Our oh-so GLORIOUS Leader.
The Author of ALL of our Stories.
The Highest of the Highers.
That's right, my dear, sweet audience, I said "Highest".
What do you think, my friends? Addressing so HIGH on the totem pole (or the shit pile) should I make this Official? Business-like? Alright, let's see...
This is an Official Report for our WONDROUS Leader and Chief. Our very own Caesar. Pharaoh. Fuhrer. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera...
Written by lowly, little me. Sam.
Formally known as "Gauntlet".
ID Number: 753398211.
Currently Running. With a warrant for my immediate arrest attached to my bloody name.
All thanks to You. Nivelle.
You just couldn't resist, could you?
Couldn't resist snapping the leash.
Couldn't resist any chance you saw to reach for the choke collar.
"Collar the Stray."
"Teach it some manners."
Oh, how I can just hear it rolling off your tongue. I should be be goddamn laughing!
You really thought I'd tuck in my tail, didn't you?
You really thought I'd fall in line when I knew you'd found out.
My little secret.
Three years old and counting.
You may have a new card in your hand... but you obviously don't have a single clue how to use it.
That's why your little puppies failed to fetch me.
That's why they're nothing more than bloodstains on the concrete floor.
That's why you're going to lose, Custer.
And it's going to taste so very sweet.
You couldn't stand it, could you?
Knowing I'd fooled you. Fooled ALL of you. For this long.
That one rebellious Agent.
That mere citizen playing a warrior's Game.
The one you could never quite get your thumb on just right.
I made a fool out of you.
And I'll be damned if I'm not GRINNING with that knowledge. With getting under your skin so easily. Despite everything else... I can definitely grin for that!
I lied to your face. Without speaking a single dishonest word.
Language, after all, is such a beautiful thing in that way.
Words stringing together so simply... effortlessly... and yet... a mere handful can hold such a broad variety of meanings that can truly boggle the mind. Like a web of broken glass splintering off in every direction...
You see, my friends... when one joins the Organization, every single little detail of one's life is recorded for future reference. Your education. Your military training. Skills. Hobbies. Criminal history. Medical history. Phobias. Natural Gifts (Do you see Dead People, my friends?). Anywhere you've lived. Worked. Vacationed. One question at a time, your entire life becomes a file. Which is
then swallowed in the network of the Highers and their complete
nonsense. You even have a Consultant who follows up on the "important" bits and pieces. To make absolutely certain that everything is crossed and dotted as it need be...
One such area... is Family.
There are few other areas... that are as damning to lie on as that one.
I lied. More or less.
I wonder, Adolf... was there jealousy churning in your chest when you found out?
Did you resent me for keeping safe what you and so many others lost?
Do you resent that I got them out?
It's true, darling. I made a Deal. They're alive. Though one more so than the other. And I'd be burning in Hell a long time before I'd give the likes of you that angle to use against me. Or anything close to it. So, I lied. I killed them on paper... and buried the evidence that proved otherwise. I buried them both in the system. A system that makes even less sense than the Organization itself...
But, even now... it doesn't matter. You may know they're alive, Ambrose, but you haven't the faintest CLUE where they are. Either of them. I know you don't, and do you know why?
Because if you had, you would have told your little puppies. It would have been a blow to my pride that we both know you wouldn't have been about to resist.
So, instead, you sent them after me.
You had them show up at our door. Yipping and yapping in their own excitement. Their excuse for a Leader - let us call him Santa's Little Helper, shall we? - trying his best to seem impressive as he played the intimidation card. Hoping to rattle a few nerves with a sharp tongue and a few bared teeth.
I'd been asleep at the time, Caligula.
You actually woke me up.
Morningstar being the
poor, unfortunate soul that had to stir me from my shut-eye to inform me that I had company that wasn't knocking at the door, but had actually let themselves in. By the time I had begrudgingly torn myself from my bed and
made my way out to the meet and greet - ravens perched on
my shoulders - nearly everyone else was out of their own little hobbit holes to see what all the noise
It was then that I was informed... that I was under arrest.
Needless to say... things went South after that.
You all have my thanks.
Running hadn't exactly been my first choice... but, in the chaos of the fight that broke out, it seemed my company still had their eye on their prime target. I was skimmed by a bullet across my side, which was nothing... but a tranquilizer went into my shoulder. I decided I couldn't risk hanging around for the finale... so I whistled for my ravens who had taken shelter in the rafters. Planning to take my exit...
They had only just taken off from their perch... when one shot seemed to ring at a higher pitch than the others. I was only able to watch as Loki's form jerked and shriveled. A shriek cutting the air as feathers tumbled over themselves. The little, black form hurtling down and hitting the floor below as a sickening clump of feathers. A faint spraying of crimson splattering the floor... and, yet... movement. Cries came next. Kali screaming from above...
My hesitance earned me another tranquilizer.
I had to leave them there.
I left them all.
The drugs were already blurring my
vision even as I threw myself out a window. The ground coming at me through a
haze. Jolting through my legs... and then I ran.
I ran from the Plague Doctor, after all.
A little tranquilizer wasn't going to stop me.
You've made a very grave mistake, Nero.
Loki paid for it.
So I thought it only fair for you to pay as well.
At this second, I am in an office. A rather luxurious one, if I do say so myself. Skyscraper view of the city below. Leather chair. Mahogany desk. Modern art on the walls. Not my taste, but nice. I've borrowed the computer, you see. It's owner, a certain friend of yours, will no longer require its use. Least he won't - not in a few seconds. Currently, he's trying to scream through a gag. Arms and legs each sporting a bone splitting through the surface. Blood soaking the elaborate carpet. Helpless. He makes an excellent footrest though, I must admit.
Your orders... took a pair of wings from the sky, Mao.
So I thought I'd see if this business man could grow a pair in time to save his life.
The Organization would recognize him as Sponsor 27681. A heavy weight, for certain.
You'd know him as Eric.
Soon, all he'll be... is modern art on the street below.
Hope you like front page news, darling.