Sick and Tired

Tell me.

What scenario do you think claimed the most human lives throughout history?

Would you point your finger to the wars? World War I or World War II, perhaps? What with ever-advancing technologies, the use of Death Camps, Atomic Bombs, etc. etc. etc.? One must admit, the statistics are rather staggering.

During WWI, is is estimated that over 15 million people (military and civilians included) died.

During WWII, that number grows to over 60 million people killed, possibly closer to 80 million.

Quite impressive, yes?

A little.

Their competition?

Disease.

Which ones, you ask? Well...

The Plague of Justinian itself is rather impressive all on its own. With waves of the disease starting about 540 AD and continuing into the 6th, 7th, and early 8th centuries, it is thought to have killed as many as 25 million worldwide. That alone places it above WW1 and, when keeping in mind the world population at that time... it may have to be considered competition in line with WW2, reflectively. However, even if you want to compare just bare numbers alone, all we have to do is gaze forward. The Plague of Justinian didn't reach its full potential until its return in the 1400s. During which it gained a new name as it spread its wings again. Blanketing its hosting countries as The Black Death. An epidemic that is thought to have claimed up to 100 million lives across Europe, India, China, Syria, and Africa. Even when that ended, it later took flight again as The Third Pandemic between 1855 and 1959 - killing off an additional 12 million people in India and China alone.

Not impressed? Then what about a disease that was the cause of roughly one third of military deaths during WW1? A disease that only took half a year to, at the very least, equal the death total of WW2?

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you: The Spanish Flu. Between 1918 and 1919, it is estimated to have eliminated from 50 up to 100 million people in a time frame of a mere six months.

Want an even larger number still? During the 20th century, Smallpox claimed 300 to 500 million lives. As early as 1967, it was still taking lives by the millions. Only two million, however.

Or are the numbers to large to fathom? Let's go a BIT smaller then.

The Antonine Plague (165 - 180 AD) may have killed as many as 5 million.

The Russian Flu (1889 - 1890) killed at least 250,000 across Western Europe.

One outbreak of Typhus in particular killed more of Napoleon's soldiers than the Russians themselves managed to. Forcing his retreat.

But perhaps I am speaking too historical for you. I know what manner of attention span you glorious Highers have. So let me simplify it.

The Top Ten Causes of Death in the World rank disease as the top nine. 2008 statistics, but it's close enough. I don't have time to find anything more recent.

In the last 150 years, Measles has been estimated to have killed over 200 million people worldwide.

In 2010, Tuberculosis was responsible for 1.45 million deaths worldwide.

Malaria has been said to kill roughly 2.7 million people per year.

AIDS has been attributed to an average of 25 million deaths per year.

In 2005, Cancer took 7.6 million lives and is on the rise each year. It's estimated that, by year 2030, it will be killing 11.4 million a year.

Even the Common Flu. An average of 250,000 to 500,000 deaths per year.

Why the history lesson, you ask?

Perhaps because I have been attempting to avoid contracting these diseases and MORE for over three weeks now.

Perhaps because David - who I took it upon myself to blackmail into assisting us - has been attempting to do the same for over a week now.

Perhaps because our enemy has been weaponizing their interests into creations that take only days, hours, sometimes even minutes to start showing symptoms.

Perhaps because, as a result of your incompetence and stupidity, the entire situation had progressed to a point of extremes before we'd even arrived into the area.

Perhaps because, as much as we slaughter them face-to-face, they are still killing us off from a distance.

These.

Are Cultists.

Of the Plague Doctor Himself.

The Afflicted. Oathbreakers. Call them what you will.

They.

Are not.

To be taken.

Lightly.

You have pitted us against disease itself. Not blade or bullet. Disease. Illness. Viruses. Bacteria. We have clashed with these people in the past, of course, but it seems you morons have failed to understand the defined difference THIS time around. I have seen more ways to die in the past three weeks than I have in the past year. The effects their gases have when they spring a trap... it keeps changing. And it's obvious why. They're experimenting. Modern technology has allowed them to mutate diseases and viruses to their will... and now they are studying the effects. As though we are not but lab rats.

We have one Proxy in particular who seems to have developed Ondine's Curse. Meaning she no longer breathes from reflex alone. She hasn't slept in forty-eight hours, for obvious reasons. I expect to hear the gunshot sometime tonight.

Whatever game you were playing - whatever little pissing matches you were having amongst one another - I will tell you now: The humor has turned sour. You have left your Divisions to rot. You have left the entire operation to rot. Forcing us to pick up duties that are not ours to hold just to be able to keep the situation together.

As you already know, I have never been very tolerate of you idiots to begin with. Most of the time, I've chosen to ignore that oh-so-special "wisdom" of yours in favor of staying alive to see another day and using common sense instead of complete arrogance as my guide. Since I do my work well, you have been forced to tolerate ME instead. As such, I understand your desire to see me dead for my constant disregard for whatever elevated position you see yourself as on the totem pole. I understand it. I do.

However, if you truly want to kill me, I'm afraid you'll need to take a FAR more direct route. You presented me with a suicide mission. Did you really expect me to just toss myself in, for better or for worse? One would think that, by now, you'd know better. I recognized it for what it was and found a solution myself. Somewhat of a patch-job, I admit, but he'll do.

Your Divisions have been doing something of the same. Since you're left them with little other choice.

All of you. Are pathetic.

It should NOT have had to fall upon them to scrounge for assistance and supplies from every direction just to keep the plague that is knocking on the back door at bay.

It should NOT have had to fall upon me to force another member of the family into this mess so as to make the mission you assigned me at least somewhat possible.

It should NOT have had to fall upon me and my previously-mentioned, reluctant recruit to keep an eye on and assist YOUR Divisions to ensure we progress forward each day.

It should NOT have had to fall upon a man such as David to become involved into a side of the business he has no experience with.

What part of all this is confusing you?

Despite you not doing your jobs, the rest of us have been doing what we must.

Our Divisions of Proxies have still been fighting to remove the Afflicted from the "invaded" town to the best of their abilities. Succeeding, for the most part. Though casualties ARE mounting. Some of which could have been avoided.

I have adjusted my own situation to help ensure BOTH assignments are completed. In so doing, I've painted a target on the back of my head for my partner in crime to take aim at later. Thank you for that. You may very well get me killed yet. Joy, hm?

As for David himself, he has been adjusting all he knows just in order to survive and complete the tasks laid before him. While I felt from the start that his training would give him a fighting chance of coming out of this alive, he is - by anyone's definition - a rookie in the field. A newbie. He is used to handling norms. Runners. Proxies. This is his first experience against other cults... and the Afflicted are a difficult bunch to have as an introductory. Despite his lack of experience in the area... I had decided he had been worth taking a chance on. His skill level is correct. He had been fairly close by to our location. And he had a publicized weak point I could easily exploit. No one else fit my needs better.

And I must say... that he has been doing VERY well, for the most part. I'm impressed.

Pardoning the fiasco two days ago when he nearly killed us both.

Granted, it was my choice to go in after him. I could have left him to die. Perhaps I should have. However... I happen to be someone who hates putting so much effort into something only to come out empty handed. So, when I saw him disappear through the door of a Marked Building on the tails of a few of the Afflicted... I followed after.

(Normally, I wouldn't explain what happened... but I think my dearest Followers will enjoy hearing the tale.)

David had obviously been having fun as he went further and further into a Trap Waiting to Happen. Like a cat caught up in the excitement of chasing a mouse, he failed to take due notice to his surroundings. I simply pulled up the lower half of my mask (designed to filter the air similar to a medical mask) and followed the trail of bodies - figures in wide-brimmed hats and tattered robes slowly creating pools of thick crimson around their collapsed forms. Eyes of their signature mask peering out at the world still, but the eyes beneath the mask had obviously already been emptied. From the glances I gave them upon passing, I could tell they'd been taken out fast. Cleanly. Not skipping a beat. Just as I'd expect from the assassin.

He must have taken out at least six of them... before the trail lead me to a door which went down into the basement.

I hadn't had such a strong urge to bash my own skull against a wall for quite some time.  

However, I'd gone this far. I wasn't turning back.

I descended the stairs with caution. Not really knowing what to expect. The first thing I saw inside the dimly lit basement... came with some relief. My little runaway was across the room, having just allowed his last target to crumble to the floor in front of him. Blade glistening with fresh blood. A wide, malicious grin across his face. He seemed more than pleased with himself... until his attention rose to his surroundings.

The slight trace of uncertainty that crossed his features then was almost cute, considering how deep he'd buried himself in Their building. I addressed him by name as I came down the stairs - just to make certain I gained his attention and not a bullet of surprise fired in my direction. He seemed genuinely surprised to see me. However, just as I stepped from the last stair... the dooming sound of a slamming door and the clunk of a solid lock twisting into place came from behind me.

We were locked in.

I was not surprised.

It was more or less the next obvious step in a bad day turning for the worst.

After all, that was exactly how the Afflicted work. They seem to despise face-to-face time and will avoid it completely when possible. Instead, they make their little air borne illnesses and set little traps for others to either fall into or be manipulated/driven into.

Hence why I wished to bash my skull in (or his, perhaps?) when I saw the trail of blood leading down to the basement.

We weren't even making them EARN it.

This was well beyond a rookie's mistake. It was practically suicide by ventilation duct... as that is typically their "gun" of choice. They feed their weaponized diseases and bacteria into the room of their choice via the air and let it have its fun with those stuck inside. The Afflicted then like to watch from a distance and take notes. Like good little Medical Students.

David used a piece of his shirt as a make-shift mask for himself (I have since given him a mask similar to my own) and inquired to me as to ideas of how to get out. I suppose he thought that I wouldn't have come down after him (or perhaps because I wasn't in a panic?) unless there was Escape Plan B waiting in the wing. He was more or less correct.

The Afflicted prefer the underground. Underneath their Cult Towns, you will always find the same thing: winding tunnels running from one side of the Town to the other. Connecting into the sewer system... as well as the basements of several key buildings. I already knew the building we were in was Marked as one of their "coming and going" points. I told David that we had to find the entrance to their own tunnel before we found ourselves suffering from exposure to whatever it was that they'd chosen to Eliminate us with. I told him that it was probably covered in some way...

David's response was rather perfect. "You can't be serious. As in the old Trapdoor Beneath a Rug trick?"

I looked to him... and then we both looked down to the carpet we were standing on. We quickly dragged the dead body off to one side before we each grabbed a side of the carpet and flipped it back.

Never doubt a Classic.

The trapdoor was wooden and just pulled open. No fuss, no muss. By this point, however, the air of the basement had taken on a strange taste, even through our masks. I could feel the irritation in my throat and David was starting to cough. Time was ticking, but before one of us could move... we heard a blast and the entire building trembled to the point of making us both stumble slightly in our footing. Then there was another blast. And another. And another. Building into a deafening explosion and the structure above us groaned horribly, dust pouring down upon us as the ceiling began to buckle and split. Pieces of cement crumbling down.

There was another reason we called it the Marked Building. It was set to be reduced to rubble. I knew this going in. I thought we still had time.

I was wrong.

I grabbed David through the shower of dust and chunks of cement and got him to jump down the hole first. I followed just as the ceiling collapsed down and flames from the explosions licked above our heads with searing heat. I'd seen the ladder on the side of the hole earlier, but the hole went even deeper than I'd thought. Sending a jar up my legs as I landed, but the rocks had found the hole as well and were pelting downwards. I threw myself forward to avoid the storming... and landed on top of David.

By the time everything had settled around us... he was half-way in between choking from whatever was in the air and the dust... and laughing his head off.

Honestly? I wasn't much different.

When he had the breath to, he commented about the whole affair being quite the little adventure.

I simply responded that he couldn't say I didn't take him anywhere interesting. Then I complained about having landed on his gun as my ribs were protesting rather angrily at that point.

His advice, while grinning, was not to set it off.

He's a charmer. Truly.

After we untangled ourselves, we took a moment to rest before I stood and offered a hand to David. We had to get moving, after all. We were now even deeper into Their territory than before. He took it after a period of hesitation and I pulled him up. It was then up to me to navigate us through the tunnels to find another exit. During which, we got a chance to talk. Spoke of a variety of things. One of which being his luck (or lack there of) that it had been ME to take advantage of Venny and not someone else. In my view, the Runner is safe and sound so long as David doesn't do anything too stupid. For that, he is lucky. To his eyes, he can't just "throw [me] out a window" and so that constitutes bad luck.

We've both concluded that we think one another to be very confusing individuals.

I also pitched him a warning concerning dearest Ronan. After all, David is attempting to create in the chaos that which it naturally destroys. I will not stand in their way to destroying themselves, though I do urge against the level of blindness BOTH these men live in. I gave him my two cents. David responded by stepping in so close to me with his whisperings that I nearly felt as though he was attempting to seduce me. Amusing, to say the least.

We had to change our route every once in a while. A shadow would appear in front of us as an approaching figure around a turn, so we'd go another way. Choosing to avoiding trouble while we were so deep in another Cult's territory. Honestly, the blocks seemed casual. Nothing seemingly suspicious enough or convenient enough to set off any red flags. In fact, both of us had thought we had AVOIDED a trap or two along the way... and then, after a long stretch of tunnel that looked exactly the same as any other... a dead end rose to greet us.

And They appeared from behind us.

They were all dressed in the likeness of their God. And yet... each one was slightly different. Different colors. Styles. Accessories. Some appearing more "steam-punk" while others held more traditional or tribal appearances. They each carried their choice of bladed weapons.

David and I didn't wait for them to come at us. We went to them. Driving through the crowd of figures with his knife and my gauntlet. Drawing our guns when needed. Always moving. Shifting. One opponent to the next. Shift. Strike. Shift. Block. Block. Strike. Shift. David's laughter was echoing through the tunnel as we worked as a team. The Afflicted fought back just as hard. Both of us earning injuries before long, but nothing that slowed us down, for the most part. What was bothering me, however, was all the while in my head... I kept thinking it was wrong. This wasn't normal for Oathbreakers. That there had to be something else going on...

I remember a motion from the corner of my eye, then there was an arm cutting across my throat as another hand snapped around me with a needle. I didn't hesitate. My gauntlet caught the arm with the needle as I slammed myself backwards against a wall. Bladed fingers cutting through fabric and flesh as I twisted the handgun in my opposite hand to fire backwards into my attacker's gut. There was a shot. A pained gasp. A spray of blood... and nothing changed. The hand with the needle continued to press against my own blades as the other arm continued to choke me. Two other servants moved in to take advantage of my situation. I kicked into the gut of one...

I couldn't help but cringe as a shot suddenly split through my hearing. David's gun having been pressed right against the side of my attacker's head when he took his shot. The hold on me crippled away. Releasing my windpipe for oxygen again. It was at that point that my weeks in this Town began to catch up to me. I couldn't catch my breath. My chest rattled with each inhale and exhale... but I didn't stop. I snapped up with my gauntlet, deflecting a blade from one of my two other attackers before I leveled my gun.

Two bullets.

Two skulls splattering chucks of brain matter and bone on the walls behind them as they both crumpled backwards to the floor.

I turned back to David. It had finally clicked what they were doing.

I told him they were sealing us in.

These were not but decoys. Distractions.

We ran. Ignoring all injuries that came our way as we blasted through the tunnel stride for stride. Five more shots would pierce the air.

Two of mine. Aimed at those rigging the doorway of the tunnel into collapsing.

Three of David's. Aimed at the weak points that the now-dead Oathbreakers had made.

The tunnel collapsed behind us. Sealing the others inside.

David and I wasted no time in moving on. We found where the tunnel breaks into the sewer system and went up a ladder to let ourselves out onto the road. Like I'd planned, we emerged not far from Point Zero. Our Home Base in the town. We were receiving treatment within fifteen minutes.

Our wounds have been dressed and we are both still fighting our own internal battles... but we both got out.

It hadn't been said... but he knows as well as I do that he would have died had I not gone in after him.

He also knows as well as I do that I wouldn't have got out myself had he not returned the favor and watched my back.

So, while I tried to clear out my lungs and he fought off infection from a laced blade, we had a chance to talk things over more carefully.

A decision was made.

Plans have been adjusted accordingly.

It is time we did this our way.

Furthermore, "Highers", in response to your latest "order" we received... you can consider it officially IGNORED.

These Divisions have been under my eye for nearly a month now. Lives have come and gone and been replaced. If things continue as they are, we can both see this continuing for another few weeks... and that if far too long. David and I refuse to be the next corpses to be set ablaze. Therefore, since the lot of you obviously lack the backbone to handle command of what should have originally been a simple mission... I am now informing you that you have not but a single duty from hence forth:

Stay the fuck out of our way.

These Divisions are under my command now.

If you so desire to protest, then please do come to our lovely neighborhood and confront me.

I'll be sure to give you a fitting welcome.

You're dismissed, sweethearts.

PS: As for my Friends who are reading this... do be sure to pray for us. This will get interesting.

A Stab To The Heart.

That would be how I started the day.

A needle, to be precise. Driven right through the chest cavity and into the heart of one of the Proxies working on the same mess I am.

She then had what could be described as a seizure. Her body itself becoming a battlefield between a deadly virus... and something of an antidote our side created to fight it. Fever rising and dropping. Shaking. Skin pale and pasty. Obviously in complete agony.

She is now resting. Hopefully, she'll be fit to return to work tomorrow. Though, at this point, whether she lives or dies is completely up to her.

After all, life in itself is sink or swim.

Either you fight the current with all you have. All your strength and knowledge. Struggling even past the point when your body and mind are broken and weary from the brutal onslaught its constantly dealt...

Or you drown in the consequences.

Your choice.

That would be part of what I told darling David during our little get-together two nights ago. I'm so pleased he was able to make it. I, for one, think it was high time we actually had a chance to introduce ourselves to one another face to face. And what better opportunity to do so than placing myself in between himself and his fiance?

I did have a little fun with him at first. Nothing big. Harmless, really. David found himself standing alone at the designated meet-spot. A little four-way in downtown a few towns over from where I've been assigned. On time, just as I told him to be. The wind carried a chilling nip to its touch as it breezed through the otherwise empty street. The dark of the night only held at bay by the pools of yellow light provided by the streetlamps above. A perfect backdrop for two of His Children to meet... only... I was not there to greet him. Instead, he stood against the night and wind alone. From my own spot, I watched him as he glanced each way down the desolate roads... until his eyes fell upon a figure. Collapsed back against one of those very lampposts. Lying on the ground. Body limp.

The coat he was wearing... was one that David would recognize all too well.

It was Ronan's.

The panic that weaved itself into David's mind as he quickly closed distance to that corpse was etched right across his face. Not strikingly obvious, but there. That little mask of his only falling back into place once he was crouched down by the body. Realizing it was not who he had feared it was. It was no one. A stranger.

But a stranger who holds membership to a group that I've been having a lot of fun with recently.

Then David stood and turned around... and that would be when I stepped out of the shadows to greet him.

I must say, everything went very diplomatically. There wasn't even a fight, though I'm certain I can expect that to come later in the game. David did make a point of showing his dislike of being manipulated, but that was hardly anything worth paying a mind to. I was expecting fury. Rage. Passion. David's mood, however, I'd categorize as... annoyed. I wouldn't even say 'irritated'. Just annoyed. Not that I'm complaining, of course. The less time and energy I'm forced to waste on pointless scuffles, the better. I'm a busy Proxy, after all. As is he.

Actually, he's found himself even busier over the last forty-eight hours.

You see... I am not one to do things simply because I can. I've not a care to pull meaningless stunts to impress anyone or prove my worth in any way (That's directed at you, Elaine). You can all rest assured... that this was all done for a very specific reason. A reason that falls on the shoulders of the simple fact... that I required help. I needed David's skills. His talents. Oh, he did try to mock me for it. Making a comment that suggested all I had to do was ask him instead of involving Venny...

It honestly made me laugh.

So I began explaining the job. The risks. For each mission has its own level. Dictated by its finer details of who, what, where, why, when, and how. For example... backing a trained assassin into a corner as opposed to an accountant. Obviously the former would carry more risk... unless, of course, the accountant had trained in one of the martial arts which would make hand-to-hand more risky. It all changes. One job to another. Sometimes the risks are high. Sometimes, low. And, like David's view on the job at hand, one's approach to handling the matter needs to shift accordingly.

David's targets would be families, you see.

He thought it a cut-and-dry case, and I suppose I could have allowed him to go in believing that...

However, I needed him to take care of a NUMBER of families in a this specific town. And having him die in convulsions while attempting to make an example of those at the very first residence was not a thought I wished to make reality. So, I told him exactly what he would be walking into.

I think then he understood why I'd known he wouldn't do the job willingly. 

I wouldn't even do the job willingly.

But neither of us have much choice now, do we?

It is true what they say: Misery does love company. I'm quite pleased at the moment, I must say.

And since I know some of you are thinking it: No, David is not doing all the work himself. Far from it. I could handle what he doing rather simply... have I not my own side of the conflict to take care of. Everyone must pull their weight for this to play out correctly. I've much to do before my own Final Act in this fiasco needs to play out. However, for obvious reasons, I won't be telling exact what it is we're doing. I must say though... that I'm seeing the situation quite a bit brighter now that I know my last piece is at the front lines. As long as I hold one of the pieces from his own board in my palm, then the risks become acceptable. David will do as I say.

Correction: David is doing as I say.

And he seems to be enjoying himself. He sent me a few photos of his work thus far. Not bad, I must admit. His skills have always been unquestionable...

That would be two families down. Rest of the list to go.

I just hope the sweetheart is smart enough to cover up and wear a gas mask. These people are not your ordinary citizens. Far from it, in fact. They're Cultists. But not ours, you see. These are cults... that follow a different being than the Slender Man.

A God who's humor is quite a bit... sicker.

Don't Underestimate School Teachers, David...

...Such naivety will be the death of you.

The same naivety that put you in this situation in the first place.

Trust me when I say that I've far too much on my plate to humor your temper-tantrums, so I'd advise you to be on your best behavior. So far, no blood has been spilled. Let us keep it that way, hm?

Come alone.

Don't be late.

Oh, and, sweetheart...

It's just a Game.  

Smile.

My Deepest Apologies About Your Head, Derek...

...I did try to be gentle with you.

My friends...

Would you believe me if I told you I did not want for this life?

That I had, in fact, never sought to become what I am? A solider in His Never-Ending Hunt?

You hear such divine stories told by His Children through this Community. The epic tales of how they began their journey into His embrace. The hints of their true psychotic natures throughout their growing years which they look back upon with such fondness. Ever proud. Ever challenging. Ever taunting.

So, what manner of history do you expect me to lay before you?

Humor me. Just take one moment. Think about it.

How do you see me becoming as I am now?

Do you see me running through the back alleys of a small town as a devilish youth? Knife in hand? Searching for a new cat to take home to torture and dissect? Do you perhaps see me using that knife for other means as I experimented on my siblings? Naturally manipulative and naturally cruel? A born sadist, as it were?

Do you see me hiding in a closet? Hands over my ears as I try to block out the yelling and crying as my father is thrown into yet another fit of rage against my mother? Do you see me as the battered wife, finally having had enough of taking every bruise and fractured bone in stride? Or perhaps I am the husband of an untrue partner, the need for revenge bringing Him to me and me to Him?

Do you see a Haunted childhood? One where He was early involved? My "imaginary friend"? Having already picked me from the crop of youngsters as a future soldier? Or perhaps you peg me as a Cult Town native? One who simply... grew up influenced into the job?

Do you see me in a mental hospital, perhaps? Restrained to a bed for my own safety? Heavily sedated and on twenty-four hour watch? Or perhaps you just see me as once having to been tested - sanity questioned somewhere along the line?

Do you see a rebellious teen? In and out of prison as though it was a second home? Do you see me involved in drugs? Someone who slipped into a life of crime either accidentally or on purpose and found no way of climbing back out of the infamous Rabbit Hole? Do you see a Higher approaching me with an offer at my lowest point? Offering a chance to be so much more than what I was?

Do you see me receiving military training at some point? Battle-hardened with the sights and chaos of war? Apathetic to the pain and suffering of the world and just looking for a laugh?

Do you think I took magic lessons at some point? Practiced meditation exercises?

Or perhaps... do you just see a lonely soul... having slowly lost its footing in a broken, heartless world one shred of sanity at a time? One wrong choice at a time?

Thirty-one questions later, and your time is officially up. If you had answered "yes" to any one of them, I'm afraid I am set to disappoint you.

None of these situations apply to me.

None.
 
My childhood was about as "normal" as any other childhood. Decent start. Caring parents. Growing up, I wanted to be the Littlest Hobo at earliest I can remember. That particular career choice swapping to several other typical ideas children get before an incident in my early teens made my decision for me. I suppose that could be categorized under "traumatizing," though I was far from traumatized.

There was a shooting at the school I attended.

And you may find it interesting to know... that I was neither the victim, nor the harasser.

I was merely a peer who did nothing. And got what I was due for it.

A boy by the name of Nigel Pickup had been the charlie bird of the school system for years. Nickname was "Half-Ton," as I recall it. Obviously, weight was an issue he struggled with. He was quiet. Overly polite. An amazing artist, as I remember. Never caused a problem for anyone any more than using oxygen to breathe and space to exist. But I suppose, for many, that was too much for him to ask for.

I cannot remember a time when he hadn't been the source of someone's amusement. That boy had it all done to him at one point or another. All of it. He spent his life as a punching bag. When he wasn't fulfilling that role, he was harassed to the point of exhaustion through destruction of property, name-calling or cutting remarks. It all wore on him. Year by year. Then, one day, it all became too much for Nigel. It happened during an event hosted by the school. Nigel  made the "mistake" of stepping into a portable toilet.

It was then pushed over with him inside.

When he got out covered in human waste... the majority of the students were laughing. Some making pig jokes amongst each other. The loudest being the trio that did the deed:

Brent Baker.

Edmond McIntyre.

Nathan Wakefield.

They would each be staring down the barrel of a gun by that afternoon. One bullet each. Middle of the hallway. Nigel still covered in filth. He would then take aim at the rest of the student body as they all screamed and scattered in the halls.

I was one of the first to take a bullet.

It went into my shoulder. I remember screaming and falling. Before that point, I'd never felt that level of pain before. Sharp. Burning. I should have been able to flee, but I didn't. I simply laid on the floor where I had fallen. Bleeding. Crying. My young mind thought for certain I was going to die... especially when I saw Nigel walking up the hall towards me. My panic, however, turned out to be unneeded. He didn't turn to finish me off. He didn't even look down to me. He walked straight past. Kept going down the hall. Found some more students. I can remember the echo of the gunshots through the halls.

Nigel proceeded to shoot down thirteen more students and two teachers (reloading when needed, of course) before he swallowed a bullet himself.

I can still picture him in my head when he walked by me. He seemed so... calm. There wasn't a shred of anger to be seen. Perhaps it was because, at long last, he had things under control.

Nine died in that shooting. Seven students (Nigel included) and both teachers who had tried to intervene.

In the hospital, I knew then what I wanted to be when I grew up.

A teacher.

But more than just any teacher.

More than the cookie-cutter versions you see so often.

I wanted to connect to my students. To be aware. To be able to help students like Nigel before they snapped. I wanted to use my survived experience to have a chance of maybe stopping another tragedy from ripping a school and community apart. To speak of how actions have consequences. How we each own what we do in this world, good or bad. I focused on History for that exact reason. As those who are unaware of the past are doomed to repeat the mistakes therein...

I still have my scar. Since my career change, many more have joined it... but it'll always stand out more than the rest. Least to my mind.

I have no bitterness to Nigel for what he did. Nor do I despise the bullies of this little story. They each paid for their behavior with their lives. I don't see myself as a victim. Not even close. I did nothing to stop a situation I literally watched play out for years. Every day when I went to school, it was always the same thing. I could have done many things that would have perhaps changed the end result... but I chose to ignore it. I thought it didn't concern me. Thought a few of the jokes were sort of funny. I wasn't one of the bullies. But I might as well have been.

I earned that bullet.

Through inaction.

Through not sparing a glance to another.

Through being too much of a coward to speak up.

I earned it.

When I last came to you with a question... I asked for torture suggestions. Many of you came through beautifully with your own twisted ideas... and only ONE of you nonchalantly mentioned that perhaps death wasn't entirely necessary. Not exactly what I'd call a convincing argument. Where were all the "Goodies"? I know some of you read this, so where were your two cents? Where were the hypocrites and hippies? Do I intimidate you all, perhaps? Or did you want to see Jerome tortured, but didn't wish to tie your name to such an "evil" thought?

Even you, Spencer.

My brother, you so passionately stood against my actions after they'd be carried out... yet, where were you when your protest could have meant something? Where were you when I laid the man's life in the hands of the Community? When you could have convinced me to end his life quicker? You had twenty-nine days, Spencer... and I heard not a peep from you. I know you were Following, so don't try to deny. You've commented before. You knew what game I was playing... and you know I wouldn't have ignored you. That I would have replied. Questioned. Perhaps even considered a point or two, if you could have made them...

But you still chose to do nothing. To stay quiet. To hide.

You might as well have been torturing him right there with me, Spencer.

Now... to all of you... I'm going to ask an old question:

How shall I kill him?

His name is Ronan.

Though, I would think... many of you would know him better as another name:

The.

Mad.

Ventriloquist.

TMV. My dear friend: Venny. I must admit, it was rather fun tailing him for the last little while. Even as a functional alcoholic, he still caught onto my presence before I had intended for him to. Made the job that much more interesting. Of which you won't hear me complaining about. Of course, given his background, I had been expecting a challenge from the start. More or less looked forward to it. But most of you don't know about his history, now, do you? It's a shame that's the case really. Personally, I never like becoming involved with someone unless I know at least the basics of their background... and, I must say, Venny's is quite... colorful.

Watching without getting noticed proved to be more of a chore than actually picking him up. I simply waited for his beer to lull him to sleep. Then the only thing between me and him... was Derek. I actually made sure NOT to rough him up too much. I simply put him down for a nap so he'd stay out of my way. He cooperated like a saint. Came out to investigate a little noise outside the house with shotgun in hand. Gave me an opening to come up behind him. Gave him a little knock on the head as I did. He entertained me with a little bit more of a scuffle. Both of us earning a few bruises in the struggle as he flailed like a fish out of water... before I got the right pressure on the nerve in his neck. He dropped picture-perfectly. Barely a mark on him. I brought him back inside and put him in a chair. Leaving him to a nice, peaceful slumber... and then I gave Venny a bit of sedative to make certain he wouldn't be waking up before I was ready for him to. It all went very smoothly, if I do say so myself. Not a thing out of place in the entire house.

Now, it's been more than a few hours since their love note to me went up. I think I've left dear Derek and David long enough to panic, don't you? I'm sure David's been frustrated to no end not being able to pick up on my trail. After all... he's not the only one with a few tricks up his sleeve. I know what the man is capable of, but... he still won't find us until I want him to. As for you, Derek... my apologies you got caught in the middle. It was nothing personal. If it had been, David would have had to contact the Community. Not you. You should show a bit more gratitude.

For now, I thought I might as well let you know who had dropped in on their way by... and the state of your missing party member. If you've read some of my other tales, I would bet you could imagine all kinds of scenarios...

But, in reality, Venny is fine. For now. That much, I assure you. He panicked a little when he didn't recognize where he was. Grabbed the lamp to defend himself. I thought it was cute, really. He actually guessed who I was on the first try and, once I explained the situation at hand, he settled down just fine. He's a very understanding man. Very intelligent. Would be a shame if this was forced to get messier than it needed to be...

So, my friends... that is where we are. Dearest Venny is my guest of honor. Any ideas of how I should bid him farewell when the time comes? How I should present him to death's chilling embrace? Should I do it quickly since I like him so? Or draw it out to pain the heart of his dearest fiance? Though, I feel I should warn you... that your suggestions this time around will only be taken into consideration... if David doesn't answer his cell phone when I call him at exactly 7:05 AM. February 1st. We could speak earlier, but... Derek would have had to wake up to post earlier. It is only fair for the poor boy to be the one to choose the time since he feels so wronged for being taken from behind, right? My own little way of saying "sorry."

In other words, David...

7:05. Tomorrow morning. If you don't pick up. I'll be taking the pleasure of putting your fiance down.

Talk to you soon, sweetheart.

Where Was I...?

Seeing as how I have nothing better to do this evening since I am... recuperating, as it were, I've decided I might as well explain what became of my old friend, Jerome.

First though, I would just like to say that I would love to personally thank whoever invented the taser. I think... using a rat would only be appropriate to fully convey my feelings in the matter. To strap a small cage which would contain the rodent around the little genius' stomach. Intense heat could then be placed above both specimens. Allowing the skin of one to burn and blister... as well as kicking in the survival instant for the little rat. Causing it to burrow into the abdomen in attempt to escape the heat...

I wonder how long I could draw that out for...? Would be interesting to see.

Ah, well, at least the officer Requiem had been worried about has been dealt with accordingly. Got a little rough around the edges this time, but... that would be part of what keeps things interesting, wouldn't it? It's not as though I haven't had worse. Or that I truly care for what level our targets stoop to... but I was delivered not one, but two jolts of the irritating bastard of a device today. I think I'm allowed to complain a touch, yes?

Quite honestly, I only think of the assault as an inconvenience I could have done without. To make me this tired, that is. I'd rather be on the road again. I've been in company for too long... and I do prefer my solitude oh so very much...

But here I am yet again - getting off topic. You'll have to excuse me for that for now. In any case, I'm sure you're not interested in hearing of that little incident. The most important thing to know at the moment is that I will be back on the move soon. Just taking an evening to regain some stolen energy.

Now, to get back to the point of this post...

December 9th, 2011... to January 6th, 2012.

Twenty-nine days.

That would be how long Jerome White, also known as Tripwire, remained in my loving care for.

Twenty-one of those days he spent compressed into that little torture device I mentioned earlier. Unable to move. Not even so much to scratch an itch. The pain throughout his body would have been constant. Upon entering week three, he'd already begun to mumble to himself. Got a little bit on the twitchy side. Moved his head around a little oddly as though he couldn't quite focus... or perhaps he was focusing on things that were not there. That is a possibility. Being in solitude with no way to tell the passing of time for weeks on end does not bold well for one's mind. However, it is not as though I left him alone the entire time. Of course not. That would be far from hospitable. And, yes, I did provide him with plenty of water and basic nutrition. I would think that would go without saying for this length of time... but I suppose the obvious is better stated to begin with than having to answer later.

A few of you gave such wonderful suggestions on how to end his miserable existence. Some of your ideas,  I used. Others, I did not. For instance... )*SERVE*(, if I wanted to "give him a taste of his own medicine" I would drop him off at Morgan's headquarters wrapped in a bow. Or Ferus, for that matter. However, since I happen to be a Proxy that holds itself to some degree of standards... well, we played different games. But I'm certain you will approve all the same.

Rest assured, everyone, I took all your thoughts into consideration.

When I last posted, I told you how I took Requiem down to where we had Jerome stashed away for a rainy day. Let me see... if I can put into words what sight he had upon opening that door.

As I said, the man was cowering in the corner of his room. Trembling from head to toe. Curled into himself in some vain attempt at comfort and warmth. He wore no clothes to hide the measure of work I'd already put into him. The first of many wounds being a pound of flesh which I took from the muscles in his legs.

Symbolic.

Conveniently made escape for him near impossible.

And gave Kali and Loki enough to peck on for a few days. Of course I gave them the chance to dine right from the source as well, but that would never be for too long.

I had then begun removing pieces of him. Starting with his nails and, joint by joint, taking his fingers away. Letting him keep one and two-thirds of a finger on his left hand to make the loss of his other arm up to his elbow that much more reflective. Literally SEEING how much was taken is so much worse than trying to remember what was once there.

I then used that arm by tossing it into the backyard of a Spook assignment.

Crystal would find her Jack Russel chewing on it later that evening.

It had taken me three hours of driving to get there and another three to get back. At least, the expression on her face made it worth the time. Did a few other things to mess with her mind while I was there, but nothing of extreme interest.

She wasn't the only Runner I insisted on involving either. There was a boy named Ivan Knox. Had just turned eighteen a week prior, if I recall correctly. I was assigned to him as a Spook as well, but I allowed myself to be a bit more... drastic. I picked the sweetheart up and brought him to my little home away from home. Tossing him to the cold, concrete floor upon our entry into the basement without a trace of ceremony. With wrists bound his back, he scrambled only to sit up. To put his back against the wall as I went to attend to Jerome in the same manner I always did. Ivan watched. Never uttering a word as the other male alternated between whimpering and screaming. I kept an eye on our audience as I worked. Impressed, to say the least, at the strong front he put out. Ivan was only small. Not weedy, exactly, but small for his age. And yet his expression barely betrayed him. The only part that screamed of his own fear... was his eyes. Greenest of green. Like a forest canopy in the summer. Eventually, I couldn't help but shift my attention completely onto the Spook. Ivan stared back. Obviously scared, but strong. Unfaltering. He had a spine. Unlike Jerome.

As a crouched in front of Ivan with blood-coated gloves, I asked if he had preferences which piece of him I removed first. I expected him to shrink... but instead his lips only pressed tighter together. Not giving me the pleasure of conversation. It would have been rude if I wasn't so amused. He was so young. I used to teach kids his age. And yet... unflinching. Brave beyond his years. Or, perhaps, merely stupid.

That would be when a thought occurred to me. One which you helped with, Brooklyn. My dearest Gargoyle. You're invading my thoughts during working hours. Shame on you. But I really need to thank you, seeing as how it worked in my favor so well.

You see... I remembered your comment. The end part, anyway. I truly did want to use your suggestion from the start and, in that moment... I couldn't possibly think of anyone better for the job than Ivan himself.

I gently caressed the boy's face as I gave him the proposition. Feeling his jaw tighten as I left smears of hot blood where I touched. I told him I would bring him home without a scratch... but, first, he had to gain some 'get out of jail free' tokens. Jerome's teeth. Not all of them. Just a few. And then Ivan could leave. Simple. But the little statue that was Ivan refused. The single word coming out strongly... but his eyes told a different story entirely. A desperate story. One that was looking for an excuse. So I started talking. Like I tend to do. I spoke of Jerome. Who he was. What he had done as Tripwire. I questioned the fairness that a morally correct person like Ivan... condemn himself to torture and death for the sake of someone like that. I mentioned Ivan's own family. Questioning leaving his little brother on his own to face our Father... when Ivan could so easily be there for him...

Within twenty minutes, I had Ivan untied. Positioned in front of a whimpering Jerome. Pliers in hand. I kept one arm around Ivan's shoulders for support. My other hand holding Jerome by the hair - cranking his neck back. He begged the boy not to. Begged for mercy. Pleaded and cried...

I could see the boy hesitating, so I simply leaned in to whisper in Ivan's ear. Asking if he thought Tammara... had begged Jerome to stop as well.

Ivan ripped out his tokens for freedom one at a time.

Screams and choked wails tearing from Jerome.

Tears streaming down Ivan's pale face.

I could tell he was drawing near to breaking down, and since we had a nice little pile going... I didn't ask for him to take them all. I let him stop. The poor dear was shaking so badly he could barely stand so I could take him home. I literally had to help him walk as he rung his blood-splattered hands together again and again. The screams forever echoing in his head. The sensations forever crawling up his arms. I could tell then I'd... no... that WE - Gargoyle and I - had just given him a nightmare that would haunt him until the day he dies at Father's will.

Multipurpose is always best.

As for Jerome himself, well... I always made certain to burn his wounds of the bits and pieces I removed to stop the blood from flowing and claiming his life that way. He'd scream, beg, whimper... and I would talk to him so sweetly during every session. Brushing my fingers through his hair. Across his cheek. Making certain I had his attention. He would shiver so much that, at times, it made it difficult to be accurate with what I wanted done.

At one point, he had begged me for a blanket. That he was so cold.

So... I happily warmed things up for him.

I stuck a match. Kissed his temple. Then lit his clothing on fire. His pleads and screams fell on deaf ears as I stood back to watch the flame build in strength as it consumed his clothing and hair. The scorching heat ever-rising. Caressing the flesh beneath until it was charred black and his screams began to choke in his throat. Only then did I put him out. Fire extinguisher. Followed by a bucket of ice water over his sizzling flesh.

He didn't complain about being cold again.

He also couldn't recognize himself in a mirror again if he tried.

That would be the sight that Requiem opened the door to. A man who had become as mutated on the outside as he was within. And yet he still begged for his life. I'd only ever heard him ask for death ONCE. All the other times... it was for mercy. For life. To be spared. If only to be taken into the embrace of His Family again. If only to Serve.

Why?

A fear of what awaits after death is terrifying to some people. Jerome just happens to be one of them.

Requiem found the begging to be too much to listen to, however, and decided to remove Jerome's tongue before we did anything else. I was rather grateful for that. And so when we took him from that little room and brought him into the lower chamber in the basement of the church's basement... the sounds he was making only slurred together more when he saw what fate would claim him.

My new toy.

To bring a new meaning to His Embrace.

It stands nine feet tall. Positioned against the far wall of a room that is only lit by the presence of a thin trench of flames which burns along the border of the chamber itself, leaving the room a bit darker than others. The light of the fire shimmers off the black surface that IS the majority of the instrument. Unlike the conventional style that this particular item has held itself in throughout history, the body is curved in. Having a more 'slender' figure, if you will. In fact... it is crafted in nearly His exact image. A pale head nearly at the ceiling itself. Carved so the light reflects where the features should be, but is left faceless to stare down those who approach it. But it is more than just His image, you see...

Because, with one half of the body swung open as it was as when Jerome first saw it... the light of the flames also glimmered among the long, thin spikes which decorated the inside of the device.

It was perfect. Exactly as I had imagined. And Requiem had outdone himself with the atmosphere of the room itself. Faint carvings decorated the walls and ceiling in the images of trees and a canopy overhead... and across the floor stretched the same operator symbol that Requiem had hanging around his neck. I felt the need to remind him later on that he would NOT be claiming credit for this idea.

Jerome's final struggles to free himself of our holds were lost as we took him across the floor. His time with me had left him weak, and even when he refused to stand or walk to his demise... well, we simply dragged him. Forced him inside the device and strapped him in. Once his wrists, ankles, and neck were bound in place, I took a last moment to reassure him... that all of the needles were strategically placed to miss major organs. And the spikes themselves would slow blood loss by remaining inside him after penetration. So his death would be exactly as he deserved it: Slow and painful. His hysterical shrieks and jerks to free himself were only silenced as Requiem and I each took one of the two doors and pushed them closed. Heavy bloody things. But as the doors shut, Jerome would be forced further back into even more needles behind him. Gasps of the pain and choked breath were soon all that came from the inside as the doors were latched together and he was in the full embrace of our Father's image. Pinned into place from all sides. Alone with his agony in the dark as he would slowly bleed out.

I couldn't help but smile when I glanced upon the look in Requiem's eyes. They were beautiful. Nearly shimmering. All the pent up anger that had been in his system seemingly washed away as he took steps back. Taking in the full glory of the scene as the first drops of blood trickled from the small holes in the bottom of the device to be gathered in decorative jars placed around its base. Fit to be used in an assortment of many rituals I know my kin practice... or as a prop for missions, for that matter.

It was just as I had specified.

Requiem knelt on the floor and prayed. I stood and listened.

Listened to my friend.

Listened to the muffled whimper of a true "monster."

This had been on the third of the month.

Jerome died on the sixth.

Requiem has been doing much better since then. Still obsessed to get his hands on the Runner that dared to attack his subordinate and church... but better. Even enough so to return to his old obsession which involves the hundreds upon hundreds of photos of religious figures from all over the world stuck up on the walls of his office. News articles. Statistics. It's so good to see him go back to his old mindset.

Sister Fuchsia is still recovering, but is now back at the church. I made certain to visit her each day in her quarters. She never once placed blame on my head for her injuries. A true sweetheart. I hope all my kin pray for a quick recovery for her.

Come dawn, I will only be in the company of my closest friends of Chaos and Destruction.

It'll be a good day.

How I Wish I Could Tell You The Name...

...Of the church I am currently residing in. For what it is to the public eye and what it is to us... well, the irony is simply beautiful. Of course, I would expect no less from Requiem. The man is nothing short of obsessive of his own role in the "Divine Plan." So, it is only natural his church would reflect his true loyalty in the most elegant, yet blatant, way possible. It is simply how he is.

Honestly, I wouldn't even doubt that the man considers himself something of a Messiah. Many would probably consider his ego irritating if one was to actually take him seriously. However, like I mentioned to my newest friend, I don't tend to take anyone seriously. Myself included. So I happen to find Requiem as excellent a company as any of my kin. As for how he views me... well, I believe I am "tolerated." Which actually says a great deal. Considering I'd be quite hesitant to say that there is another level that exists above that to ascend to. At least, in being tolerated, I not only received the invite to visit with my friend Jerome... but Requiem also went so far as to do me a "favor."

You see, I had a party to go to. Hosted by our dearest friends from Baker Street. You have probably already heard of it from other Proxies. Most accurately detailed by our dearest Ridley, I would say. However, I had a touch of a problem in getting there.

You see, I happen to have a rather strong dislike of using The Path for even the most dire of circumstances. Leave alone for such casual means as this. While the invitation was certainly designed so as to make it clear it was not to be ignored... I had been planning to do just that. After all, the other option had been to put off my plans yet again and travel across several states in order to reach the Looped area. Not a way I planned to spend my New Years. Thank you very much.

However... that would be where Requiem would come into the matter. After realizing I wasn't going to go, he gave me a rather long speech about how it isn't wise to always be testing the tolerance of the Highers, such as Valtiel and Writer. I begged to differ, but my lecture was far from through. I was reminded through the overuse of many religious-esq terms that I do not spend enough time with my kin. Requiem chose to warn me in his particularly drawn-out fashion that, since I continue to drift on my own with only my "soul partners" as company, I need to take all opportunities I can to "bond with our brethren." That I must speak to the "New Bloods" to offer advice and encouragement as they walk the "Enlightened Path." Then he went on about something regarding not being "recognized within the flock"...

Sometimes it is easier to quit listening.

In any case, Requiem decided to open The Path for me himself. Not giving me a choice in the matter.

He is nothing if not persistent, that is for certain. Sort of like a flea in that way. I couldn't even use the fact I didn't have anything that would do as "black tie" since Requiem had insisted I took a "purer appearance" during some of the rituals I had attended at his church in the past. So I actually did have clothes available to me that weren't in tatters. A true pity. Otherwise that would have been an excellent excuse.

I must admit, it was a rather amusing little gathering. The tension was high from the start, so I spent a good while at the beginning simply circulating the crowd. Seeing who had shown themselves. I particularly enjoyed getting under the skin of a few particular members of my family (rest assured, Nat. I'll give you the chance to show me your "skillz" one day) before getting around to discuss some business matters with Morgan. Who, from hence forth, I will not refer to as "Morningstar" until he has earned it and finishes what we spoke of months ago. He has claimed he will focus himself after his current mission, but my hopes on that are rather low. We shall see. Worst comes to worst, I will carry out what we discussed myself. And he will forever be Morgan. Just. Morgan.

I felt so very unwelcome by "Joseph." He didn't seem to appreciate my contribution to the night's activities at all. Hurriedly excusing himself when I complimented the party and commented on the promise of calamities worthy of the records book. Quite rude, really.

In spite of my own efforts... the main conflict of the night wasn't even initiated by myself.. Valtiel took care of that. A Higher in their truest form, to be sure.

"Do as I say, not as I do."

Then, just as things were beginning to become a bit more interesting... a familiar figure caught my attention outside of the cafe. A strong sense of foreboding hit me. And so, in a few scarce seconds, I had easily slipped away from the growing conflict without the notice of a single soul. Requiem greeted me with an apology before falling in step at my side. Walking down the stretch of pavement looking for a sliver of privacy should the brawl in the cafe erupt onto the road.

Requiem informed me that he was out for blood.

Apparently, one of his subordinates had been attacked by a Runner on the outside of town. Sister Fuchsia was jumped from behind and given a rather nasty beating. Requiem is assuming at this point that the fractured skull she suffered was the first blow. Hence explaining the attacker's ability to get away without leaving a blood trail while Fuchsia was turned black and blue. Nothing short of impossible had it been anything other  than the work of a coward. Fuchsia had been badly bleeding and barely conscious. And yet her attacker still demanded a task of her. She was told to deliver a message. The man could have killed her, but instead he simply put an envelope in her hand and left her there.

She was found by a citizen of the town. A norm. She was then taken to the hospital and Requiem was later contacted. He went to see her there with promise of getting her home soon. And that would be when she told him about the envelope.

However, it was not addressed to Requiem.

It was addressed to me.

Inside was a single scrap of paper.

It read as:

"How long can you stand the pain?
How long will you hide your face?
How long will you be afraid?
Are you afraid?
How long will you play this game?
Will you fight or will you walk away?
How long will you let it burn?

How long will you stay buried inside your new name,

NightScreAM?" 

The coding is just too cute, don't you think? 

Requiem's first comment was that Sister Orchid would be likely to "squee" if she were to read this. Apparently she listens to this particular band enough in her private room for the Priest to recognize the lyrics of the song. Thank God for that, otherwise I would have just assumed it to be a mere scattering of pointless questions. Now that I am aware they are a scattering of pointless questions in SONG FORM, I am truly, truly devastated by such a searing quip. I may never recover.

I apologized to my brother for not having much of a clue of who it could be from. I would say it was someone to do with my history, but since I announced my real name on here... well, it could be any Runner at all. Hn, perhaps Dia has become my personal stalker? Anything to say for yourself, sweetheart? It's not nice to mock people in other fields of work, you know.

In any case, I felt more need to see my beaten sister than I did to return to a party that - from the sounds of things - had already begun to settle down for one reason or another. So, Requiem used The Path and brought us back again. To find an unholy mess waiting.

Someone... had attempted to set fire to the church.

Firefighters. Police. Nosy-neighbors. The mess was near impossible to contain without someone wandering off where they were not welcome. Requiem's team worked hand and hand with passer-by Proxies to get matters under control again. Anyone who tried to make all that much of a fuss at being restricted had the pleasure of answering to Mother Vex. The woman is nothing short of brutal. Not to mention she is rather brilliant minded. She gives medical care onto Proxies who require it and, whether he is aware of it or not, holds the figurative leash on Requiem. For how he can ramble on and on until he loses touch of what his original topic was... Vex is sharp and to the point. Quick as a switchblade to put any fool in their place. She is a woman... of very few words and even fewer strands of tolerance. 

I actually had the pleasure of hearing one of her tirades that day. Without having to be the one to receive it. I nearly felt pity for those officers. I truly did.

During the activity, I wasn't able to offer much in the way of assistance as my attire made it impossible for me to help in any way, shape, or form. For some reason that is truly beyond my understanding... the norms tend to come to the rather bizarre conclusion that I appear a tad suspicious. Could never figure it out, myself. That being said, I didn't dare leave either. The police were already making their own patrols of the streets for suspicious activity, and I also wished to keep myself available in the case that I was needed. I wasn't, but at least the opinion was there.

After things had begun to die down, Requiem was looking much like a volcano ready to erupt. Though he approached me with assurances that the damage hadn't been too bad and the crowds had been decently contained, he was in an absolute rage at the desecration of his church and the abuse of his subordinates. He also expressed concerns that one of the officers had been acting rather hostile. Someone who had already been asking some more... unusual questions as of late. 

Just something else to keep an eye on, I suppose.

After all, this is not a Cult Town. Instead, it is merely a Host. We don't control it. Not yet.

You see, I wasn't exaggerating when I called my kin a growing inflection festering beneath the skin. That is exactly how we are at the moment. Your cultures host ours. Community Centers. Places of Worship, mostly, such as churches, mosques, temples, and so on... they exist right across the country. Serving a double-purpose. Serving us. Providing shelter. Medical care. Supplies. And, of course, a wealth of contacts and information. The local residence kept completely unaware that anything is even remotely amiss.

We even have a name for them. Unfortunately, like the name of this particular church and, in connection, its location... it is what could be described as "classified." I cannot simply GIVE information away. Not only would it ruin a good portion of the fun, but also many of my kin are going to be annoyed enough that I've even said this much. After all, there are those who would love an opportunity to strike us in such a location. A fall of one would be a shame. Not detrimental, of course. But a shame.

They are also, for the most part, the only sectors in which Proxies will either bite their tongues or suggest to take a disagreement outside. Brawls are rather... looked down upon.

After all... these are Houses of our God. Shrines. One must show respect.

Proxies who have failed to realize this simple fact have been known to earn a few weeks stay in the infirmaries within those very Houses.

I do know that Requiem himself has gone so far as to remove skin from an offender in his church. If you were to ask his nuns or any others that respect him, the story would go that the individual hadn't been much for honoring He as our God, so attempted to set Requiem on fire for being overly "preachy." Some mockery about "becoming the Holy Light" or of that likeness. In retaliation, Requiem is said to have beaten and bound the Proxy before systematically removing every shred of skin over the Proxy's entire body. Stopping the process if the offender passed out and continuing once he woke up. Taking it all... excluding a small scrap of skin in the shape of an operator symbol on the offender's forehead.

I have, however, been informed by a rather amused Requiem that it was just an arm and the operator symbol was on the palm of the hand. And it wasn't for attacking him. It was for cropping a feel of one of his subordinates. Sister Dahlia.

Apparently, the Proxy usually drops in every other month or so. Still at work. Requiem would never tell me his name. He only tells me to "look for [his] mark."

But I digress.

Leads for the arsonist dried up quickly with thanks to the "investigations" of the local authorities.

Requiem, however, has only been expanding his search. He wants the Runner. And, from the look in his eye when he speaks of it, I'd say he wants him alive.

As for myself, I have been assisting in the search as well as clean-up. I have also made it my place to stay on top of the investigation in case it swings its blade in the direction of the church, as well as assigning myself to find out what, if anything, that one specific police officer knows of us. In addition, I've been sparing with Requiem to make certain he doesn't blow a fuse in one of his sermons to the norms. As that would be the very last thing we need at the moment.

In short... I haven't been sleeping much. I believe my last bit of shut eye was over forty-eight hours ago.

At least Jerome has served a double-purpose. It was... absolutely glorious. Requiem had been particularly hostile that day. Put his gun to my forehead in response to a comment of mine which was, I'll admit, more than a little mocking. Which lead me to the shining conclusion that he required a bit of stress-relief which wouldn't have ME as the intended target. I quite literally took Requiem's hand while he was in mid-rant and lead him to where we had stashed Jerome for safe-keeping.

The parasite was cowered into the farthest corner of the room. Muttering to himself. Twitching. And it only got worse when he laid eyes on us in the doorway. He must have recognized the difference in my smile, because his pleas for mercy immediately started bubbling up his throat instead of the squeaks he would normally give. He begged for a quick death. Begged to be taken back into service.

He was to receive neither.

You see, I'd already had such fun with him by that point. Our time together was tattooed on his flesh with wounds of several shapes and sizes. Cuts and burns and bites from some rats who had happened to find him while he'd been restrained in that little torture device of mine. Kali and Loki had also had their chance to make their opinion of him known. Leaving such a wonderful mess of his back. Quite beautiful artwork, in my opinion. Nearly want to frame it.

There was also this one Runner who I was asssigned to as a Spook. I had...

...

...

...

Well. The fun times just never end.

I'm afraid I must leave this as a "To Be Continued," my friends. So sorry.

Keep smiling!