twin. I was surprised to find his didn’t approve of my brilliant plan, operation: ‘Snap her Neck and Leave her in a Ditch’. There was an argument.
“Don’t kill her.”
“Why the fuck not? She’s a dangerous defector at this point. All who fail to serve deserve their end.”
“You were spared. Don’t you think she deserves the same opportunity? Don’t you think you owe her that much?”
“I have never argued the point that they should have killed me after your sentencing. She dies.”
“What would her brother have wanted?”
“Fuck you, that’s what.”
And then I stormed out. It’s time to fix my mess.
I spent most of this week beating on Fracture, tying him up, staring at him, and eventually I threw him off the roof. That last one really takes me back to my youth. Huh, that kind of rhymes. And now I’m rambling.
Focus. So throwing Fracture off the roof did wonders for fixing his attitude problem, by which I mean his constant creepy smile. He even started talking and reasoning at me again. I think I might have missed that a little more than I would like to admit because I actually listened to what he was saying for once. The following is a rough retelling of it. I wasn’t hanging onto every word or anything:
“I think that was uncalled for.”
“I bet. You deserve every bit of it. You deserve more even.”
“And why would that be?”
“You betrayed me.”
“This surprises you? Have you read half the shit you’ve written? Don’t act so hurt. You were waiting for this. You constantly beat on me in anticipation for this. Had this day never come, you would look back on our time together and think on how my betrayal must have only been one more day away. Inevitable treachery stopped by a lack of time and opportunity.”
“Shut up!”
“Not having fun anymore?”
“This has never been fun.”
“Why so sour. This isn’t even about me is it? I haven’t told you anything you didn’t already know.”
“Of course it’s about you!”
“This ‘betrayal’ doesn’t even phase you does it? I bet you’re proud of me. Putting work aside for personal passions.”
“…”
“This is about her. This is a distraction so you don’t have to deal with the life you’ve ruined. Poor Picasso, you can’t even man up and face her.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Ready to get back to work Duckie?”
“Yeah,… fine.”
Then I threw him off the roof again and untied him. After he was done soaking away his bruises in the shower we talked on what I planned to do about the Twin. I was surprised to find his didn’t approve of my brilliant plan, operation: ‘Snap her Neck and Leave her in a Ditch’. There was an argument.
“Don’t kill her.”
“Why the fuck not? She’s a dangerous defector at this point. All who fail to serve deserve their end.”
“You were spared. Don’t you think she deserves the same opportunity? Don’t you think you owe her that much?”
“I have never argued the point that they should have killed me after your sentencing. She dies.”
“What would her brother have wanted?”
“Fuck you, that’s what.”
And then I stormed out. It’s time to fix my mess.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
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.
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.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Nothing
We’ll I
was wrong, yesterday sucked.
We watched that door for hours but no one came out. I was beginning to think there may have been another way out and that the mark had slipped away on us. I had the great misfortune of being wrong. As the sun began to rise I decided I was done waiting and told Fracture to start for the motel while I deal with the mark. I got up there to find piles of canned foods. It looked like the mark had been here for a while and had no intention of going anywhere. That’s a pretty cocky move for someone living on someone else’s roof. And then I got a look at my sleeping mark and realized why he thought this was going to work out for him. He was about 9 years old.
The gravity of this took a good minute to sink into my brain properly.
How did a 9 year old get his hands on this much food?
How did he sneak it onto the roof of a hotel?
Why the hell was this mark assigned to me?
As far as I was concerned, this wasn’t happening. They could send someone else to take care of this. I already did the part of finding him. The next hunter would just have to come up and slit the little shit’s throat when I was good and gone. That’s what I kept telling myself as I pulled out my phone.
That’s what I kept mumbling as I looked down at my phone and realized my vision was starting to blur.
And then once more, the world went black…
When I came to my senses I found I was coated in blood. I was holding a… piece of the kid. I had mutilated him, but my knife was clean. I had carried out this gruesome scene with my bare hands. I was in complete disbelief. I had to close my eyes so I couldn’t see it or I was going to vomit.
This never should have happened.
Not like this. Not by me.
All I could think was that this was part of my punishment. The master must have made me do it because he knew it would hurt me. That’s why I’m alive right? So I can endure further punishment for my disobedience in my last life. So the monster I call master can teach me a lesion that I can carry to my grave.
Perhaps this is what I get for making rules for myself that I put above him. If I’m going to get through this, I’m going to need to be ready hurt more children.
We watched that door for hours but no one came out. I was beginning to think there may have been another way out and that the mark had slipped away on us. I had the great misfortune of being wrong. As the sun began to rise I decided I was done waiting and told Fracture to start for the motel while I deal with the mark. I got up there to find piles of canned foods. It looked like the mark had been here for a while and had no intention of going anywhere. That’s a pretty cocky move for someone living on someone else’s roof. And then I got a look at my sleeping mark and realized why he thought this was going to work out for him. He was about 9 years old.
The gravity of this took a good minute to sink into my brain properly.
How did a 9 year old get his hands on this much food?
How did he sneak it onto the roof of a hotel?
Why the hell was this mark assigned to me?
As far as I was concerned, this wasn’t happening. They could send someone else to take care of this. I already did the part of finding him. The next hunter would just have to come up and slit the little shit’s throat when I was good and gone. That’s what I kept telling myself as I pulled out my phone.
That’s what I kept mumbling as I looked down at my phone and realized my vision was starting to blur.
And then once more, the world went black…
When I came to my senses I found I was coated in blood. I was holding a… piece of the kid. I had mutilated him, but my knife was clean. I had carried out this gruesome scene with my bare hands. I was in complete disbelief. I had to close my eyes so I couldn’t see it or I was going to vomit.
This never should have happened.
Not like this. Not by me.
All I could think was that this was part of my punishment. The master must have made me do it because he knew it would hurt me. That’s why I’m alive right? So I can endure further punishment for my disobedience in my last life. So the monster I call master can teach me a lesion that I can carry to my grave.
Perhaps this is what I get for making rules for myself that I put above him. If I’m going to get through this, I’m going to need to be ready hurt more children.
It’s all
very hypocritical of me anyways. I always justified the killing with the logic
that no one life was worth more than another. Since I have already killed
someone, I was being disrespectful to the dead if I wasn’t ready to kill
absolutely everyone else. I never included kids in that everyone, but I guess I
should have.
It’s got me thinking though.
What makes my life worth more than my victim’s since I keep surviving but they don’t?
It’s got me thinking though.
What makes my life worth more than my victim’s since I keep surviving but they don’t?
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Something's Off Here
I love
traveling. The thought of all the things I’ll never have to see again has
always been a comfort for me even if it is a lie, revisits are after all inevitable.
I got to spend about a day on the road. For some reason there wasn’t a person
on my list in the same state I was in. It’s not unprecedented but it is odd.
After a quick nap the hunt was on. My target had been marked for death for over a year. She was apparently very good at not being seen. Her assigned hunter had various observations from his many reported failures. I started with the locations from those reports and fanned out. I had no luck. I was about to call it a day when a lead came in.
It was a street address and a time. So I went and waited and sure enough there she was but she wasn’t what I was expecting. She was well dressed. She smiled and waved as she passed. After a few seconds I took up a spot behind someone and followed her.
From there she went to a bar, worked for a few hours, then walked back to a bus stop, and took the bus to what is apparently her apartment. She had her last name on a plate beside her door. Through the window hanging out on the roof of another building I could see that she spent the night watching television before going to bed. Something was terribly wrong. This was not the life of a runner who had managed to evade a hunter for an extended amount of time.
Making as little noise as possible I broke into her house. Up close I could see she had a nice fully furnished place. And her TV… it was huge. I snuck into her room to find her sleeping peacefully in a rather large bed. The comfort this person was able to hide away in was absolutely sickening. This would have been a most satisfying kill but once again it was not something I was allowed to enjoy.
From there I must assume that I killed her. My knife was still in her. It seems I had forced it in between two of her ribs and stabbed her in the heart repeatedly. More than that though, I had been violent about it. It looked like I broke a lot of her ribs. I was kind of angry after that and flipped the mattress she was on. I was hoping when I became a proxy again killing would stop being a joyless burden but I guess I’m still being punished.
When I finally calmed down I took another look around and figured I should ransack the place. She can’t use any of this crap now. So I took her radio/clock, jewelry, and was even fortunate enough to find a shoe box with a few hundred dollars in it. Oh and I took her TV. I don’t know that I’ll ever use it but there was no way I was leaving it.
Now, the final step of this process is the evaluation. I’m supposed to put my thoughts in on whether or not the failed hunter deserves punishment for their failure and under sketchy conditions I’m supposed to investigate further into why the mark survived as long as they did. I usually just fill ‘Hunter was clearly incompetent’ in that field but that is a gross understatement in this case.
I’m going to have to investigate this further. Tomorrow I’m going to go talk to the assigned hunter.
If I don’t like his explanation I may very well run him through.
After a quick nap the hunt was on. My target had been marked for death for over a year. She was apparently very good at not being seen. Her assigned hunter had various observations from his many reported failures. I started with the locations from those reports and fanned out. I had no luck. I was about to call it a day when a lead came in.
It was a street address and a time. So I went and waited and sure enough there she was but she wasn’t what I was expecting. She was well dressed. She smiled and waved as she passed. After a few seconds I took up a spot behind someone and followed her.
From there she went to a bar, worked for a few hours, then walked back to a bus stop, and took the bus to what is apparently her apartment. She had her last name on a plate beside her door. Through the window hanging out on the roof of another building I could see that she spent the night watching television before going to bed. Something was terribly wrong. This was not the life of a runner who had managed to evade a hunter for an extended amount of time.
Making as little noise as possible I broke into her house. Up close I could see she had a nice fully furnished place. And her TV… it was huge. I snuck into her room to find her sleeping peacefully in a rather large bed. The comfort this person was able to hide away in was absolutely sickening. This would have been a most satisfying kill but once again it was not something I was allowed to enjoy.
From there I must assume that I killed her. My knife was still in her. It seems I had forced it in between two of her ribs and stabbed her in the heart repeatedly. More than that though, I had been violent about it. It looked like I broke a lot of her ribs. I was kind of angry after that and flipped the mattress she was on. I was hoping when I became a proxy again killing would stop being a joyless burden but I guess I’m still being punished.
When I finally calmed down I took another look around and figured I should ransack the place. She can’t use any of this crap now. So I took her radio/clock, jewelry, and was even fortunate enough to find a shoe box with a few hundred dollars in it. Oh and I took her TV. I don’t know that I’ll ever use it but there was no way I was leaving it.
Now, the final step of this process is the evaluation. I’m supposed to put my thoughts in on whether or not the failed hunter deserves punishment for their failure and under sketchy conditions I’m supposed to investigate further into why the mark survived as long as they did. I usually just fill ‘Hunter was clearly incompetent’ in that field but that is a gross understatement in this case.
I’m going to have to investigate this further. Tomorrow I’m going to go talk to the assigned hunter.
If I don’t like his explanation I may very well run him through.
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