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.

Mind Games

“La, la la.”
I can hear something is the background.
“La, la la, la la.”
I can hear something other than the children singing.
“La, la la. La la, la la, la.”
It sounds a little something like:
“S- &u*h t_ #e#”

No, that wasn’t coherent…
It doesn’t matter though. My concentration on the matter was broken when my annoying therapist started jabbing his elbow in my side. I return the favor by slugging him in the arm.

“What?”
“See those two over there?” he says pointing at a man and a woman. “That’s Elaine and Elliott.”

He felt my grip tighten and my teeth grit a bit as soon as I heard that. I needed to fight my hatred though, if for no other reason than because I was pretty sure Fracture was lying to me. He’s taken to saying things to gauge my reaction lately. It’s annoying. I slugged him again.

“Creeper. Which one are you eyeing?” I teased him.
“One?” he responded.

I couldn’t tell if he was joking. I think this was also him trying to gauge a reaction. I was so done with his stupid little mind game. So I forced the situation into something I had a little more control over. I pulled out my mask and held it where the couple could see. They must have been runners. They booked it into their car and left. I guess if that was actually them I’ll find out with a comment.

“We should get going too,” I said putting the mask away and heading to the car.
“That’s exactly the kind of shit that you keep getting in trouble for,” he informed me.
“That is exactly the kind of shit that will keep happening when you try to fuck with me,” I said slugging him again.
“Now shut it and drive.”

And then things went back to being quiet…
“La, la la…”

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.