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.

Squad Member 3 - Firecrackers in the... Fog?

It’s so foggy… I don’t understand… am I killing someone right now?
I should be covered in blood if I was…
Why am I…?

…

Firecracker… I’m supposed to be talking about Firecracker.

La, la la… FOCUS.

… la la, la la, la la la, la, lala, la la.

She’s my new squad mate. She is not new though… although she stopped… trying to kill me. She’s still so angry though. Her furious grimace when she looks at me… is piercing.

Blah, blah, blah. Fucking spit it out already. It’s Picasso. Fracture showed up with her earlier at… some point? She said she forgives me… I was afraid she had lost her fire.  I said… something, and she punched me so I’m pretty sure she still has it. To keep tradition with Fracture, I renamed her Firecracker after… that cold angry bitch. Fitting…

I should explain why she glued pieces of her mask to her face when she was hunting me…
It’s a practice the Maskless had instead of wearing masks… there was all kinds of symbolism and rules and other stupid shit to it. They could tell… if you were really one of them based on how the pieces were attached… Even told them your job and purpose and shit…. So she did that to try to piss me off. Guess that’s my fault for telling her about them before the incident with her brother…Fucking words… ruining faces…

It looks good on her I guess… scary… kind of… maybe…?

She punched me again this morning…

“YoU LooK like sHit,” she said.
“Fuck you too.”

And then she punched me. I don’t know that I deserved that one…? Maybe I said it wrong?

Never got along with the last Firecracker either…
I can remember us fighting. I was so much shorter then… right?

...

“Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked. Her tone was different. I thought she had something serious to talk about.

“Uh,… sure I guess?” I said from behind my mask. I was still ugly then. My face… so torn. I had to wear my mask at all times. Felt cold without it… I followed her out into the hallway.

She thought for a few seconds and rubbed her arms. It looked like something was wrong. “I was just thinking… could we go out? I’ll even let you do that thing you do with marking masks if you promise not to ruin it.”

I had to study her for a minute… she was so pretty… but I knew better. People are ugly. “You're fucking with me, aren't you?”

She stopped for a minute… that piercing scowl… “Of course I am. Who could ever like your fugly ass Mr. Ugly fuck.”

That was really my fault for thinking… she had something important to say to me…

And it was really her own fault she fell down the stairs. I mean, who is stupid enough to pull that kind of shit in front of a stairway…? Just took one quick push…

She wasn't nearly as pretty with that gash on her face… although it left a pretty scar later… cold bitch…

...

WHY THE FUCK IS IT SO FOGGY!!

I need to lie down… sleep it out. Fog is a disadvantage… can’t see them coming…

Mr. Fugly Fuck out… or something…

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.

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.

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.