This is not Nightscream.

Stating the obvious, really, as you would think that any of Lady Raven's beloved fanbase would not make such a heinous mistake as confusing me with him... her... it... what have you. However, as the attention span of most Runners tends to be limited at best, I find it most simple to just clear basics out of the way first.

Can you not see the absolute endless similarities? Uncanny, is it not?

Absolutely brilliant, if you ask me.
 

Good Morning, Afternoon, or Evening.

You can call me The Butler.

I am afraid to say that our amazing Hero(ine) is out for the count on the bed currently, so you all have the joy of getting an update from me instead. Yes, because filling you soon-to-be-dead Runners in on the progress of our sooner-to-be-dead mutual "friend" is of such massive importance. I had considered asking if Lord Raven was running a fever when she asked me for yet another favor, but I might as well have asked if Swiss cheese was still made with holes, as that is surely on the same scale of something that requires confirmation.

Seeing as how speaking itself has become so... twentieth-century, Lady Raven chose to write out his intent so we could hope to communicate beyond the wonders of hand-gestures. I must say, it has been so much fun playing charades all day. I honestly cannot think of any other way I would prefer to spend it. Though, certainly, the fact that Lady Raven can barely speak is the crime of the ages - I am sure we are all missing out on such breathtaking lectures of pure wisdom the likes of which would make deaf men see and blind men hear.

As if Lord Raven's consistent ramblings from before were so much more understandable than the scarce words she manages now.

"I promised them a show, love. Getting the chance to speak to you would prove to be a show and a half. Come now, what harm is there? Afraid you might like it?"

Yes, because I have absolutely nothing better to do than keep an online diary of pointless observations and cheap mind-games. Now that I have been exposed to the wonders of this Community, I now see for certain how utterly insignificant my entire life has been thus far in keeping all my thoughts locked tight in my mind as they are. Oh, yes, make no mistake - the very instant I clicked 'New Post', I came to realize just how incomplete I have been all this time. It was as though a deep, dark hole inside my very heart and soul was finally filled and I was at peace with the world at long last.

I feel so healed. It is a miracle.

But this is not about me. Certainly not. I am no one of any importance, once or ever. This wonderfully heartfelt post is about Lord Raven and the pure genius that convinced the Jolly Good Doctor that He should be making house-calls.

The one many refer to as "Nightscream" was admiring the floor of her apartment when I arrived. After I let myself in, I had the divine pleasure of bullets from a silenced gun blasting into the wall about a foot away from my skull. Bits of white plaster and dust marring my black suit. My "friend's" aim is even better than I remember... unless, of course, Lord Raven had been trying to hit me. Using my handkerchief to clean off my shoulder, I inquired as to whether she had been expecting other company other than myself, or if this was the warmest welcome he could muster after I painstakingly traveled so very far on her own request.

He looked so strong and formidable laying on the floor like she was. Propped up on one elbow, his arm holding the gun shaking a bit with the weight pressuring on her muscles, a grimace on his face as though bearing through severe pain. The true essence of a warrior at their finest hour, to be certain.

It appears Lady Raven has been associating a bit too much with fellow birdbrains lately. His Wondrous Plagueness came around again. This time, He left our mutual "friend" experiencing the many joys of shock, amongst other fun bits and pieces of The Doktor's trade that I am certain Lord Raven appreciates to the fullest. Her lips were almost blue when he lowered her gun - forcing forward that oh-so familiar smile. Pale as the undead and making even less sense than usual (if that is even possible), I assisted her to his feet. Noting a heart beating too fast and breathing too shallow. Fever and dizziness. All the fun things, for certain. I merely helped her to bed - most likely the very one he will die in.

Though, in my personal opinion, he appears to be in excellent shape... in comparison to the once-residences of Auschwitz, at any rate.

Apparently our "friend" has taken to the Hollywood Diet. Not that that is any cause for concern, of course. It is not as though eating is a matter of life and death or anything of that likeness, correct? At least not in this case. I have no doubt the Plague Doctor will finish what He began. It is just a matter of how long the suffering will be prolonged...


Ah, for the love of Bloody Mary... how do I always find myself around such oddities as this one? I would say I am cursed if that was not already rather obvious. If it were not for her saving my neck in Detroit, I would not be here at all. But, low and behold, I was called in on a favor. Of course, I just leaped at the opportunity to involve myself in pure suicide. A brilliant mess that should be run from with all haste.

However... Nightscream required some supplies.

So, I brought what he needed.

After all, any butler who can not manage a little delivery is most certainly not worth his salt.

What use it will be in her condition, I have not a clue. However, far be it from me to doubt the glory (read: mind-numbing stubbornness) that Lord Raven is known for. 

Then, of course, because I was just looking for a reason to stay in this marvelous Fortress of Sanitation, Lady Raven requested this all-important post. After all, it is not as though I had anything else to do this evening, correct?

Least he has got some color back in her now. Bloody idiot.




When you wake up and come to read this, my Lord and Lady Hybrid, do be certain to take your time in wrapping up this little vacation of yours. I am certain everyone around you would be more than willing to wait for you to get your act back together. It is not as though there is anything important in the mix.


The Butler

It Should... be Friday.

Last night, I...

...no.

Not... not last night. Apparently it has nearly been a week...

Thursday.

Thursday, The Beak came for me.

The night before that - the night I posted last - He had come to my door and no further. I heard His steps. I heard the creak of wood as if whimpering in agony in His presence alone. His shadow pausing at the entrance to my pathetic little sanctuary. My motel room. The scraping sound of something against the door clawed at my ears. He was playing, almost. Toying with His prey. Torturing my nerves. Letting me know. And then... He was gone. Leaving me to my solitude. My planning. My... growing Sickness...

But Thursday... Thursday... I knew the Game was being brought to a new level.

I graduated, I suppose you could say.

I... I can't... I couldn't take the pounding in my head. I couldn't ignore it. Every step just splitting and echoing like thunder... like a gunshot set off next to my ear... 

over


and over


and over again


I practically had to pry my aching skull from the grip of my own hands. Elbows propped on my legs from sitting on the edge of my bed. My eyes nearly feeling too sore, too tired, to keep open as I held my gaze upon the closed door across the room. My chest feeling far too heavy. Pressured. Working for each breath I took in. Working to stay awake. Stay aware.

I could hear His steps echoing up the stairwell not far on the other side of my door. I listened as He moved up. One step at a time. Letting me know.

Letting me know I was in His Game. Not mine. Not Father's. His. 


Step.

Pause. 

Step.

Pause. 

Step.

Pause.


The room around me had begun to creak and groan. As if it itself was being twisted by His coming presence. It seemed so... loud. So obvious. As if reality itself was screaming. Tearing at my hearing. At my... reasoning. The world vibrating in my eyes, crumbling the distance between myself and that sound. Those steps. Him.

Run.

The stench of sulfur and decay filled the air like a miasma settling around me. Stinging my eyes. Choking me. Gagging me. My already-tortured throat coughing brutally against the irritation. Lungs burning with each breath as I tore myself to my feet...

...and went out the window. Out into the cold night air. My throat and lungs stinging with the very first breath I took as I quickly made my way down the fire escape - skipping the last section entirely with a jump. Landing hard. Hands and knees. Cringing from the jolt through weakened muscles before pushing up. Looking back over my shoulder just briefly. Up to the open window.

A beaked mask stared down.

RUN.

I did. Out of the alley and onto the street. Stride carrying stride. Forcing muscles to work as they have for me all my Service. Teeth gritted through the weakness that had sunk through my entire being. I pushed hollow legs to land quicker. To push off harder. Pushing. Pushing. Pushing.

It's always... been the same game, hasn't it...?

My steps staggered - arms snapping up to catch hold of a telephone pole. Finding balance again briefly before shoving my body into the mouth of an alleyway. Back pressed against the damp brick. Entirety trembling for a rest after such a short sprint. Muscles burning even hotter than my lungs were as I tried to regain a breathing pattern. A sliver of concentration. Anything that I could cling to... focus on...


Step. 

Step.

Tap.

Step. 

Step.

Tap.


The street now. He was coming faster...

I felt sick. Nausea sweeping over me. Stomach twisting. The back of my throat feeling tight. A lump rising, threatening a gag reflex as I pushed on. The street obviously scratched off as an option - I hoped to cut through the alley. To come out the other side and keep going. One arm curled around myself from the pain spreading out from my insides, I could only keep moving forward with one hand braced on the wall of the building. Cramping making running impossible.

But I could still keep moving.

Through any symptoms, I could just keep moving...

A dead-end told me otherwise.

My vision swam as I glanced around me. Headache pounding. Still hearing His steps follow. So close. Too close.

I saw a door.

Everything told me not to. Every instinct I had screamed 'NO'... but I didn't listen. I couldn't listen. I couldn't stay, so there was only one other option. I slammed the door behind me just as I began to see a shadow drawing in closer out of the night. Locking the useless barrier in place if only for the sake of my own mortal mind scrambling for a way. Any way to delay His advance. Wanting it to work. Wanting it to be so simple...

It is never simple.

I didn't wait. I turned into the building and forced myself to keep moving.

It... didn't take long for me to realize... that I had rushed onto His center stage.

White cinder-block scarred black by the flames of an inferno long-since extinguished, the building was left to vermin, dust, and decay over the years. My steps echoed down the long-neglected corridors ahead of me as I pushed myself onward. Leaning heavily on the wall for balance and direction as my pounding headache tipped into overdrive. Spinning my vision and blurring it into black as I walked...

and then... I felt it...

a... scalding hot wetness sinking into the fabric of my glove.

I jerked my hand away in an instant, steps fumbling to a stop as I prayed to Father for it to be in my head. For the love of God, even as I... was staring at the fresh blood on my hand... I still prayed it to all just be in my head. Watching pus slide amongst the crimson - stringing itself between my fingers sickeningly. Clinging.

Paranoia.

Delirium.

please, God, let it only be...

I grew conscious of a heartbeat. A steady rhythm drumming from within the very walls themselves as I hesitantly glanced to my side. Where my hand had been a few seconds prior.

The white and black surface of the wall was cracked apart and split of an about an inch width in places. The pattern running like veins over the surface... and, within those gaps... I could see pulsing flesh. Angry red mixed with purple and black. Infection. Rot. The temperature seemed to increase drastically even as I watched blood drain from the cracks. Pooling on the floor. Spreading.

RUN!

I glanced back the way I had come - the door? Gone.

I couldn't run.

RUN!


"Run? Run where? He's everywhere! What the Hell do you want us to do, Sam? Take flight and never look back?! WE HAVE A LIFE HERE! What about Leo? Have you thought of him? At all? Or are you too focused on your own fucking plans to remember this isn't just about--"

"Alex... please, don't. I know you're scared. We're ALL scared, but we can't just sit on our hands here. This thing knows our routines, our lives... maybe... maybe if we get on the road, we can stay one step ahead. Leo will come with us too, he--"

"He's only a kid, Sam! He can't grow up on the road! Living like some bum drifting from one place to another!"

"Leo. Would come too. I already spoke to Owen, and he thinks it might give us some time to sort this out. His daughter will come too, of course. All of us. Together. We'll keep each other safe..."

"No. No, this is insane! I am NOT getting driven out of my home! "

"...You can still call this a home? Face it, Alex, it's just a house now. It stopped being a 'home' when you became too scared to sleep in it."

"S-Still, I--"

"We have to run the gauntlet, Alex. I'm sorry, but this is our option. Our one option. I know it's hard but--"

"Get out."

"Alex, I--"

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"



No turning back.

I gritted my teeth as the blood pooled nearly to my boots. Glaring at the walls. The building.

His stage.

I had to run the gauntlet.

"Give me your worst, you son of a bitch."

I sprinted. Hard and fast down the hallway. Running as fast as I could in my condition - trying to ignore every symptom, every distraction, every pain. The walls around me peeling away from cinder-block into stones. Shadows curling in. Flesh pulsing from between the rocks. Bleeding rivers onto the floor. Blood and pus dripping from the ceiling itself. The stench of decay infused into the air. Intermixed with traces of sulfur. Bile. Sweat.

I don't remember if I ran for minutes or hours.

I don't remember if I was... running away from Him, or if I just... wanted to get His Game over with. I don't remember if I was trying to... amuse Him or show Him I wasn't afraid. I only... remember running...

...and I remember... a numbing agony clawing through every inch of me... a drowning weakness swallowing me whole... pulsing red amongst wisps of shadow...

I remember hitting my knees to the floor. Throwing up. Hands braced in far-too-hot blood.

I remember...


Step. Step.

Tap.

Step. Step.

Tap.


My mind yelled at me to get up. To run. To fight. To do anything but remain on the floor trying to breathe past all the filth clogging up the air. I could taste it, I...

I couldn't move.


Step. Step.

Tap. 

Step. Step.

Tap.

...

Silence.


...I am a Servant of the Slender Man...

I could feel Him behind me. Looming over my pathetic sight with a gaze that I had only been able to imagine thus far pinning me in place. Pits of endless black burned in my mind. Soulless. It tore a shiver through me... and yet... I didn't want to See. I clutched Requiem's medallion tight in one hand as I heard another Tap, and it was all that I could do... but keep myself from shrinking under that sound. Followed by another Tap.

His walking cane. Snapping against the stone floor.

Each time being just another gunshot within my mind. I could feel each tap split through me, down to my very core. So deep I thought that only Father could reach...

...I am... a Soldier of the Slender Man...

A mere nudge at my side was all it took for agony to explode through my ribcage. I bit back the scream that surged into my throat. Choking on blood at that simple guide from the end of His cane - barely a touch - and I was down on the floor. Flipped onto my back amongst blood and bile.

I stared up to Him.

Like a worm pinned down for dissection.

...I am a Child of the Slender Man...

Like a mirage from the fumes and sickness of the Castle around us, The Plague Doctor's dark robes seemed endless - a flood of shadow cloaking His entire being and spreading out along the ground. Shifting. Stirring with every movement. A tattered, wide-brimmed hat shadowing over His head and shoulders. A mask of bone as a face. Beak a sickly mix of yellow, black and green. If it was a mask at all. The eyes...

There... was only one thing to be seen in that gaze: Inevitability.

He would be my Death.

With His cane hovering over me, He wanted me to understand... that I was claimed. By Him. He wanted me aware as He took me apart. Aware that I was alone. Aware that there was no escape. Aware that Father would never come. Aware that... I was weak. Useless. Worthless.

Unlike our Father, who destroys the mind... the Plague Doctor would turn my body on itself. Part by part. Piece by piece. Breaking it.

And my mind... would stay intact through it all. Trapped awake inside a shell that would never respond to my demands... my... pleas...

What is that... if not true helplessness?

I DO NOT BELONG TO YOU.

And it started.

I could only... lay there.

Writhing at His Feet in the blood and filth of His own Realm. Convulsing.

Listening as my own... agonized screams echo back to me through the empty halls...

He...

I...


Father, forgive me...




Yesterday, I woke up vomiting blood. My side blazing in an agony I knew all too well from past history: Broken ribs. Quite a few of them. My side is... nothing but blacks and blues and purples... just... one little tap and they... cracked apart like cheap glass...


It took what felt like hours before I found the strength to sit up - once again surrounded by white cinder-block scarred black. I think... I passed out again briefly before I managed to get back to my feet to go back to my motel room. Just that movement alone exhausted me. I still haven't moved on. I'm still in this same room. Stupid, I know, but I just...

I can... finally stand the glare of the screen, at least... though my hands are shaking, but not quite as badly as they were yesterday...

thank God for spell check

heh.

it's... hilarious, isn't it?

it's alright, my friends.

laugh.

I deserve it, don't I?

I am... just another Proxy. Getting their due.


"Will you marry me?"

"Yes!"


Just... another Human... getting their due.

Simple Truth

Last night, I watched my friends take flight for the last time.

For now, at least.

With trees providing sanctuary on all sides in the courtyard behind Requiem's church, I hadn't needed to worry about the curious eyes of neighbors as I placed my birdcage upon the seat of a wooden bench. Once I'd opened the small, metal door, it took only a few scarce seconds for the strong beats of two pairs of wings to lift my black angels from their confinement. Talons gripping onto my shoulders. The thin leather beneath the fabric of my hoodie protecting me from their hold as they balanced themselves upon me. Talking excessively in my ears. Staring at me with black pearls for eyes. Excited to be out.

It had been... a long trip.

Kali flared her wings - her desire for flight obvious - but still she remained with me. Waiting.

Loki, as per usual, chose a different manner to inform me of his eagerness: Attacking my gauntlet. I raised my arm a touch as his talons gripped onto steel plates. Hanging him upside down with wings flapping against gravity itself as he pecked at the blades of my fingers.

My arm barely had the strength to support him.

Nevertheless... I couldn't help but smile.

A small whistle - one that practically murdered my throat at this point - was all it took for ebony feathers to skim past my ears on both sides - their silhouettes quickly ascending into the night. The two of them playing amongst the stars as I watched from below. That bench then providing my body the rest it so desperate needed from the trip. From everything I have put it through thus far...

I was half-tempted to close my eyes and let myself sleep right then and there, but before too long, Requiem came out to join me. Both of us remaining in silence for a stretch of time before he commented about having found my "Virtual Testament to the Enlightened Path." He questioned the values of such a "Propaganda Pitch to the Masses" and then went on to say how I write with a length to each update as though I am preparing to "bind and publish a Holy Text in His Name." Cautioning me of "Eden's Snake" and being "lured from [my] Sacred Duty by the whispers of False Prophets."

I couldn't help but laugh a bit at the Priest's monologue, in all honesty. All I had to do for the first five to ten minutes of the conversation was listen as he answered his own questions and questioned his own answers. But that in itself is not anything new. Requiem has always been rather... intense. A truly dominating force in any conversation. The type of person that you don't really need to listen to - just pay enough attention to know when to nod. However, if you CAN keep up... he is ever so much fun to challenge.

This time, however... bantering simply wasn't an option.

I... barely have a voice anymore.

I had to repeat my responses to Requiem at least three times before he could understand me. When I tried to force my voice stronger, I only choked. Coughing hard. My body folding over as I gasped for the chance to breathe amongst the attack. Coughing up blood again... gagging... not able to stop myself from shaking from the agony that tore up the inside of my chest...

I only tried that once.

Requiem patiently waited for me to regain myself before asking how long I planned to stay at his church.

I told him no more than a couple of hours.

He suggested an hour was more appropriate. Half an hour even better. Considering the circumstances.
 
I couldn't blame him or argue. I simply nodded once and watched Loki and Kali play overhead.

It was clear we had nothing further to discuss.

Requiem stood at that point in time, but didn't turn to leave just yet. After a moment's hesitation, I caught sight of his fist held out to me. His expression hard. I honestly wasn't sure what to expect, but offered the open palm of my hand. His fist came over mine, placing something heavy in my possession as both his hands closed around my one. That in itself surprised me. Requiem, after all, was not one to touch anyone unless he was murdering or torturing them.

I heard him whispering a prayer, and then his eyes rose back to my concealed ones. "Have faith in God, my friend. The answer you seek will find you." His eyes narrowed just slightly. "Understand, this is not a gift. I do expect this back upon your return to reclaim your soul partners."

And, without another word, he turned and left. Leaving me holding his Operator Symbol medallion. I said not a word - simply slipping the piece around my neck. Spending the next hour in solitude as I watched my friends dance with each other on the night breeze. They would later be making such a racket as I handed the cage to Sister Fuchsia. I suppose they knew something was changing for them...

I had never expected to need to relinquish them in this manner. It almost feels as though I am abandoning my little shadows by leaving them in the care of Requiem's Squad, but... I know they stand not a single chance with me. I've become... a walking plague. They would only die.

For the first time since my time with Dimme... I feel... worn. I feel weak. My muscles don't hold the strength they once did. They... haven't for a while now. I feel as though my entire body has been slowly getting sucked dry of all energy... of all coordination and strength. Of speed. Of concentration. All of it has just been slipping through my fingers... and I haven't found a way to stop it yet.

The closest I've come to finding a sliver of solace was when... when Father had His hold over me. Which brought it's our problems, of course... but the symptoms had seemed to be less severe.

I think He simply kept the distraction from my awareness. So I could preform.

They hit twice as hard after He had released me from His side.

Of course, there was a delay of a few hours. So I had actually thought I had been fairing better at the time... until I could barely walk in a straight-line. Until my fever hit 105.1. Until my system rejected everything I had eaten over the past twenty-four hours and I was fighting to keep focus against the worst migraine I'd had in my life - spurring a nose bleed that refused to stop. Chills setting in next. Delirium...

I managed... to inject myself with one of the two syringes "Joseph" had given me.

And as I laid there on the floor of a house I'd broken into... I heard Him coming for me.

Steps pounding in my head.

A constant rhythm.


One step.

Pause.

One step.

Pause.

One step.

Pause.


Each one splitting in my mind like a clap of thunder.

I don't even remember how I pried myself up.

I just remember running from that house as fast as my legs would take me...

I just... remember feeling the floorboards... shifting under my back...


I can run for days, but it... doesn't matter. When I hear Him coming again, His steps are only louder. Only closer. I ca

I

...

...I can't... get it out of my head.

Through all this... it is simple luck that I haven't been called into a physical confrontation yet. If I had the misfortune of it... I would doubt that I'd fare well. I know this. It is simple truth.

Simple truth that stings far too sharply for comfort.

As it usually tends to.

I am... hesitant to admit this. I am hesitant to let myself write these words of weakness and place them up for any to read. Any to use against me. Any to decide that now is their chance to end me. I am hesitant...

But willing.

Because it has always been a Game. Always. From the very first time I heard the name 'Slender Man', my game-piece was placed on the board and the die knocked from my hand. My turn was rolled. Paces moved. Cards turned.

I then could only watch... as my fortune was painted in blood upon the walls of my life.

There was no turning back.

My choices... have brought me to where I am this very day.

I will not hide from that. I will not... pretend my situation to be any less than what it is. I've still no intention of dying anytime soon, but if this continues as it is... then I will sign off with an end that I would deem fit for one of my own targets.

I am not a hypocrite.

All of us - Proxies and Runners alike - are actors. His actors. As I said before, it is our place to give performances worthy of our Father.


My life - and eventual death - is no different.



I... can hear Him coming again...

Each step... echoing down the halls...

I could stay.

I could run.

In the end, I doubt it will make much difference.


He has been only playing with me so far. The worst... is yet to come.


Bullets

can be dodged.

Blades

can be deflected.

Storms

can be avoided.


But one cannot run

or hide

from Disease.

Not But His Humble Servant.

This... has most certainly not been my week.

Or perhaps I should say 'month'?

...Two months.

And to think I haven't even stepped beneath any ladders... or opened an umbrella indoors, for that matter.

Although... I suppose I could have unintentionally spilled some salt somewhere along the line. It's sometimes difficult to tell what gets upturned during a scuffle, hm? The devil on my shoulder must be laughing itself into a coma by now. Oh, yes, I see the humor. Absolutely divine. Truly.

I suppose it is stating the obvious to say that I am not faring as well as I had hoped. I knew my condition was to get worse, but I hadn't expected it to progress this quickly. It has left me... with a lot on my mind. A lot to consider. Study. Ponder. Even my last mission has left me a touch troubled. Though not in relation to what our dearest Hope Bearer did to me, actually. Nor for how both actresses got away.

They were meant to get away.

It was not how Shooter had wanted it, but I hadn't a choice in the matter. It... had not been my stage.

It was Father's.

His Will made me His pawn. His piece. A mere puppet who was trying only to do as they were told so as to keep their mind intact. So as to not annoy Him. So as to not lose themselves under His hold and be ripped apart into a Hallowed. He had a role for me to play, and I did my best to accept without question. To yield any other distraction and focus solely on what His Will wanted of me.

There is a reason, after all, that He tends to only be seen with Hallowed. It becomes... exceedingly difficult to not panic when His hold comes over you. When you can feel His influence in your mind and core. It is difficult to not... resist. To not fall to the most basic instant for survival and fight His guide. Because if you do... He will not think twice to tear out that side of you. He will not think twice to remove your own will, so that He can influence His own without hindrance. Without interferance.

To survive as a Proxy standing by His side... one must willingly step aside from full control of their actions. Submitting themselves mind, body, and soul. Without question. Without panic. Just a simple, calm, respectful acceptance of His Will - His Ownership - over you. As you are His property. Nothing more.

Mantras can be helpful. To repeat phrases to yourself. Over and over again. But through all this... you must still be effective in your role. Efficient. To work as if nothing is wrong. As if who you are isn't on the line in even the slightest way. As if... His mere presence doesn't effect your senses.

It is like... opening your eyes under water. Your vision is still there, but everything bears a slight distortion. Odd flares of light and sound. It is almost as if you are seeing partly how humans are meant to... and partly from His own view. Nothing coming in focus as it should... and yet you must make do. No matter how hard it is to stay relaxed. No matter how hard it is to even think. You must make do.

There is no other choice.

To say it is "a difficult balance" to maintain would be the same as commenting that a hurricane is "some wind and rain." It is... a terrifying position to find yourself in. One that has left me... very much drained in both mind and body.

Initially, I had intended... to pay Requiem a visit next after I had left the Cafe. With how my current situation with The Beak has been confirmed, I had planned to trust the care of Kali and Loki to the Priest for the time being so they wouldn't continue to be exposed to His presence. I hoped that, in so doing, I would be able to protect them from His Sickness. After all, they have been my loyal partners for so long now... it would truly be a shame to lose their contribution to the Purpose.

Especially since they tend to show more talent than many of my kin do.

However... Father changed my mind.

It was an incident I declined to mention in my post after I had visited "Joseph". One thing that I left undisclosed when I spoke of the phone call from the Highers earlier.

I told you how their call had woken me up.

What I withheld, however, was what I'd been woken up from.

The "dream" which was all too vivid... and that I can still recall every detail of. In which I was walking amongst a dense fog. Each step I took accompanied by a puff of a gray cloud curling up to my knees - as if the ground I walked on was nothing but soot. I could smell and taste the smoke in the air as I pushed through snagging twigs of bushes. Their hooks tearing at my clothing - a simple shirt and pants - as I shoved my way through. Earning a few cuts as I went. Blood beginning to flow.

As I went further, I noticed the soot at my feet had become intermixed with bones and black leaves. Various items that were broken or charred laying scattered about... and I passed each one by until something much bigger in size appeared from the fog.

My old home. In the very same condition it was in when I had left it.

Burnt.

Just a blackened, hollow shell of what it once was.

And yet I still walked right in - pushing the door wide.

Inside, the layout was exactly as it had been... but it was all made of glass. I could hear whispering caught adrift in the air. Echos of faint laughter. Of sweet nothings and plans once laid which came to be worth not but ash. I left a dotted trail of crimson from my gained cuts as I made my way through the halls. Scaling the stairs. Walking past room after room with doors left closed. Undisturbed. Until, that is, I reached the door at the end of the hall. Another creak of an opening door. Only this time the room I stepped into was not glass, but back to how it was before the fire. The old master bedroom. The floor had returned to ash and bone, but everything else was in its place. Every piece of furniture. Every trinket. The only difference being the muted tones - as if everything had soaked in the darkness that surrounded the structure and true color was no longer possible here. Only the red was still left ablaze. Only the red.

A human skull sat on the pillow of the bed. Hollow eyes watching me as I approached the wardrobe across the room. My stare held on the large, fractured mirror it supported... and the image it reflected. My own image. As Nightscream. Standing amongst the same thick fog I had left outside. An adder curled around the left arm where my gauntlet should have been.

A chill crept down my spine as hand was placed to hand against the cold surface. My palm laying over a spider web that was supported around the frame. Its small, black builder biting my hand in retaliation as the mirror fractured more. The image bleeding out onto me until I became myself again behind my mask. The reflection of tattered clothing in the broken mirror melting away into a suit without end and arms bent at an awkward angle. A tall figure with a featureless face replacing my hood and mask. His form and the fog becoming one. Becoming impossible to define one from the other as the heavy blanket rolled out of the fractured mirror. Enveloping the room. Enveloping me even as the mirror shattered and shards rained down.

Then the room was no longer a room. The fog no longer a fog. Instead, He stood before me... with web spread all around us. Encircling us in a thick blanket. I felt the strings clinging to me. I felt the fear thudding in my chest... the panic rising as He stepped forward... looming over me...

And I felt as though the very air rushed at me. Piercing straight through my mind as good as any blade as I snapped awake in my hotel room. Head pounding. Phone ringing beside me.

I barely paid attention to the words of the Highers, my mind already turning. Shifting paces. Beginning to plan.

I had received my True Orders.

I knew where my rebellious sister and her master were.

I simply needed to set the stage. To spur our actresses into performing.

I know not why He chose me, but it is not my place to question.

I am not but His Humble Servant.

I did as He wanted of me.

I cracked the shell of she who eludes His vision.

I gave her attack dog a reason to show her true self.

All under Him. All under His stare. I merely had to keep the darling Sage under my own 'care' as Father pulled the strings on His puppet. A young boy. Perhaps sixteen. A Runner unaware of his own role in the game... until he was dying, that is. Until agony scorched through him in the form of a blade and Father no longer required his physical form to carry the costume He had fitted him with for Mitch's eyes only. One that bore Morningstar's very image. I saw it during the struggle. Father's hold over me granting mere flashes of His work. A flicker of an image long-since dead laid over the figure of one unaware of his own actions...

Sister played her part perfectly.

And the Hope Bearer... the Hope Bearer was most magnificent of all. Certainly not my sharpest student, but not my dullest either. She proved herself to be rather interesting... and proved me completely correct in my judgement of her. Her angelic mask no longer fits so flawlessly over her true nature. Her true self. I gave her the knife to carve away the lies... and she did an excellent job with it. I am quite proud of her.

She knows the truth now.

She understands.

I saw it in her eyes when I felt the clawing agony in my lungs and the metallic taste of blood greeted my tongue. When my body refused to function as I was overcome by a fit of coughs which nearly stole me from my feet. Crimson staining the ground. Crippling me.

I dared the Sage to surprise me. And she did. But at the cost of losing our game.

The lesson had been taught... even if I did pay a touch of a price for it.

There was no need to follow them at that point.

I was still struggling to regain my breath - still struggling against the blood in my throat - when I felt Father standing directly in front of me. Staring down at me as I fought to recompose my fragile, mortal body. I shivered under Him - not daring to look up. Instead folding down onto my knees. Head bowed down. Struggling against the will to keep coughing. His influence running through my mind like water through a sponge. Filling everything as I struggled... to clam my fear. To accept His Judgement of my performance as His servant. For better or for worse.

Just an instant later, He was gone.

I had passed.

It was at that point... that I started laughing.

I had passed.

Eventually, I noticed Kali and Loki staring at me from a nearby tree. I knew then that Father truly had moved on. Otherwise they wouldn't have been anywhere near me. Smart-asses. The both of them. But at that point... there was not any other living being on the planet I would have rather seen.

Once I regained enough focus, I called them down to me and gathered up the rest of my things. Hitting the road in the exact opposite direction as the Sage and her pet... and I haven't glanced back once. Having used the last few days to realign my thinking again. To recover.

I've said before that every mission... has its own level of risk.

The key, however... is knowing precisely how much of a gamble you're taking before you even pick up the die to begin with. To know your opponent before they even have chance to realize you're paying attention. To know what circumstances you're walking into before you take the first step in that direction. You analyze. Study. Inquire. Ponder and analyze again. And only when you feel you can begin to predict them do you step forward... and then wait to be surprised.

After all, the one thing that never seems to change... is how quickly something or someone can do just that. One single action that could take no longer than the time it takes to inhale a sharp breath... and who you are abruptly becomes who you were. Decisions that were once straight-forward and common sense becoming convoluted. Twisted by emotion. Pain. Loyalty.

Another breath.

Better or Worse?

This is a taste... of what it takes to survive as a Proxy.

I am His Servant.

I am His Soldier.

To be used in any way He sees fit.

Evermore.

Dying for the Chance to Live Again...

...Or Living for the Chance to Die?

Tell me, my friends.

Which describes you best?

What forbidden thoughts creep forward when you brace your hands on the bathroom sink and stare back into the reflection of someone that you thought was incapable of so many deeds? Deeds now done and repeated? What do you see when you lean in closer because you can't even recognize your own eyes anymore? What are you trying to hide from when you quickly straighten and walk away? Turning your back to go lie down in your makeshift bed? What boils inside of you as you stay wide awake at even in the darkest hours of night? Staring at the ceiling of whatever little hole you've nestled yourself in when there's no one there for company to encourage the lies?

When you give yourself that silent admission, only to turn to the side, pull your legs into your chest and try to bury yourself in your blankets...

Are you wishing for a fresh start? A new beginning where you would do so many things differently?

Or do you pray for the chance to just put an end to everything? For the curtain to just fall, burying you beneath it at long last?

Not that long ago, I asked this very question to one of the Sages.

The first Runner Handler: Hakurei Ryuu.

I never received an answer.

Thankfully, I just recently gave myself a more... personal chance to ask it again.

Her pet isn't here, of course. I wanted some personal time with the darling Sage before I went ahead to the main event. I must say, the Hope Bearer was in such a huff when I spotted her wandering the lamp-lit streets all on her own. Her entire form just bristling. So consumed in her own raging thought patterns from the argument she'd so obviously left behind her in the hotel room. Failing to notice she was not completely alone on her little walk.

I fretted for her. I truly did.

After all, you can never quite be certain... who is waiting around the next corner, can you?

In any case, I decided it far too dangerous for someone such as her to be wandering around on her own.

So I took her under my wing.

Brought her somewhere nice to... cool off. 

"...Under a lavender moon - so many thoughts consume me. Who dimmed that glowing light that once burned so bright in me? Is this a radical phase? A problematical age? That keeps me running from all that I used to be..."

There is such a wide array of topics I'd like to discuss with her. Truly, there is. I've read her writing quite carefully, you see. After all, not only does she hold the title of all-amazing Sage in the eyes of the Runners, but she also holds the leash of my true target. Her mind has left me so very curious. So very... amused. Even as I type this, she's giving me an even clearer view into it... but, sadly, she seems to be finding it difficult to continue conversation.

Coughing. Choking on the very water that begs to be her salvation... at the same time as it promises to give her the blessed silence she desires so much. Forever more.

It's been beautiful to watch. Absolutely fascinating. To have the chance to bear witness to a body and mind in such violent conflict with one another. A conflict in which the survival of one promises the destruction of the other. A struggle between the sharp, burning need of the body for air... against the will of the mind to block out the very music that broke it not all that long ago. That crippled it. Haunted it.

She's been treading water for quite some time now, you see. Her limbs must feel like jelly. Strength all but gone...

I wonder which will give in first? It is her choice, after all. She is not bound. She isn't held captive in her predicament in any way... pardoning the shackles she places upon her own self. I merely have to stand back and watch. Turning the music on and off - her personal torment that brings her to hold her OWN self under the water's surface. Allowing the chilling water to blur away the rhythm. All to stop the screaming in her head. The "panic mouse" of her mind.

Of course, music isn't the only thing that water has a tendency to drown out.

Such simplicity.

I barely have to lift a finger.

People so tend to underestimate the little things, honestly.

These lyrics. These songs. Melodies. Tunes. They cut her deeper than any blade.

I can read it right across her face.

If the blade of these words worked over her body like they do to her mind... the entire pool would already be dyed crimson.

"...A little piece of paper with a picture drawn; Floats on down the street till the wind is gone. And the memory now is like the picture was then. When the paper's crumpled up, it can't be perfect again..."

The simple beauty of this game... rests solely in the fact that the choice is hers to make.

Either she takes her last lungful of water and sinks to the pool floor. Like we both know she wants to. Or she faces the lyrics which Father played for her over and over and over again.

That is not to say that I'm so rude so as to force my company to have discussion overtop of my little distraction. I turn the music on and off at my leisure. Just a minute or so at a time to allow her to rid some of the gained water from her burning lungs. Choked coughs amongst gasps for air. And, amusingly, the Hope Bearer still finds voice to speak to me in those moments. Responding to my inquiries, my comments, even when wearing fearful eyes and chattering teeth.

This time of year is not fit for swimming, after all. Poor dear.

Not even once has she tried to deny her place as a Handler. She almost tends to defend it. Justify it.

Her honesty is admirable. Truly. It is. Though there is a small problem in this case...

"...Daylight dies. Blackout the skies. Does anyone care? Is anybody there? Take this life. Empty inside. I'm already dead. I'll rise to fall again..."

Dimme, my late Handler, had left me with a bitter taste in my mouth, you see.

She... had been an unique woman, I suppose. Totalitarianistic mentality. Intense. Brutal. Spiteful. Infectious. She taught me quite a bit about the human psyche. Using me as her guinea pig. Her lab rat. I was not so much of anything to her other than a dog. No, actually, I was considerably less than that. For a dog still feels pain. Still has a voice. A will. I was a gun at her hip. Something she took out, pointed in her desired direction and ordered "kill" with the expectation of no hesitation nor negotiation. I was not meant for anything other than that command. I did not DO anything but wait for that command. Including speak. Then I was to return to stand by her heel. Without question. Without sparing a second to take a breath.

That was my role. My place.

And I filled it for the first few months of my service.

Dimme told me right from day one that my conversion into a Proxy had to be a mistake. A joke. A stain on her own reputation. Her career. For a teacher such as myself would be far more suited as a Hallowed. A mindless puppet. For certainly I held no true qualities that would benefit the Cause. No training. No suppressed urges to slaughter or spread pain. Nothing. I had nothing to offer. And so I was nothing. And was treated. As. Nothing.

She placed herself as Alpha. Her foot on my throat. Her word absolute. That was all there was.

She taught me levels of pain that I hadn't even known to exist.

She taught me how to fight as both ghost and demon.

She taught me about the Game.

Each one done for a specific reason: to prove how little I was worth. How little my involvement mattered. How I was just a Toy. Just a Tool.

And to make certain I never forgot who owned me.

Not Father.

But Them.

The Highers.

"...It's still the same, pursuing pain, isn't worth the lie I've gained. We both know how this will end. But I do it again..."

I had tried to resist her will a few times.

The ensuing fights had left me next to death each time. Barely able to crawl, leave alone get back to my feet. And she'd make certain I regretted them for weeks afterwards.

Even during that, I was learning.

I don't think she realized how closely I'd been paying attention.

Then came the final time. The last time. When I finally caught the right opportunity at the right time.

And I still came out of it mostly dead.

The price paid for landing her unconscious.

I then dosed her with the same drug she had given me time and time again. A paralyzing agent that didn't numb. That, if anything, only amplified the pain. I then hung her from the ceiling by her arms until she woke up, which she did within twenty minutes. She seems so amused on the surface. Yet the undertone was complete rage. I could tell. I'd been studying her for so very long. I knew my master well. Like every good dog should. I listened to her as she spoke to me. As she slithered her way into my mind. As she told me things I hadn't wanted to hear. About myself. About my experiences. Where I came from. What I'd done. How I needed her.

I listened as I always did.

 "Careful, Hope Bearer. Wouldn't want to take one lungful too many, now, would you?"

Eventually, Dimme fell short of words. Simply stared at me as if I was the lowest form of life possible. Inquiring as to what I intended to do. I moved behind her at that point Limping as I went. My body trembling with the effort to move. Barely able to remain standing. Then... I slowly carved my blades down either side of her spine. Not saying a word as I did. The knots in my stomach only grew tighter as the blood flowed. Part of me wanted to tear her to pieces there and then... but another part took over. One that had a point to make. I can remember feeling the sensation that rang through the blade as her body stiffened. Bristled. Shuddering, ever so slightly. Yet she didn't make a single noise. At least, not until I begun prying at each rib. Cracking them away from her spine.

During that, she screamed.

Once I'd cleared away the ribs that had been in my way, I then removed my gloves... and took hold of her lungs in my bare hands. I remember smiling as I felt her heart pound even faster. Panic. Fear. It was about time she received a good dose of both.

I was done being her puppet.

I was sick and tired of the leash.

And it was with that in mind that I ripped her lungs out of her body. Watching with a satisfaction that I hadn't known in months as she struggled for another breath that would never be granted.

She would never use them again to bend me to her will.

I then burnt her corpse. Daring the bitch to come back from that.

After all, she did have something of a healing ability.

Much like a certain Hope Bearer.

Mitchy. Your Master now has me wondering...

How well she will be able to use her lungs to order you... when I choose to allow the music to play on without interruption?

You must know where we are now.

Come, girl.

Fetch.

Ruffling Some Feathers

It's always nice to know one can make a certain level of impact onto others... even with just the simplest of deeds.

You see, I came to know about "Joseph's" telling of my little visit in a rather different manner than any usual update... a manner that still makes me grin even now.

After I left the Cafe, I'd spent the next twenty-four hours or so changing areas to ensure my trail would be long cold by the time he posted (as I knew he would). In all honesty and with what I'm sure doesn't come as a surprise: I rather don't like people knowing my exact location. Makes things too complex. So, I've learned how to disappear. Comes in quite handy, really.

In any case, by the time I was content with my location, it was daylight... but that didn't exactly prevent me from finding myself a motel room and getting a few hours of much-needed rest. I was sound asleep with only Kali and Loki for company... when my cell phone rang. Woke me up enough to answer it, but not really enough to make sense of the onslaught on my eardrum that followed my barely-conscious greeting. Didn't even bother with 'hello' back before the scolding began. Honestly, the Highers have quite poor manners. It's embarrassing. Truly.

As it currently stands, they seem to be rather... agitated that I'd paid "Joseph" a visit. I was warned to pay better mind to my boundaries as I've been "forgetting [my] place" as of late and that I wouldn't want to be "reminded" of them. That is was not up to me to "run off for a social visit" when I had work to do and so did those I was bothering. I was told that I'd been "slacking off" lately. That I should have reported in sooner for my next assignment. That a Proxy such as I should be more thankful for the "longer leash" given to me instead of yanking for even more and abusing their astounding generosity.

They also mentioned something about "Joseph's" standing being rather "toxic."

Warned me to "not associate with a sinking ship."

So I took a moment to reassure them that "I've always tried my utmost to keep my distance from sinking ships... hence why I tend to ignore the lot of YOU."

Strangely, they didn't find that funny. I know I most certainly did.

In any case, I am being ordered (better late then never, yes?) to apologize to "Joseph" for disrupting his lovely evening of working himself up into higher blood pressure. Since I'm certain my little visit ruined the concentration of him and his entire team (who weren't there. I didn't realize my reach went so far!), I hereby vow to never return... without bringing some biscuits to have with the coffee. I'm certain I could remember this nice little recipe I used to make for special occasions way back when...

I don't think they appreciated us chatting, "Joseph."

Either that, or you made them so excited when you said I could have died. I do hope you don't get too much flack for the little bit of aid you gave me, brother. I know they would have probably preferred me left to my predicament.

Just as they themselves are doing.

I suppose at this point there is no true need to hide why I paid a visit to the Squad Leader. "Joseph" has made my present health level public, so it's not as though any further damage can be done. Everything he said was correct. I placed a lot of faith - perhaps blind faith - in that man's hands. I required his insight into a matter. Insight that, as far as I am aware, only he could have possibly given me at the drop of a hat. Trust was a required detail. Otherwise there would have been no point in the visit. I'd already decided before I'd even entered the looped area as to what lengths I would allow him to go to in order for him to make his... diagnosis, shall we say.

The horror on his face was rather priceless. Nearly a Kodak moment. It alone spoke volumes on how screwed I mostly likely am at this point. He needn't give me specifics. No detail of 'what' was going to help me. All I required from him was the confirmation that I was not paranoid...

Or, more accurately, that I hadn't developed hypochondria.

It didn't take me long after leaving the Cult Town to realize that something was not as it should be. I had attempted to take some time to mend, you see. I had injuries to heal. A vast amount of sleep to catch up on. Proper nutrition to regain. As well as... something of a cold to clear out of my system. It hadn't been all that bad at first. Just a feeling of being 'off', for the most part. A bit of a fever. Nothing to be overly concerned about, considering the scale of what I'd been exposed to for a near month. My lungs had been giving me problems for a week or two by that point, but again, I put it to exposure. I monitored my condition closely, as I would have been a fool not to... but I still thought it would clear, if only given time.

Amongst this... I'd begun to notice a strange smell in the air of my motel room from time to time. Especially upon waking. I still can't quite decide on what it reminds me of, but if I had to make a connection... I'd say sulfur. A sour, sharp smell that also stung the tongue. The first few times, it was only just strong enough to take notice of. Only just. 

And then I woke up in the middle of my third night away from the Cult... and the smell was so strong it had me gagging. Choking.

I can remember how panicked Kali and Loki were in their cage. A mess of cawing and flapping wings.

They wanted out.

As did I.

I'd been feeling uneasy ever since I put the Cult Town behind me... but that was the first time since I enlisted in the Service that I'd left my room in the middle of the night like that. That was the first time since I enlisted... that my instincts screamed for me to move. To run. That I wasn't safe where I was. And I didn't ignore that warning. I gathered my things together quick. However, when I went to grab the food I had bought just a day prior... I decided it best left.

It had already begun to rot.

At that moment, I knew. I knew without a doubt... that I had a new friend. In my mind, it was the final flag.

I had been the one to organize the destruction of His Cult.

And now I know that The Plague Doctor wishes to return the favor.

I have not seen Him yet. At least, I do not believe I have. But I know to my core it is Him.

With luck, I am ahead of His Game.

If not... I am simply in it. Nothing more.

That being said, I still needed someone else to confirm what was happening within me. To make clear just what level of the Game I'd skipped ahead to. For that, "Joseph", I will thank you again for your honesty and assistance. The drugs have helped. Though I will only use the others when things get worse. As they are sure to quite fast.

The Highers now know of this as well.

Their response... was to assign me to my next mission. An Elimination.

I am not surprised.

I am writing this from her hotel room. Colleen Flemming. Her corpse is sprawled on the floor to my right. Blood already having formed a think pool of crimson beneath her neck. Skin pale and eyes dull. I didn't have time to play, unfortunately. I'm simply having a quick bite to eat before I move on. It pains me to think I gave her story such an anti-climatic end... but I have other matters to take care of.

Other missions will have to wait.

Right now, there's someone I need to see. Someone I've been putting off meeting for far too long... and I think it's high time we got better acquainted.

After all, I may be the prey for the Beak. But that doesn't mean I'm not a hunter myself.

Time to make your bets, my Friends.

Wish me luck.

Curtain Close

The pinks and purples of dawn's early light captured my heart this morning.

There was something so peaceful about the way it gently slipped over the Town. The soft light seeming to caress the flames of the inferno that engulfed a good portion of the buildings.

Made my soul at ease.

An excellent start to a new day, if I do say so myself.

You know, my friends... part of me keeps wondering why I bother continuing to update this blog. There is no true reason to do so. If anything, I can think of many a reason why I shouldn't. However... there is something about this Community that I find appealing. Interesting. Amusing.

As the carrousel turns as it always has, this place... has been giving me an in-depth look into so many of your minds. Some of you may not even think you have, but sometimes it is the things left said in between the lines that scream the loudest. Each of you come on here. Spilling your hearts and souls onto blogs of your own creation... where not all the readers care to make the pain stop. In fact, many of us (and not just the ones who advertise themselves as what they are) can't help but think of how to take that agony to the next pitch. To better the Act previous. Expand the Arc. Let you discover a new level of misery as the darkness that you thought had swallowed you whole only gets darker still. The intense crimson flare of splattered blood becoming an even sharper contrast to your dulling world. The once flawless white of innocence stolen away. Piece by piece. Spoiled beyond the point of return. Turning to a gray that dampens the soul at a mere glance... or, better yet, flipping the coin head over tails. For nothing makes a darker black than what was once dazzling white.

Even the little things here and there can bring a smile to my face.

Your titles.

Your terms.

Your precious war of words.

Proclaiming your acts of defiance as if they are some great mark in the endless struggle. As if what you do actually matters. That it will actually amount to something. You delude yourselves into thinking you have a chance. Into thinking that you may just "win this war" one day.

Win this War.

A noble thought.

Makes it all that greater of a shame when the truth is recognized.

This has never been a war.

Only a slaughter.

Whether the hand that guides the Runners through their final moments is Father's or our own - those that have run their time and are pegged to die... always do. Always. Despite all the pain. All the effort. All the support given. Every Runner will die. Leaving only a scattering of words on an internet page. A virtual gravestone, I've heard it called. It's cute, really. There are already so many around. Each one a testament to disprove their own opinions that there was a chance. That there still is a chance.

Every one of you stopped having a chance when He found you the first time.

Or should I possibly say when "One of Them" found you?

I'm sure at least some of you are aware that our Father is not the only entity to fear in the darkness. He is but one of an ever-growing Family. A group of Siblings, if you will. Not quite accurate, but as good a term as any to attempt to describe what They are. Each one being a near-perfect Predator. Most presumably far older than our knowledge dates them...

In my view, so long as there was someone alive to fear what dwells in the darkness, there has been a reason for that fear. When we were younger, most of us knew to tread carefully in their territory. We didn't know who They were, yet we knew to stay quiet in their presence. To hide. To run. However, with age comes arrogance and stupidity. We step forward and call the shadows out on their "bluff." Waving off the spook stories and the chills down our spines. Proclaiming ourselves above such childish nonsense as being afraid of what we can't explain. Proclaiming ourselves free of that paranoia... and, for some, they are allowed to live in that ignorance.

No one here was so fortunate. All of you were answered by your greatest Fears as they stepped forward from those very shadows to pass their Judgement.

Usually, you can consider yourself rather unlucky to catch the attention of one.

To catch the attention of two is a rather special manner of bad luck.

Catching the attention of more than that... well, you're obviously involved in something you shouldn't be. Plain and simple.

And each and every One... has Its own Followers.

It is between these groups of Followers... these Cults... where the true "Wars" can be said to be taking place.

"My God is Better Than Your God."

Tens of thousands of years of conflict amongst the human race... and it never seems to get old, does is?

Generally speaking, there tends to be three Cults which stand head and neck above the other, smaller Cults of the other Fears. It shouldn't come as too much of a surprise that the largest organization is that of Proxies themselves. The minions of the infamous Slender Man. We have the largest base of Followers than any other Cult. We are the widest spread around the globe. And we hold the most power when it comes to political standing in the world of the Norms. Three cheers for us, hm?

At our backs... stand the Followers of the Plague Doctor. And, after them, those of the Rake.

That being said... just like any other Family: Every group annoys the others equally.

A Cult standing further down on the list doesn't mean they won't make a stab at the top or vice versa.

It simply means that some Cults have more resources to be a bigger pain in the ass than others.

For example, The Afflicted - our dear, diseased Cousins - have seemingly made it their goal over the past several hundred years to be the most irritating thorn in our side as possible.

Hence the ruckus.

It all could have been so innocent, honestly. One of the Cult Towns of the Afflicted decided an expansion was in order and they began infiltrating their closest, neighboring town. Taking up positions in the community. Digging their tunnels. Spreading their influence. Before long, it started feeling like a Home away from Home, no doubt.

Honestly? We wouldn't have cared all that much. It wasn't as though it was one of OUR Cult Towns and, if they felt they wanted it, then very well. Good for them. So long as they didn't expect us to send any house-warming gifts, nothing would have had to happen.

And then the kidnappings started. All around the area, Proxies started disappearing. Vanishing into thin air. Right in the middle of missions. It didn't take too long to connect the dots. We discovered through some of our connections that they were taking our kin back to their Homestead. Alive. They'd then proceed to experiment on them. Exposing them to all manner of Special Studies for days on end until the effects became too much and the life of our kin slipped away. A fitting sacrifice to their Sick-Humored God.

The challenge had been made.

We accepted.

Fast-forward a month.

And David and myself were more than ready for the little contest to come to an end.

As you already know, David had already begun ticking off the names on the list I gave him. Within the first couple of days of being enlisted into the Cause, David brought two families down to their knees... and then even further down than that. The first was a soccer mom with three children between the ages of five and twelve years. The second was a stay-at-home dad with two teenage sons. I had instructed him to make certain each family member was made into an example of what happens when Proxies are challenged. David had sent me pictures at the time, you may remember. They were impressive.

As you can imagine, the entire Town went on high alert when the bodies were discovered. David then found himself unable to move without being detected, so he pulled back. Started helping myself and the Divisions in the neighboring town. Just waiting for the heat to die down.

That time.

Was last night

The Divisions themselves were split up, and all on the offensive. The time for being discrete had been over for a while. I instructed a barrage to be swept across the "invaded" town alongside cloak and dagger strategies. Groups of three. No more, no less. Large groups can be taken out too easy, and going in alone leaves blind-spots open for a blade to be buried in one's spinal cord. Doctors do tend to know their anatomy, after all. Taking chances was not on my agenda. Three meant one could fall, and there was still two to watch each others' backs. Best chances.

The attack was a lure.

And They bit.

When met with such a heavy attack, they assumed it was going to be our Last Stand. The final push turned to shove to overwhelm them and reclaim the town. After all, that would be the direction the Highers had wanted to take. To take The Afflicted's beloved expansion project right out from under them, then move against the Center from there.

A foolish endeavor.

The town didn't matter at all.

But our Cousins didn't know that plans had since shifted.

They brought reinforcements from their Hometown to clash with our own forces. Fighting to keep their beloved spit of land. Leaving security in the original Cult Town... significantly lower than it was.

We moved fast.

It was imperative that David completed his list. It targeted very specific families from one side of Town to the other. I gave him free rein in the work, of course. Leaving him to his own creativity. So long as they were each made into examples, and one of two required a bit more than that. Special treatment, you could say. Something that would make a defined impact on the last remaining member of the family to walk into.

David took a few of the other Proxies with him to keep lesser details out of his way as he took care of business.

I swear, the man swept through the Town like a walking plague.

It was glorious.

He updated me after each visit was done.

Thank God, my phone still managed to keep a signal underground.

I would have liked to see David at work, honestly, but I had my own business to attend to. Granted, it had started out above ground, but it didn't take too long before I was moving through the the tunnels beneath the Cult Town itself. Slipping down corridors. Finding my way along. A map in my head of where I needed to go. A few weeks ago, I had taken it upon myself to... get one of our own recruited into their side of the Family. Swampjack came through just like I knew he would. A true snake in the grass, if there ever was one. Father would be ever so proud. As am I. The Ugandan native gave me exactly what I needed. Being a new recruit, he didn't have the rank to access the areas I needed into without causing a stir, but it mattered not. I only needed the knowledge to make me at home in the never-ending tunnels. I could pull "rank" myself.

And that is exactly what I did. As the chaos gripped the Town itself tighter and tighter, I walked with solid resolve to my step. Body language hinting at anger as I passed by many a Cousin of mine, and - just as I had planned - not a question was brought my way. In fact, a few of them moved OUT of my way. I truly had to resist laughing.

Full-body costumes make things so much easier at times.

The tunnels were designed a fair bit more impressively here than in the Wannabe-Town, suggesting an age to their Religion in that specific area that would rival that of some of our own Towns. However, between endless tunnels and sewer systems, things didn't get all that interesting until I hit my destination. Or, at least, the introductory to it. The Main Chamber was little more than a meeting place. Plenty of space for a gathering of people to come to worship their Sick God. A few carvings here and there. Polished, but not fancy. I didn't care, to be honest. I breezed right through it to the far back where a set of stairs lead me down to a new level and a new tunnel.

I had to resist the urge to gag.

The interlocked stones that had once covered the walls of my path so picture-perfectly suddenly had gaps left in their patterns. Carefully carved holes which framed the same thing over and over again: The bodies of humans. With arms, hips and legs caught back behind the stones, the corpses of men and women alike were exposed from the waist up to passer-byes like a morbid art gallery. Varying in different stages of decomposition to those that looked as though they'd died a few days prior, they were all lined up on either side of the hallway. One woman in particular wasn't even dead yet. The slow rise and fall of a ribbed-chest being the only indication of life from the pale, deathly-skinny figure. She reminded me of those who were taken from the Concentration Camps during WW2. A living skeleton and little more.

Punishment, one would think, yes?

I would admit, it would be a rather fitting end for a traitor or spy...

Only, this isn't a practice for Punishment.

It's for reverence. Enlightenment. Honor.

Much like the Buddhist Monks who'd practiced Self-Mummification and had themselves sealed in chambers to die and not-die at the same time, these figures allowed themselves to be sealed into these walls while they are still alive. Only these Afflicted members WANTED to rot. As a show of their faith, they wanted to be a part of their Cult even after death. So they were sealed into the walls. Once death claimed them, their flesh would rot off to "forever be part of the very structure that shelters [their] kin." Generally, this option tends to only be available for very prestigious members of the Family. Multiple reasons can be behind it, but any which way it comes to the same thing: They are left sealed, but exposed... to die of starvation, usually. Their corpses remain in the walls until they are only bones. Only then are they are taken out and properly buried in a crypt further underground.
 
Needless to say, the stench nearly made my eyes water.

I went down a set of stairs at the end of the hall. Emerging into a much smaller chamber which branched off in three directions: Lab. Vault. Cell. Things were getting more modern as I went. All to support their experiments. I left gifts in the first two rooms before moving to the third. Upon entry, I was faced with nine figures. All on the floor with arms tried behind their backs. All too sick to move.

Eight of them were Proxies.

One was a Chiller. A Cold Boy Follower.

A chorus of quiet, half-suppressed whimpers came from the assortment of figures. Some of which also cringing at the sight. I didn't blame them. My particular choice of attire... was a version of the Plague Doctor that they would have most likely seen many times before. And, most likely, it always accompanied the most... creative sessions they were exposed to.

I removed the hat and mask. Introduced myself for what I was. Then drew my gun.

I went through the room. Delivering one bullet in the skulls of each of my kin. Not wasting time.

Then I reached the Cold Boy Follower in the room. He couldn't have been more than twelve, but I couldn't help but smile. I've never been thanked by one of them before. First time for everything, I suppose. He received the same treatment.

Then I was gone again. Going back the way I had come. Hat and mask back in place.

By the time I reached the Main Chamber, well... I had visitors. As I'd hoped, with David's bloodbath flooding the streets up above, the last remaining member of each family came down to where they felt themselves untouchable. To me. The "Mad Doctors" - the Highest Ranking Oathbreakers of the Cult - had done just that. Seven of them were present in the center of the room. Screaming at each other. Some of which wearing their typical garb, minus their masks to allow easier yelling. Others in normal clothes.

When they saw me enter, tongues were bit and silence took over. One stepped forward. From research, I knew this must be Malfatto. Second in command. His attire carried more of a modern style. Black trench coat. Mask crafted from brown, patterned leather instead of bone. He left it handing around his neck as he spoke in a respectful tone. Holding himself tall as he explained the series of murders in the Town. Using words such as "torture," "barbaric" and "slaughter" to describe what each Mad Doctor had found in their homes. Apparently David brought his love of flaying into use. Can't say I disapprove. From what Malfatto spoke, the adults had it far worse than any children caught in his path, though they were dead just the same.

He went on to explain about the mess in the second town. Letting me know that our Divisions had followed my orders to the letter. Drawing the Cultists into the area, then splitting and flanking around. Giving them the Town... in favor of setting the one above aflame. From the messages on my phone, things were running like clockwork.

And why was Malfatto being so informative to me?

Perhaps because I was wearing the attire of their leader: Josef Bohr. His choice of likeness to their God was more of a mad doctor style. Many layers of tattered clothes. Long, wide sleeves. Stitches. Bolts. Pieces of leather. Pins. And other odd bits and pieces. His mask having a skin-like appearance with heavy stitch work and an extra long beak with a rounded end instead of a sharper one. I think I handled the look rather well. So long as I held the body posture of a man with a vicious temper, of course.

I had taken care of his wife and son myself. Letting him have the experience of finding his family alive. Missing their eyes, nose, tongue, and ears. But alive.

He slit their throats himself.

Then we had an altercation... before I let him follow his family.

Malfatto asked what should be done.

That would be when one of the other Mad Doctors blew a gasket. Screaming about how it was my fault that things had dissolved this far and the level of mind it took to ask that same person to get them OUT of the same mess. Eventually her tantrum brought her stalking right up to my face... and into the blades of my gauntlet (previously hidden beneath my flapping sleeves) as my other arm snapped around her back at the same time. Pulling her in. Tightly keeping her from moving away as her eyes drew wide in pain. I pushed my blades in deeper... until they pushed out the other side. She screamed. My grip wrapping around her spine as my hand that had been holding her close went to her touch her chin gently.

I told her to rest assured... that their dearest Leader paid for his foolishness already. Then I let her fall to the floor. Fit to bleed out. Removing the hat and mask to reveal my own mask underneath. I grinned, though they wouldn't see it. 

"Hello, Cousins. Having a rough day, are we?"

The shock across the room made me laugh. Gun in one hand. Gauntlet on the other. I was confident in my situation. All seven of them were mentally shredded. Between the chaos of the fight, the loss of their families in such brutal fashions, the threat of the growing inferno, the assassination of their leader... and now a Proxy that had revealed itself in the heart of their Cult.

They were at a loss.

A few words were exchanged, but I didn't waste much time. Especially when one of the Mad Doctors tried to make a run for it. A put two bullets into his back. Malfatto was the only one who reacted. A flash of steel swinging my way. The others tried to join in. Thinking numbers would make up for lack of fighting skill and unsettled minds. They were wrong. I cut through them quickly. Only earning a gash or two as one fell then the next. Before long, they changed strategies. Malfatto and two others took off running while I finished off another.

I didn't bother following. Choosing instead of take the nearest exit. Which meant into the sewer system again. But not before I detonated the little presents I'd left behind. I felt the explosions through the ground. Walls chattering slightly. They wouldn't be using that restricted area anymore. With luck, same goes for the Main Chamber.

By the time I came up, nearly half the Town was engulfed in flames. Needless to say, I didn't stick around. David and I met up just outside of town. Exchanging your typical remarks. Watching as dawn broke over the inferno. Both of us looking as though we'd been through Hell and back again. Twice.

We've lost quite a few from the Divisions... but it's over. Mission completed.

The time to breathe deep and relax, however, didn't last too long. I soon had an assassin's stare on me. David demanded the return of that which belongs to him. I, of course, agreed. As was the conditions of the deal to begin with.

We met up not far from where David and I first introduced ourselves. Ronan was in perfect health, just like I said he would be. I am good to my word, after all. Through all this, I believe I proved that much at the very least. However, once David was sure that his partner was alright... I had the JOY of watching the assassin's fury rise to the surface all the same. That unmistakeable passion that I missed out on during our first meeting.

He told me that even though I held my word... the fact that I used Ronan at all meant I had to die no matter what. Otherwise his fiance would be seen as a target and he wouldn't allow that.

I told him he "allowed" that the second Ronan became his fiance in the first place. Even before that. It was his choice to put Ronan in this position. The consequences are their own to bear.

His hands balled into fists, replying by saying that if I wanted to live to see another day, then I had to swear to help keep Ronan safe from anyone else who would want to pull the same stunt I did. That he couldn't let me just walk away, but he would give me this deal. Help or die. My choice.

My response? I laughed a bit at first. Apologizing that he still felt that way. That we did good work together and Ronan himself had been... pleasant company. Then I pointed out... that I'd already helped them. With one blinded by arrogance and the other by lacking of self-worth, my interference served as a friendly wake-up call. I told them that, if I had wanted to, things could have gone a fair bit worse for them. I'm not always as friendly as I've been to the two of them. From my previous endeavors, they should have realized that and considered themselves lucky.

David was beyond bristling at this point. Apologizing through gritted teeth that I felt that way. I saw the glint of steel.

I told him that his shallow way of thinking disappoints me. That I'd hoped he would have learned something from this little Game of mine. I explained a piece of what I told Ronan during our time together: That if he had truly wanted to keep Ronan safe like he says he wanted to - if he truly cared - then he should have walked away from him. Simple. Instead, he chose to take his lover's hand and lead him into the lion pit. I told him that for whatever grand scheme he was using Ronan for, that David should not have been surprised that this part of his plan brought unwanted attention. In fact, he should have expected it from the start.

Ours is not a Game that allows what David is attempting to create. Never has. Never will. No matter the reasoning behind it. Nothing I could do would change that fact, whether I wanted it to or not. They owned their position. No one else. And I wasn't about to support this level of foolishness. It was Fool's Game. I saw no further need to exploit it, but I wasn't about to place my name to it either.

A second later, David's knife sliced about an inch away from my throat. I grabbed his wrist and flipped us around. Slamming him back against the wall behind me. He didn't even pause. He twisted, ramming his shoulder into my chest to send me back. Freeing up his knife that I then deflected with the arm of my gauntlet. Even injured, he was fast. However... so am I.

It didn't last long. Personally, I didn't want it to last at all. David was needed back on the field. As was I. Either of us taking too bad of damage was counterproductive.

Hence why I had friends waiting in the wing.

When David started up, they were quick to move in to help me settle the matter as easily as possible. Requiem - having training in martial arts - joined into the fight with a shift through the Path and a solid kid. Diamondback took a shot before my company even realized he was there. A shot that took away David's knife. Though surprised, this only seemed to make David MORE determined than before to take me down.

The three of us were forced to make a point or two.

It wasn't a matter of proving myself better than him. If I had wanted that, it would be one on one.

However, letting his temper get to better of all of us was not on my to do list. I had survived too much to allow that. As had he.

At one point, Ronan joined in the scuffle. Personally, I would say him to be more skilled than David since he doesn't lose his head, but that is neither here nor there at this point. He seemed to ignore me completely during the "fight," only focusing on Diamondback and Requiem. They had some trouble holding their own against him... but then Ronan stepped out of the fight completely when David continued to push. Not willing to lose his ground.

Eventually, David stayed down. At least with Ronan's hands on his shoulders silently asking for him to stop.

I crouched down in front of the assassin at that point. Wiping a bit of the blood from his chin as I apologized for our adventure to end on such a sour note. I told him his request of me was impossible, since the only way I could possibly help to ensure Ronan's safety... was to kill David himself. As, no matter from what angle you viewed it, he would be the cause of any troubles when all is said and done.

I placed a kiss to his cheek before standing and repeating the gesture with Ronan. I made certain he had my parting gift. Just a recorder with a little something for him to listen to when he was in the mood to. I then bid him good luck before we took our leave.

With David's level of arrogance, he is going to need it.

And I. Officially need sleep. I feel like the walking dead.

Keep smiling, everyone.