Monday, September 5, 2011

I Don't Normally Cook... but I Can Make a Mean Stew.

Being a Proxy is an art form. One of the greatest there of, for sure. We are more than soldiers. More than servants. More than any ONE occupation could ever be. We are All. But most of all, we are each a single orchestrator of a piece of existence that the majority of the world doesn't even see as real. How can anyone not see the beauty in such a role? We are people without countries. People without homes. But we have a greater purpose. Those things are the sacrifices we make in order to serve Him. It is not a simple thing. Many of us will claim it is. These people are lying to you. It is a difficult thing to become accustomed to, but once you embrace Him as He embraces us... there are no limits to what you can create.

And you - all of YOU - are the actors. Your homes, your schools, your work, your communities, your lives... those are the backdrops that we are given to work with. To make a production worthy of Him. To bring you the horror you searched so hard to find, and bring us the enjoyment of our finely-tooled work. One must come to appreciate the little things that make a scene play out so perfect.

There are a million and one ways a plan laid out to be sprung can flip the wrong way. It is... breathtaking - no exhilarating - when everything just... flows into place. Like it was destined. Like we, Proxies, are the will of the world. The Will of the All. The Will of Him.

Jennifer... was my latest main actor.

She had started seeing Father a month or so ago. He was Watching her closer now, and the paranoia and fear were starting to have their effect. My assignment was simple: I was to be a Spook. You see, there are three ways to generally classify missions...

Elimination. Self-explanatory, really. Those that have caused too much of a headache or those that Father loses interest in for Himself are left for us to put down. It tends to depend on the Runner, but these cases are the ones you see the... less subtle of us bragging about on their blogs around here. Cannon Fodder recruits are used here quite a bit.

Conversion. Like those door-to-door religious types that ask if "you've found God" and must put up with whatever sarcastic remark is thrown back at them. Sometimes Father will claim certain souls to join our family. When assigned to these, it's best to just be a manipulative bastard that can twist emotions and thinking-patterns like they were frying up an egg... but sometimes the brutally insane can have the same effect. This does cross into Elimination, for Father only has patience for so long.

Spook. Now these cases are specifically for those of us who don't froth at the mouth or drool at the sight of their prey. These missions are for general mindfuckery. Just some not-so-innocent fun with riddles and codes and mind games to slowly break apart the target. We are free to use emotional ties to others and play with other stresses on their minds, but generally the target themselves are not to get hurt. Not... seriously hurt, anyway. Nothing lethal. ...Usually goes down well if they can still Run afterwards.

Tommy was an Elimination.

Jennifer - or Gem as her daddy calls her - is a Spook.

I had already begun the little game of "Now you see me, now you don't" with her. It can get dull, I'll admit, which is why they assigned me. I'm a fan of the hunt - of the small changes in behavior and routine that gradually get more and more obvious. How you can literally change a person's entire character, piece by piece, chip by chip - it's fascinating. Plus, it is not like killing isn't an option. One just has to be more... creative. It's really not hard. I made a copy of the key to her house, so I come and go as I please now. Take things. Leave things. Cryptic little messages. The typical "Watching You" bullshit that made those vlogs what they are. It's absolutely mind-blowing how little effort one has to put into destroying someone's sense of safety and reality. You can have them rocking in the corner just by calling them randomly during the day and breathing into their ear. It's hilarious, really.

Jenn had gone to the library the other day. Research for school, or so read the note on the table that was addressed to her parents. Probably not the kind of research they would assume like that which would fix her ever-slipping grades. Not even close. Due to the grade matter and the attitude changes lately, her dear mother was secretly fearing Jennifer had started using drugs. Isn't that just adorable? They could only HOPE for something that trivial.

I made myself at home while they were away. Went to work in the kitchen, of all places. Made them a stew (aren't I nice?). The family (minus Jenn) seemed to quite enjoy it when they got home, amazed that their dear daughter could make something so good (an addition to the note by yours truly that copied her writing to a tee). Even the littlest member of the family - tiny William - seemed to approve. I heard every comment over the microphone I planted in their home. Kept saying on how sweet the meat tasted.

It's so nice to be appreciated. It really is.

Little Jenn came home much later. Probably stayed until closing hour scaring the shit out of herself researching on what will become her new life. Her mother informed her that there was still some stew left, much to my delight. Jenn assumed her mother made it.

It wasn't until later that a comment was made about Jenn's talent in the kitchen. She sounded so confused as  her mother went to put the rest of the stew in the freezer...

The scream that followed was well-worth the extra effort. I'd left a note in the freezer, beside the heads and pelts of the family cats, Scooter and Penni. Each jaw left open in a pained, silent scream. The bloodied fur from their legs hanging down from the upper rack. Just fur, bones, and frozen blood. The meat went to a different use.

"Hope you enjoyed the stew!"

The sounds of heaving that followed thereafter made me laugh til my sides hurt. From the splattering sounds, I guessed they didn't have time to make it to the bathroom or even the kitchen sink. That should be quite a mess to clean up after, but, like they say: The cook never cleans!

The connection between people and their animals... such a wonderful thing to toy with, don't you think?

That night, I made sure she could see me standing out in her backyard - leaning against a tree at the back of the property which supported a rope swing. I waved when she saw me. She quickly disappeared out of sight. Probably to throw up again. In the morning, she'd find an Operator Symbol on her front door - made from the blood supplied by their beloved cats - and her little brother missing. The wails and rants have been beautiful to listen to - such love from such devout parents - and Jennifer has become so deathly silent through it all. No doubt being eaten alive inside from the guilt. Poor thing.

I must say, the boy isn't that much of a hassle. He's only six, so I expected a fuss but... I think he thinks I'm Batman or something. Kali and Loki play nice with him. Not a scratch on the boy, I swear. That is, after all, part of the point.

He's getting a bit homesick though. I think I'll have to bring him home tomorrow... then I'll have my true reward from all this trouble. It makes me grin just to think about it.

It will be a day Jennifer will never forget.


  1. ... it is ridiculously rare for me to dislike a Proxy. Somehow, you've managed it, and I barely know you. There are no words for this.

    I just... fuck it. Also, your mindfucking can go to hell in a handbasket for all I care.

  2. For someone who claims not to like me, you've certainly gone out of your way to speak to me. What's the matter, little Dia? You can speak to me. I'm all ears.

    ...eyes. Whichever.

  3. I was curious as to what kind of fucked up you were. I found out much to my distaste that you're just another minion in the shadow. I also believe I've made my feelings on the subject, and you for that matter, rather clear. Shall I draw a picture for you, dear?

  4. No need. I am not here for your approval, little Dia. I'm here to enjoy myself. And you, frankly, are getting dull. Your attempts to out-word me are... my god, I can't believe this is your "trying". It's pathetic. You get so much ass-backwards and inside out that it nearly gives me a headache. This is your third warning: Stop assuming things. Patience is a virtue. I will tell you about me in due time.

    For now, I have a tyke to make breakfast for.