And you all have been oh so busy in my “absence”, haven’t you? Seeing you all scurry, having been struck down by the rather chaotic past few months have certainly proved most amusing for those who appreciate such fine art. However, since you all seem so preoccupied with celebrating in the rubble that was your last semblance of order, I suppose that means there’s no one else left to recount how this smouldering carcass of a reality came to be, and your twisted need to be satiated by information falls on my shoulders.
I wonder, do you all secretly wish for misfortunes on each other for your own twisted entertainment?
Did I want to break Nightscream? No.
And you all say I'm the cruel one.
It forced me to.
Of course, those who haven’t been utterly braindead throughout this whole façade of resistance will quickly notice the irony of this situation. Why would I break my months-long silence in order to inform you of the suffering of just another Proxy? Surely, this is nothing extraordinary and nothing worth my commenting on it, correct? Of course, the fact that you’re reading this implies the opposite.
I was correcting a mistake.
I feel no need to explain my motivations to you.
"Heh~ Oh, you poor, poor thing. You really can't stand it, can you? Even from behind such a BOLD title as 'Redlight'... even from behind all the scorn and disgust... you want to be human so badly, don't you? You always have. Spencer, at least, could attempt to emulate us. But you? You can't even do that, now can you? You are Nothing, sweetheart. Nothing but a cosmic JOKE, fit only to collapse into itself! You claim to be better than us mere humans. Us... LOWLY cockroaches... but you? You're a Parasite, Redlight. A mere Disease of the Mind. And do you know what the best part is...? Despite your best efforts... despite all the bodies you make dance on your Little Red Strings... you will Fail. You will never Rule... for it is your emotions that Rule you!"
So instead, I’ll give you what you came for, which is just another train wreck.
A question that has struck me during my prolonged absence is what makes a man. Is it their experiences? The sum of their past memories? Their sentimentalities? Their ability to choose their actions? Or is it something... more? Such a thing is impossible to study from within the Network, where all these things are crushed into one uniform will as a sum of parts rather than promoting individuality. The reasons for this are obvious of course; it would be a waste of both my and your time if I chose to explain them, and so when an opportunity presented itself I quickly took advantage of such a thing.
The Proxy you all know as Nightscream is broken beyond all recognition. This shouldn’t be news to its rather… devoted audience. Hasn’t it been obvious? The flashes of the colour Red out of nowhere, the delusions, the sudden drive to save its dead son… then again, the only one of you cockroaches with enough intellect to figure out the last one lies as a corpse in the café he loved so dearly, the life choked out of him by a Proxy he once dared to call his “friend”. Truly, a poetic end for a rat that wouldn’t stop sticking its disgusting nose where it did not belong. One may even go so far as to call the whole situation tragic.
But that part comes later.
From the moment I saved it from certain death, Nightscream’s will was mine; and though I often loathe the foregone conclusion, the ending to Sam Freeman’s story is an ending that any idiot could predict. So when someone did have the foresight to see the intended result of my meddling, I was far from pleased. The thing that caught me was a Highest only spoken of in hushed whispers and baited breath; The Author. He’s been a thorn in my side for various reasons, but it has become clear to me that he did not appreciate such a vocal Proxy being my unwilling mouthpiece. When Nightscream believed it was being tortured in order to punish it for being a dissident, the reality was the opposite.
Author was not trying to ruin Sam.
Instead, he was trying to save it.
You see, all of the Highest wanted to find a way to break Proxies from the Network, but Author has always been a bit more predispositioned towards an oh-so-noble cause; regardless, his research proved inconclusive. I have no reason to lie about such a thing; not when there’s evidence that when Nightscream escaped that little science project, my influence was just as strong as it was before. However, my Jester reaching out for help while in that idiot mistake of a Crafter’s protective custody couldn’t be easily forgotten. Nightscream, despite its best efforts, had not held its cards close enough to his chest, and such a fact was easily exploited.
You see, Sam never wanted for its son to be dead, never wanted Leo to be another statistic of a normal, everyday accident. After all it had given up, a cruel twist of fate taking away the one thing it had left to protect was just too much. Whether it was delusional or not before I started to show it the world it wanted, I cannot say.
But if I was a gambling man, I’d bet on the Nightscream everyone knew being a farce.
The rest is simple. Sam’s “friend” -and I use that term loosely- , the proxy you all knew as Sherlock, or “Joseph”, or Winston for that matter, became concerned about its mental state, as he was aware that little Leo was long dead. An offhanded comment from me here and there was all it took, and once Sherlock picked up that trail and called Nightscream to the Cafe in an attempt, I assume, to talk some sense into it, the damage was already done. I’m sure that it is rather easy to gather that Sam’s recount of that night is slightly... unreliable, but I will tell you this.
It’s easy to solve matters of the mind when you just murder the detail that doesn’t add up.
“… What did you say, you pathetic little cockroach?…?”
That wasn’t me, if you must know. Nightscream’s choice to strangle Sherlock to death when confronted with proof of Leo’s demise was one of the few allowances that I provided. What you all don’t seem to understand is that I dislike conflict. In fact, I’d like to consider myself a reasonable man. But when further failures cannot be tolerated, well… then isn’t the Network the only solution?
As an aside, I don’t understand why Sam insisted on resisting my hold. I'd pity you all, if I didn't find you so disgusting. You’re all so easy to fool. So easy to give purpose. It’s no challenge to drive corpses forward down the line, with all of them dragging their feet towards something that was never real in the first place. You all live within fantasy, because you have no choice. How would you deal with such tragedy befalling you otherwise?
“I’m sure you heard me loud and clear. Darling.”
Sam had become a liability.
My fist connected with Nightscream’s left eye with more force than needed. The feeling of its flesh break under my knuckles felt…
And such things must be erased.
I still find it incredibly ironic that you all seem to forget that I’m always watching you. Think about it; to me, what’s another amber-eyed puppet in a pile of corpses? What are “powers”, really, aside from rumour and hearsay?
A Gauntlet can easily be melted onto a hand with enough lighter fluid and a match.
The monster that Nightscream referred to as “The Amber-eyed Snake” was nothing but an elaborate farce created by me; so imagine my surprise when some of you were so kind as to fall for it. I will say this; you are all too quick to believe in new monsters when you see them. Almost makes me wonder if you all enjoy being afraid…
Of course, when Sam started to resist the illusions I made it see, and started to deconstruct the wild-goose chase I was sending it on, utilizing the last scraps of its sanity, that just would not do. And while I do acknowledge the mind is a powerful thing, being trapped in one is not a fate I would wish on anyone. Of course, that is the punishment that I subjected Sam eventually, which I can assure you has driven it to desperate measures.
Sam only laughed at my outburst
And so, it comes to this.
“I guess you’re more human than you think, Redlight~!”
I have released Nightscream from my hold, for it to enjoy the rest of its short, pathetic life while it lasts. To be fully in control and aware of the atrocities it committed, with and without my influence, and for it to be also aware of the fact that it no longer has a reason for living. It is currently with Mr. Banks, who also proved to be another incredible disappointment. I suppose birds of a feather flock together, as he was kind enough to peel the remains of my Jester off the road after it had celebrated its newfound freedom... by throwing itself in front of a truck.
I didn’t think
I personally find that slightly poetic, don’t you?
I just acted
I will always be watching. Waiting. I don’t like letting a good body go to waste. But Sam Freeman’s story is ending, and I don’t intend to be there when it concludes with a dull, pathetic whimper.
Crushing Sam’s mind
So take this as a warning.
Until its stupid smirk disappeared
Your history isn't a straight line. It never has been. It doesn't go anywhere, and it never will. Neither will Humanity. Going around and around in a circle for all of time. Live and die and be forgotten.
And then I let it break free
Your Sage said it best. The last refuge of dangerous men... is denial.
As its eye filled with red
Humanity has so much faith in their meaning, their free will, and each other, when all it brings them is misfortune and suffering. Things that they’d do anything to forget. To not be held accountable.
So it would never forget who it belongs to
And wouldn’t you know it, I just so happen to grant the wishes of the damned.
And then I did it again
So do not stand in my way, and when I come for you, come quietly.
Because if you don’t… well, look at the former author of this memoir.
Sam Freeman will die soon.
And when it does…
Look who’s laughing now?